Page 29 of Mountain Daddy

“More,” I whisper. I crave. I yearn.

He knows. He always knows.

His hands grip the hem of my shirt, yanking it over my head. My bra follows, torn apart in his haste.

“I need to see you,” he says in a voice to hoarse it gets me going. “All of you.”

He backs me toward the bedroom, mouth never leaving mine. We stumble through the doorway, a tangle of desperate hands and urgent kisses.

The back of my knees hit the bed. He pushes me down onto it.

He stands over me. Lets his eyes rake down my body. Burns an image into his brain.

“So fucking beautiful,” he murmurs.

His hands go to his belt. When it hits the floor, my legs clench with anticipation.

Pants.

Boxers.

All off.

He's gloriously naked, standing at the foot of my bed. A dark god of sex.

“Lift your hips.”

I obey.

He hooks his fingers in my panties, dragging them down my legs. I shiver.

“Spread your legs for me.”

I spread.

My brain shuts down completely, leaving only instinct and need. I'm not a rational woman. I'm just his. Completely, utterly his.

He climbs into bed, settles between my thighs. His hands slide up my legs, thumbs brushing dangerously close to where I need him most.

“Tell me you want this,” he demands. “Tell me you want me.”

“I want you,” I breathe. “Please, Nikolai. I want you.”

One finger slides inside me.

Then two.

I arch off the bed, crying out at the sudden fullness. He pumps them slowly, curling against that spot that makes me see stars.

“So wet,” he groans. “So perfect. My perfect girl.”

“Mm-hmm,” I moan and throw back my head.

His.

God,yes.

Right now, I’m not the girl who plays it safe.

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