Page 12 of The Mountain Man's Accidental Bride
No one’s lips have ever teased or tantalized me as much as hers have.
While I’m getting lost in the kiss, I barely acknowledge the way her hands touch my chest. Without the towel in the way, her touch burns through my shirt, and it’s like she’s touching me directly. If it weren’t for me not wanting to pull away, I would’ve pulled off my shirt so nothing could get in our way.
Losing count of the seconds passing by, her fingers curl around my shirt, and she just sits tight like she can’t decide if she wants to pull me closer or push me away.
If either of us were sane, we wouldn’t be kissing in the first place.
We finally part ways, but only barely. With only a few inches separating us, I taste my lips, savoring her sweetness. I didn’t know a person could taste so intoxicating.
Can she hear the way my heart is pounding in my chest? It’s not something I’m accustomed to experiencing. Sounds so loud, it’s deafening.
While I’m growing more addicted by the second, her breaths grow more ragged with nerves. Opening her eyes, her lashes brush her cheeks as she stares up at me with this sort of innocence that lodges a knot in my chest.
“I shouldn’t have done that.” Her breath tickles my lips as she’s yet to pull away despite her words.
She has a good point, but neither of us is in a rush to move away.
My thumb brushes her cheek, and the heat of her skin sears into me. I don’t pull away, can’t pull away, not when she’s looking at me like that, lips parted, eyes dark with the same want that’s been clawing at my ribs for the last few hours.
“Do you want to stop?” My voice is already wrecked, low and rough.
For a heartbeat, there’s nothing but the sound of our breathing, ragged and too loud in the space between us. Then she shakes her head, and I grow dizzy.
“No.”
A single word, but it unravels me.
“No?” It comes out more as a growl than a question.
She shakes her head, leaning into my touch like she can’t help it. “One more.”
One more.
I’ll be trying to fool myself if I try to believe one will be enough. Because the second my mouth crashes back onto hers, restraint shatters. I don’t stop at one—don’t even try. I lose count of the times we break apart, each separation shorter than thelast, just enough to gasp in air before I’m dragging her under again.
Her lips are so plump, yielding, but the way she kisses me back is anything but. It’s hunger, pure and desperate, and when my hands slide down from her face—over the curve of her throat, the dip of her waist—she arches into me with a moan that goes straight to my gut.
I swallow the sound, kissing her deeper, harder. My fingers dig into her hips, pulling her flush against me until there’s no space left, until I can feel every shuddering breath she takes. She fits against me like she was made to, like every other touch before this was just practice.
Even if I am a bit rusty at all this, I feel good enough at it to make this woman swoon.
By the time we pull apart, the air between us is thick. We just stare, breaths ragged, waiting for the other to move first. To speak. To do something. To explain why we did what we did.
A kiss might not mean anything to her. Maybe it was just the heat of the moment, the thrill of the night, the way the stars aligned just right to tempt us. Hell, I don’t know.
But I do know something with certainty. What’s burning in my chest isn’t fleeting. It’s not some passing hunger, easy to ignore. It’s deeper. Demanding. Now that I’ve had a taste, I’m not sure I can walk away unscathed.
A reckless thought takes root, wild and unshakable: I should steal Walton Green’s soon-to-be bride. Find a ring for her myself. Make her my wife and give her a reason and a place to stay on the mountain.
It’s insane. It’s undeniable, and it’s all because of one damn kiss.
I drag a hand down my face, half-laughing at myself, half-terrified. Who the hell am I right now? I’ve never wantedsomething like this—never craved something so fiercely it feels like a blade between my ribs.
She blinks up at me, watching me like I am some sort of show. Biting her lip, she slowly presses her palms down the front of my shirt to hide the wrinkles she’s created. Then she lets out a fleeting nervous laugh of her own.
“Sorry.” Mouth curving into an awkward smile, her eyes lower. “I’ve never done that before, actually. So, I probably sucked, huh?”
It takes a moment for her words to register, sounding like white noise. Once I realize she’s confessing to me outright stealing not just her first kiss, I’m left rocking back. The only thing around to catch me is the fireplace, but thankfully, I catch myself before I lose my balance.
