Page 10 of Mountain Man's Mail Order Surprise

A long beat passed. His hands gripped my hips, like he was holding back, thinking. Then he pulled me down for a kiss—deep, consuming, his hand cupping the back of my neck as he breathed against my lips.

“So come here, baby,” he murmured. “Let me feel all of you.”

I sank down slowly, taking him in inch by inch, my body stretching around him. We both groaned at the contact—so raw, so bare. I’d never felt anything like it, the fullness, the heat, the perfect friction of skin against skin.

“God, Bridget,” he choked. “You feel… incredible.”

I rocked my hips gently, testing the angle, the ache giving way to pleasure. His hands guided me, up and down, slow at first, then faster, my breasts bouncing with each rise and fall. His gaze locked onto them, his lips parting, and I arched my back, offering myself to him.

He took the invitation, sitting up to capture a nipple in his mouth, sucking hard enough to make me cry out. The dual sensation—his mouth on me, his cock filling me—was too much. Pleasure coiled tight in my belly, my movements growing erratic.

“I’m close,” I gasped.

He gripped my ass, helping me ride him, his own hips meeting mine thrust for thrust. “Come for me,” he growled against my skin.

And I did. My orgasm crashed over me, my body clamping around him as I shuddered, my nails biting into his chest. He followed moments later, his release pulsing inside me, his groan muffled against my shoulder.

Reality drifted back in like a slow tide.

I blinked and looked at him, brushing damp hair from his forehead. “We didn’t use a condom.”

I met his gaze, expecting panic, frustration—something. But he was smiling.

Not just smiling. Beaming.

“We might be having a baby before we know it,” he said, voice light, like it was the best news in the world.

I blinked. “You’re…not mad?”

He cupped my face, his thumb brushing my cheek. “Mad? No. I’ve been trying to figure out how to tell you that I’m in love with you. That I want to marry you. Spend my life with you.” He laughed, breathless. “Guess this just sped up the timeline.”

My heart swelled, warmth flooding my chest. “I love you too,” I whispered.

He kissed me, slow and sweet, and for the first time, I let myself believe in forever.

6

REILLY

Wildwood Valley didn’t have a Justice of the Peace. There wasn’t a charming little wedding chapel with a built-in minister and events coordinator, either.

But what Wildwood Valley did have was beautiful scenery. There was no shortage of places to get married outdoors. The big question was which hill with a breathtaking mountain view to choose.

Bridget and I picked a piece of empty land by the water, with a mountain view off in the distance. It was toward the bottom of the parkway that ran through town, about a mile from the inn where I’d picked her up. It was a full-circle moment, closing out the two amazing weeks we’d spent together.

“Do you, Reilly, take this woman to be your wife?”

Old Man Coulter read the vows. He ran the feed store, led the church choir on Wednesday nights, and apparently became an ordained minister at some point. My buddy Jareth said the guy had even run for mayor. Jareth was standing behind me as I faced my bride in front of a small group of our friends. So was West.

Like me, West and Jareth were ex-vets who’d come to town after leaving the military. West ran the town diner, inherited from his grandparents, and he’d somehow managed to find a girlfriend the same weekend I had. It was a funny story. We still laughed about both women coming to town to meet me, thinking I was the guy they’d been messaging. West’s girlfriend Mackenzie had fallen in love with him before she even saw me.

But it didn’t matter. I belonged with Bridget, and she belonged with me. I’d never been so sure of anything in my life.

“I do,” I said as Old Man Coulter reached the end of the vows.

Then he shifted to Bridget. She stared into my eyes, beaming with happiness. We would’ve gotten married two days after we met, but we wanted our families to come. Well,Idid anyway. Bridget’s parents still didn’t know she was getting married. She swore they’d talk her out of it if they found out.

“It’s better to beg forgiveness than ask permission,” she’d said, reciting an old adage.

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