Page 8 of Mountain Daddy

He groans, low in his throat, and I feel iteverywhere.

The kiss deepens. One hand tangles in my hair. The other slides between my naked thighs, finding heat, arousal.

After what was definitely the best kiss of my life, he gently pulls back. Everything inside me is spiraling. I want more. I need more.

He pauses, brings his lips to mine. His voice is low. “Last chance. Say no, and I’ll stop.”

No isn’t even a word I remember. I am about to absolutely lose my mind over this man.

I look into his eyes and hiss, “Don’t you dare.”

And he growls.

The city disappears. The past disappears. Even my name might’ve disappeared.

All pretense is gone and nothing around us exists. Not the other skyscrapers, not my job, not his clearly sordid past. Just us.

Then he starts.

Slowly.

Unbuttoning my blouse like he’s unwrapping something sacred. He takes his time. His eyes stay locked on mine as the first button slips free. Then the second. The third. My breath catches on the fourth.

The blouse slipsdown my arms. His fingers trail over bare skin. His eyes glaze over my bra, a lacy little thing that barely covers my breasts, and he notices.

His mouth curves.“They match your panties.”

I trembleat the memory of what he saw, what led to this moment.

And then he kisses each pale mound, flicking a tongue over my barely-covered nipples one by one. His lips trail down my warm skin in soft kisses as he drops to his knees.

His hands glide over my hips, clutching my flesh as he licks me from my navel to the top of my pussy. Fuck yes. He tugs my thong, slow and smooth, like he’s savoring every inch it reveals. The fabric kisses the tops of my thighs, then slips lower, over my bare legs. He exhales like a man seeing daylight after years underground.

“You’re killing me,” he mutters.

I smirk. “Good.”

But that smugness doesn’t last long.

His thumbs trace the sensitive skin of my inner thighs. Every nerve in my body is alive in ways I didn’t know were possible.

He leans in, tongue landing for just a second on my sensitive folds. A taste? A promise? I pout as he stands again, every inch of his powerful body calling to me. And when he dips his head to my collarbone, sucks the skin and reaches behind me to unhook my bra, my body and my mind surrender.

I stand before him,as naked as he is, completely willing to be wrecked.

He doesn’t speak.He just stares.

And I feel it—every inch of his attention like a heat source, a current, a vow.

The way he stares burns into me, makes me aware of every inch of skin I own.

I try to cross my arms, half-nervous at the intensity of that gaze.

He stops me.

“Don’t hide from me,” he growls, pulling my arms down. “I like what I see.”

My breasts shudder with every exhale. The air feels electric. My skin grows warm under his stare. I should feel exposed. Instead, I feelworshipped.

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