Page 93 of Grumpy on the Mountain
Yes. Yes. I want that too.
"Do it," I whisper, the words tumbling out before I can think them through. "Fill me up, Beau. I want your babies."
Something breaks loose in his expression—relief and possession and pure masculine satisfaction—and suddenly he's fucking me with purpose, each thrust aimed at planting himself as deep as possible.
"That's my girl. I'm gonna fill you up," he groans against my ear, his rhythm becoming erratic as he chases his release. "Pump you full of my cum until it takes."
"Yes," I chant breathlessly, spreading my legs wider and gripping his muscular ass to pull him deeper. "Give me everything."
I feel his cock thickening inside me and when he comes, it's with a roar that probably echoes across the entire mountain, his body shuddering above me as he empties himself deep inside my pussy while whispering "mine, always mine" like some kind of vow to the world.
We collapse together in a tangle of sweat-slicked limbs and heavy breathing, and for a moment, the world feels perfect and safe and exactly like it should be.
But then reality creeps back in, and I catch sight of that mysterious package through the bedroom doorway, sitting on the kitchen counter like an ominous reminder that our perfect bubble might not be as secure as I thought.
I try to forget it and as I'm brushing my teeth in Beau's gorgeous master bathroom, I spot my car through the window, and my chest does this weird little flutter of conflicted emotions.
She looks absolutely stunning sitting in the morning sunlight—that deep blue paint job gleaming like automotive jewelry, chrome details sparkling, everything pristine and perfect and ready for mountain adventures.
My independence, beautifully restored.
The thought should make me purely happy, but instead, there's this weird melancholy mixed in.
Because as gorgeous as my car is, having it back means losing something precious. Those daily drives with Beau where we'd talk about everything and nothing while gorgeous mountain scenery rolled past his windows… those drives had become my favorite part of every day.
It was our time.
Just the two of us in his massive truck, his hand always somehow finding my thigh while he navigated winding roads, the comfortable silence punctuated by his dry observations about the town gossip or my excited chatter about work.
"I can practically hear you overthinking from here," Beau's voice carries from the bedroom, warm with amusement.
"I'm not overthinking," I call back, spitting out toothpaste. "I'm just... processing."
"Processing what?"
I pad back into the bedroom to find him pulling on dark jeans, the denim hugging his thighs. He's already wearing a tightly fitted shirt that showcases every ridge and plane of his magnificent chest, but there's tension in his shoulders that wasn't there during our morning worship session.
"The car," I admit, settling on the edge of the bed to watch him get dressed.
Because actually, as it turns out, watching Beau Callahan put on clothes is almost as entertaining as watching him take them off.
"Don't get me wrong, I'm grateful. It's gorgeous and I love that you did that for me. But..."
"But?" He pauses in the middle of buckling his belt.
I shrug, feeling silly for being melancholy about something that should be purely positive. Especially considering I left a life of being controlled and this should be exactly what I want. Freedom.
"Now I can drive myself to work like a normal independent woman."
His expression softens immediately, sensing how stupid I feel.
"Molly, just because you have your car back doesn't mean anything has to change. I can still drive you if you want."
"But you shouldn't have to. I'm a grown woman who can handle a twenty-minute drive to work."
"I know. But maybe I want to," he says simply. "Maybe I like those twenty minutes with you every morning and evening just as much as you do."
God, this man.
