Page 20 of Found By the Mountain Man
"You do," she screams, her back arching off the bed. "You own me, Connor. All of me. I'm yours forever."
"That's right," I grunt, feeling my climax building.
"I'm going to come," she warns, her inner walls starting to flutter around my cock.
"Come for me," I command, pinching her clit as I drive deep. "Come all over my cock like the good girl you are."
She explodes beneath me with a scream that's pure pleasure, her pussy clenching around me so tight I nearly faint from the pleasure. The sensation pushes me over the edge, and I bury myself deep as I fill her with my cum.
"Take it all," I groan against her neck. "Take every drop of my cum. You're mine now."
We collapse together, breathing hard, our bodies still joined. I've never felt anything like this—this sense of complete possession and belonging.
I pull her up for another kiss, tasting forever on her lips. "I love you, Mavis Aldana."
"I love you too, Connor Hayes. Now and always."
Outside, the storm rages on, but we don't care. We have everything we need right here—each other, and all the time in the world to build something beautiful together.
When morning comes, we'll start planning our future. Tonight, we have love and promises and the rest of our lives stretching out before us like an unbroken trail through pristine snow.
It's more than enough. It's everything.
Mavis
One and a Half Years Later...
Istretchlazilyinbed, reaching across to find Connor's side empty but still warm. Through the open window, I can hear the sound of his axe splitting wood, the steady rhythm that's become the soundtrack to our mornings.
Our mornings. Our bedroom. Our life.
Even after eighteen months, sometimes I still can't believe this is real.
I slip out of bed and pad to the window, wrapping Connor's discarded flannel shirt around myself. Outside, my husband is working his way through a pile of logs, his movements efficient and powerful despite the early hour. Even after all this time, watching him work still makes my heart skip.
The cabin has changed since I moved in permanently over a year ago. What was once sparse and purely functional now shows signs of a life shared. My photography equipment occupies one corner of the main room, organized on shelves Connor built specifically for my cameras and lenses. Bookson environmental science sit next to his survival manuals. My grandmother's quilt drapes over the back of the couch where Connor proposed to me on a snowy February morning.
"Marry me," he'd said, no ring, no grand gesture, just honesty in those winter-blue eyes. "Marry me because I love you and I want to wake up next to you for the rest of my life."
I'd said yes before he finished the sentence.
My laptop chimes with an email notification, and I move to check it, hoping it's the response I've been waiting for. It is—and it's even better than I expected.
Mavis,
The "Living Glaciers" series is extraordinary. National Geographic wants to discuss a feature story, potentially with a book deal to follow. The way you've captured both the beauty and the fragility of these ecosystems is exactly what we need right now—truth without despair, urgency without hopelessness.
Can we schedule a call this week?
I reread the email three times, my heart pounding with excitement. The "Living Glaciers" project has been my focus for the past eight months—documenting the changing ice fields of the Rockies through all four seasons, showing both their breathtaking beauty and the subtle signs of change that most people miss.
It's the work I was meant to do. The work my grandmother would be proud of.
The front door opens, and Connor steps inside, bringing the scent of pine and summer air with him. His eyes find mine immediately, the way they always do, and his expression shifts from casual to concerned when he sees my face.
"What's wrong?" he asks, crossing to me in three long strides.
"Nothing's wrong," I say, unable to keep the grin off my face. "Everything's right. Everything's perfect."
