Page 11 of Mountain Man's Valentine
4
Cole
Her name echoesthrough my mind.
Valoria.
It’snotwhat I was expecting. Though, I didn’t know what to expect. I never imagined what her name could be. She doesn’tneeda name. There’s nothing she should be called except sweetness, love,my pretty.
But Valoria fits her. Itisher.
My Val.
Her face is like pure white silk. Her hair is like cornsilk blonde, pure and made bynature, no, by somethingsupernatural, from another world. And her eyes. They are infinite pools of light blue, flecked with gold and green. Supernatural.
And her lips. Red, cherry red, Valentine’s Day red. Pure red. They make my heart beat faster, they make my blood pump harder.
I want to kiss them, press my fingers between them and tease her, give her atasteof what she is going to feel between her lips, between her thighs.
She is so innocent but with so much confidence. She looks like she doesn’t need a man. She is out here on her own.
On the most romantic day of the year, she chose to come out here alone. Alone in a crowd of rowdy young idiot guys, alone in a group.
She stuck out like a sore fucking thumb. There was a target on her back.
But it’s not her fault. She is too innocent to think anyone could do harm to her.
And they won’t.
Not now that I have her.
I reach down and grasp her wrist firmly, but softly. Her sweet lips part and her eyebrows knit in the middle as she gasps, her eyes flying up to mine.
“Did I hurt you, sweetness?” I ask, pulling my hand away and taking both of her mittened hands in mine.
“No,” she breathes, “I just...I wasn’t expecting that.”
I need to control myself, because I need to be gentle with her. But she makes me feel like a fucking savage; I want to take herright fucking now, and I wouldn’t feel cold for a second. All I would feel is here; all there would be is her.
But I don’t want to hurt her for asecond.
I am hard as a steel rod. I picture myself telling her -commanding her- to get down on her knees and open up her sweet little mouth for me, to take me all the way, to taste me.
She isn’t hurt. When I look down at her, it is clear. I can’t hurt her.
She wants me. Her eyes say it, her lips say it. I can sense her desire in the air around us. She iswetfor me, and my touch merely confirmed what she already knew.
I can’t get her back to my home fast enough. I should pick her up and carry her along the trail up to my house, along the path cut through the trees.
I should throw her over my fucking shoulder and smack her on the ass, tell her she has been a very bad girl and she shouldn’t have been on my property, shouldn’t have been out all alone on Valentine’s Day.
I should never have seen her on those fucking security monitors. I should have had her in my bed with my face buried between her legs, consuming every part of her, making every inch of her perfect skin prickle beneath the touch of my hands, my lips, my kiss.
She should already be my Val.
But we continue on, silently, the desire and want in the air between us thick and heavy and undeniable, and the snow falls between us and brightens up the space between us.
If I were a romantic, it’d be the most romantic moment of my life.
