Page 7 of Mountain Man's Valentine
But this is just a fuckingfantasy. It is fleeting. We will never meet, and even though my cock is hard as a fucking diamond when I see her curves move, hidden just beneath her big white coat, I won’t take my cock out and stroke myself, no matter how much I want to. I wouldn’t takeadvantageof her like that. She doesn’t know I’m watching her. She doesn’t know how much I want her.
And she will never know.
She can’t. Because I won’t leave my tower in the sky. I’ve closed myself off in here, kept myself away from companionship, from the touch of a woman. From love.
If I were to take my cock out and stroke myself thinking of her, she wouldknowit. I’d have to let her know. I’d have to make her see what she does to me. The fire she ignites inside me, the desire and the want. Things I haven’t felt in so long.
My heart rages inside my chest, the blood inside my headpoundingthrough my head, inside my ears.
My girl looks lost. I know the service out here is bad. She won’t get a wifi signal from my house; I have that shit locked down so even the best hackers can’t get through my network.
She pulls out her phone. She looks down at it and then peers around her, checking the landscape. The sun is setting. I could go out there and tell herexactlywhere to go, but I stop myself. She can do this on her own.
My girl may have a map on her phone, or a compass. She draws up her shoulders and starts walking again, bracing herself on the icy ground with a hand against a tree.
My system doesn’t have audio, just video. But I can sense she hears something. She looks behind her. I see another figure come into her field of vision as he appears on the monitor in front of me.
He crowds her. He fills up too much space on my screen. He walks toward her and I have to tamp down the beginning of anger that I feel in my chest.
Because he’s a good samaritan. I wanted to help her, but I fucking chose not to. That’s my own damn fault.
They exchange a few words, and I’m about to get up and get the hell out of my office.
But I watch her for just a moment more. She begins to follow him down some rocky terrain, finding her balance, gaining her composure. My girl is hesitating, though. She is unsure of what she is doing.
Herinstinctskick in. She follows him, but her smile has melted into a cautious expression, her eyes narrowed and suspicious and the corners of her beautiful mouth pulled tight into a thin line.
And thenmyfucking instincts kick in. Animalistic, and coursing through my veins, and pummeling me in the damn heart. It’s a protective instinct and it’s overpowering. And it’s triggered byhim. The shithead leading my girl down a narrow, snowy path. She doesn’t know where she is. She doesn’t know what he is.
Because he isn’t leading her down that path anymore. He is walking toward her. He is looking down at her.
And I can feel the energy coming off of him. From a quarter mile away, through the closed circuit monitors. I can smell her fear. I can feel the danger.
I push away from my desk and barrel out of my office, rage seething through me.
She’s in danger.
And she’smine.
