Page 22 of Stuck with my Mountain Daddies

I lined up and pushed in, slow and deep. She was tight, warm, slick, and perfect—and the moment I sank fully into her, I lost my mind.

Her back arched, breasts brushing my chest as I rocked into her, each thrust claiming something I didn’t even realize I wanted. She moaned my name like it was a prayer. Clawed at my shoulders. Kissed my throat.

And when she came, she shattered around me, clenching so hard I nearly followed her over the edge.

But I wanted more.

I flipped her over, dragged her hips up, and drove into her from behind, hands gripping her waist like a man possessed. Her cries were breathy, desperate, her fingers twisting in the sheets.

I bent over her back, whispering how good she felt, how fucking beautiful she was. Wild, messy, mine.

And then, a crash of thunder.

The dream cracked apart.

I shot upright in bed, breathing hard, heart pounding as if I’d just run a mile.

Cold air wrapped around me. My cock was still rock hard, the sheets damp with sweat.

What the fuck.

I dragged a hand down my face, trying to slow the thundering in my chest. But it was no use.

Because I could still feel her. Still taste her. Still hear her moan my name like it meant everything.

It had felt so real in that moment.

Too real.

And now I had to walk out there in the morning and look her in the eyes like I hadn’t just buried myself in her in my goddamn dreams.

How the hell was I going to get through this?

CHAPTER FIVE

Riley

Garrett had disappeared hours ago,mumbling something about an early morning. Classic broody mountain man move.

I didn’t blame him. If I spent all day lifting logs and growling at things, I’d probably need more sleep, too.

Me? I needed a drink.

Luckily, Asher seemed to agree.

“Alright, city girl,” he said, grinning as he pulled a bottle of whiskey from a battered cabinet. “You, me, and a glass of very questionable life choices. Sound good?”

I plopped onto the worn leather couch, tucking my legs under me. “That sounds like a terrible idea.”

“So perfect.” He handed me a glass with a wink.

I took it, clinked mine against his, and said, “To rock bottoms and rebrands.”

Asher barked out a laugh. “Now that’s a damn toast.”

We were a few sips in—okay, maybe a fewglasses—when the warm buzz started kicking in. My limbs felt like velvet, my cheeks flushed, and my filter had taken the night off.

Which was saying something, because even tipsy, I was usually good at keeping my image intact. Not tonight.

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