Page 23 of Wrong Number, Right Mountain Man
“It has its charms.” His voice catches as my hand brushes the waistband of his jeans. “Present company included.”
My boldness grows with every reaction I draw from him. “You know, I’ve been thinking about more than just your hands.”
“Tell me.” The command in his voice makes heat pool between my thighs.
“Your mouth.” I trace his lips with my thumb. “Wondering what it would feel like... everywhere.”
His eyes darken. “Everywhere?”
“Everywhere.” The word emerges breathless.
He captures my mouth in a kiss that leaves me dizzy, his tongue tangling with mine in a preview of what’s coming. Then his lips move lower, trailing fire down my neck, across my collarbone, until they close around my nipple.
The sensation tears a gasp from my throat. My back arches off the bed, pressing more firmly into his mouth as his tongue works magic against sensitive skin. His hand finds my other breast, fingers rolling and teasing until I’m writhing beneath him.
“Beck,” I moan, my hands fisting in his hair.
He looks up, his mouth still wrapped around my breast, and the sight nearly undoes me. “Problem?” he asks, releasing me with a pop that makes me shiver.
“The only problem is you’re wearing too many clothes.” My hands fumble with his belt buckle. “And you’re too far away.”
He chuckles, the sound vibrating against my skin. “Impatient, aren’t we?”
“I’ve been patient for six weeks,” I remind him, working the belt free. “My patience has officially expired.”
His hands catch mine, pinning them above my head. “Slow down, sunshine. We’ve got all day.”
“Easy for you to say.” I arch beneath him, seeking friction where I need it most. “You’re not the one being tortured.”
“No?” He presses his hips against mine, the hard length of him evident through his jeans. “What do you call this?”
“Foreplay?” I suggest innocently.
His bark of laughter fills the room. “You’re going to be the death of me.”
“But what a way to go.” I wink, and his expression softens into something that makes my heart flip.
He releases my hands to slide the flannel shirt from my shoulders, leaving me in nothing but the borrowed sweatpants riding low on my hips. His gaze travels over me like a physical caress.
“I can’t believe you’re here,” he murmurs, tracing the curve of my waist. “That this is real.”
The vulnerability in his voice catches me off guard, reminding me that this mountain man who seems so solid has his own insecurities. I reach up to cup his face.
“Very real.” I guide his hand to my racing heart. “Feel that? That’s what you do to me.”
Something shifts in his expression, intensity replacing playfulness. His mouth claims mine again as his hand slides lower, dipping beneath the waistband of the sweatpants. When his fingers find the wetness waiting there, we both groan.
“Christ, Sunny.” His forehead presses against mine. “You’re soaked.”
“Told you I’ve been thinking about your hands.” My hips rock against his touch, seeking more pressure, more friction.
His fingers explore with maddening patience, circling where I need him most without providing direct contact. I squirm beneath him, trying to guide him where I want.
“Beck,” I whimper as he continues his torturous exploration. “Please.”
“Please what?” The teasing glint in his eyes makes me want to kiss him and slap him simultaneously. “Use your words, sunshine. Tell me what you need.”
Two can play this game. I press my lips to his ear, whispering exactly what I want him to do in explicit detail. His fingers falter in their rhythm, and I know I’ve shocked him.
