Page 13 of My Fearless Mountain Man

“I fucking want you, Nora,” I groan as I spit in my other hand, then really start stroking myself.

I need her, her warm, delicate soft body against mine. Her breasts rubbing and pressing against my chest, her nipples getting harder with each thrust I give her. The heat of her thighs spread around my hips as she pants against my neck.

“Calder ...” her soft voice tightening as she rides me, showing me what she’s been trying to offer in her letters, showing me exactly how I’ve haunted her dreams and her naughty thoughts.

God, so wet, so tight, so perfect. I lick my lips as I imagine her nipple brushing them. Her moans belong to me. Every gasp, every shiver, every ounce of pleasure—mine. Nora was made for this. Forme. Wrapped around me, under me, completely mine.

I roll over, propping myself up on my knees as I imagine to thrust into her again and again, showing her exactly how badly I want her. Harder and faster, softening her moans with my lips before I bury my face between her breasts, marking her skin with my mouth, my teeth, making it clear she’s mine.

“Fuck, Nora,” I groan. “Fuck! Fuck!”

I come faster than I want to. I feel it against my belly, but I can’t care. I flop down in bed, shuddering. I want her. I’m starving forher. Fuck. I was hoping I’d see her today—even if I told myself I wasn’t.

I hate this. Hate wanting her. Hate wantinganyone. But especially Nora.

Because wanting her means admitting I care. And someone like her—soft, sweet, untouched—doesn’t belong with someone like me. I’m rough where she’s gentle, scarred where she’s still whole.

I’ll ruin her. Break her without meaning to.

But that doesn’t stop the wanting. Doesn’t stop the craving that burns through me every time she’s near.

As the post-orgasmic bliss fades, the guilt rolls in.

Here I am, stroking my cock to a woman fourteen years younger than me who’s trying to find her place in the world and all I can think about is ravishing her.

I’ll wear her down. Chip away at the softness in her. That lightness she carries—it doesn’t survive long around someone like me.

I can’t have her. I know that. No man is meant to have an angel.

So why the hell isn’t that enough to convince my heart to let her go?

Chapter 7 - Nora

In the morning, I glare at the ceiling. My knee’s fine—just scabbed and sore. I don’t need to limp, but I’m glad I did.

He held me.

I groan and pull a pillow over my face.

I’ve done that too often lately—burying my face, chasing fantasies, taking longer showers just to ease the ache he leaves behind. Calder’s in my head, under my skin. I thought seeing him would help shake it loose, but it’s only gotten worse.

Six years of writing letters. Six years of obsession. I thought meeting him would bring closure.

It didn’t.

“I need to tell him,” I mutter. “If he won’t respond to the letters, I’ll say it to his face and be done.”

But of course, it’s not that simple.

I waste the day in town, pretending I’m overthinking everything. That I don’t need him. I love it here—the slower pace, the quiet—but I still feel like something’s missing. I’ve been looking for remote jobs, weighing options, trying to figure out if this could be home.

And yet the next morning, I’m back on the trails.

I’ve already extended my stay by two weeks.

Maybe I’m not ready to leave. Or maybe I just don’t want to leave him behind.

I don’t know.

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