Page 10 of Runaway for the Mountain Man
“You’ve got killer shampoo,” I explain in a haze. “Didn’t even need to worry about not conditioning it. Might have to think about exchanging mine out for that brand.”
A hum vibrates in my throat as my eyelids grow heavy. Pathetic. My guard’s in pieces, and all he’s done is pet me.
“It’s very long.” His words come slower now, careful. “Must be a hassle keeping up with it all.”
I shrug, the motion lazy. “I usually style it up. Hardly gets in the way. You should see it braided. Looks beautiful.”
“I believe you.” His reply is warm, certain. A quiet hum rumbles in his chest as he withdraws his hand, and the loss of contact is sharp enough to make my eyes flutter open.
His gaze meets mine. Unreadable. Close.
“Already satisfied?” I tease, though my voice lacks its usual edge. I can’t beg him to keep going, not without coming off as a little desperate.
A grunt. Noncommittal. Then, with deliberate ease, he shifts the balance between us. “Your turn. Ask away.”
My heart flutters in my chest as I consider what I want to ask next. Seeing as he’s gone off in a different direction, I consider doing the same.
So what if I come off as a little desperate? Needy.
Moving to sit up, I wet my lips as I try to find my words.
I’m not normally the nervous type. I’ve flirted with the camera, smoothly running lines I’d never say in person. Now that I am, my words want to come out shaky.
Turning toward him, I reach out close enough to brush his thigh. “Can I…”
I leave my question open and let his mind fill in the blank. All I need is—
“Yes,” he rasps, answering my question instantly.
Oh boy. Here we go.
4
Bentley
The weight of her body is too real, too alive to be just another fantasy.
Josie doesn’t just crawl onto my lap—she claims it, her thighs straddling mine like I’m hers to take. The heat of her sears through my clothes, her hips rolling in a slow, deliberate grind that turns my half-hard cock into pure, aching need.
Every shift of her body is a taunt, a whisper of what she could give me—what I could take.
My hands twitch at my sides, fingers digging into the couch to keep from grabbing her. But the restraint is torture.
The scent of her—warm skin and my bodywash—floods my senses, and the sound of her breath hitching as she settles deeper against me nearly snaps the last thread of my control.
Is it my turn now?
The next words out of my mouth won’t be a question. They’ll be a command. A growl. A demand that lets me finally drag myhands up her thighs, under the shirt she’s stolen, and find out just how wet she is for me.
Fuck. I need to touch her.
Her hands lift, and she carefully touches my bearded cheeks. Unlike my touches to her hair, she’s not touching my face to fill her curiosity. No, she’s staring at my mouth like she’s ready to extend what her question truly meant.
She’s growing more confident by the second. I feel the warmth of her breath teasing my lips, light as a whisper, yet it sends a shudder through my entire body.
I don’t have to beg—don’t even have to ask. My body answers before my mind can, lips parting, dragging in a sharp breath just as she closes the distance between us.
She’s kissing me—all tongue, all hunger. No hesitation. Her fingers slide into my hair, gripping tight, tilting my head back to take whatever she wants.
