Page 20 of Mountain Daddy

I'm close enough now to see the gold flecks in her hazel eyes. Close enough to count her eyelashes. Close enough to make her pulse jump in her throat.

“You know why.”

“Say it.”

The challenge in her voice sets something primal loose inside me. Something I've been trying to cage since she walked out of here a week ago.

“Because you're mine.”

The words come out rough. Raw. More honest than I intended.

Her eyes flash. “I'm not anyone's?—”

I cut her off with my mouth.

The kiss is not an exploration. It’s an explosion.

Desperate. Hungry.

Seven days of wanting her, of thinking about her taste, her sounds, the way she felt wrapped around me can make a man go insane.

I groan into her mouth, swipe a hand through her hair, and tug. I lick across the slit of her lips.

And she opens. Like she’s made for me.

She makes a small noise in her throat when my lips brush against hers. Her fists twist in my shirt, yanking me closer, and that’s it. I’m gone. Wrecked. Owned.

I back her against the wall, pressing my body against hers, letting her feel how hard I am already. How much I want her. Always want her.

“Fuck,” she breathes against my lips. “I tried to forget?—”

“Did it work?”

“No.” Her hands are already working at my buttons. “Did you think about me?”

“Every goddamn day.”

Her fingers find skin and I hiss. She's got small hands but they're everywhere—my chest, my shoulders, tracing the tattoos that wind up my arms.

She grabs my shirt and yanks. A button she left unchecked rips.

“Jesus, Lilly.”

I yank her T-shirt over her head, and fuck me… she’s in black lace. Tiny, wicked, see-through. The kind of bra that makes my mouth water and cock throb.

Definitely not a bra she wore for comfort.

“Had plans, did you?” I murmur, dragging my thumb along the lace.

“Maybe.” She's breathless, chest rising and falling rapidly. “Maybe I hoped you’d rip it off with your teeth.”

“Be careful what you wish for.”

I don’t reach for the clasp.

I dip my head, grip the center of that sinful lace in my teeth—and tear. The sound, the graze of my teeth, is enough to make her gasp.

I shed off the pitiful remains and cup her breasts, thumbs circling her nipples until they peak.

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