Page 54 of Wrecked on the Mountain
Jamie stands, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, eyes dark and hooded.
“You haven’t seen anything yet,” he says, voice low and wrecked. “Now stay there. Keep bending over for me, sweetheart. I’m not even close to done.”
Jamie rises behind me, his body a wall of heat and muscle, and I can hear the sound of his belt unfastening.
“You sure you can take this, Doc?” he murmurs against my shoulder, his voice already wrecked with lust. “Because I’ve been holding back.”
I turn my head, breath still ragged from his mouth on me, and meet his gaze. Those glacier-blue eyes are now storm-dark with hunger.
He looks feral. Unleashed.
“I don’t need you to hold back,” I whisper, and my voice is a dare. “Not with me.”
His growl is low, dangerous, and then he steps back just enough for me to feel the absence of his heat. I glance down and what I see steals the breath from my lungs.
Jamie’s hand is wrapped around his cock, and fuck, he’shuge.
Thick. Veined. Heavy in his palm.
His shaft is flushed dark reddish-purple, glistening at the tip where he’s already smeared himself with my arousal. And the way he strokes himself is hypnotic. Like he’s showing me exactly what he plans to give me, inch by merciless inch.
My pussy clenches around nothing, aching with want.
And he sees it all. Sees the way my thighs shift, the slick glistening between them, the way I press my hips back like I’m already begging for him.
“You want it,” he says, voice rasping as his fist slides from base to tip. “You want every inch of this cock buried deep in your tight little cunt.”
I nod, dizzy with how badly I want it—wanthim.
His grin feral and wicked, and he steps closer. The swollen head of his cock brushes between my folds, but he doesn’t push in. Not yet.
Just teases, dragging it through my slick, letting it catch on my clit until I whimper.
"Been dreaming about this," he mutters, lining himself up, his voice a gravelly rumble that vibrates through my bones. "Been thinking about it every goddamn night since you rolled into town with your city attitude."
The tattoo on his forearm flexes as he positions himself, the ink shifting with each subtle movement of tense muscle.
"Yes. Please," I breathe, arching my back, offering myself completely, pride abandoned in the wake of raw need. "Jamie, I need you. Now."
And then—finally—he thrusts forward.
One slow, relentless push that has my nails digging into the desk, my body stretching around him, taking him in. Inch after devastating inch until he’s seated fully inside me, thick and deep and impossibly hard.
“Fuck,” he groans, grinding his hips against mine. “So fucking tight, Doc. Like heaven dipped in filth.”
His grip on my hips tightens, fingers digging into my skin like he’s anchoring himself. Holding me in place like he might explode if he moves.
Then slowly, his hips start to move. Slow at first, like he’s savoring the way I stretch around him. Each inch he withdraws feels like a tease, each thrust back in like a claim.
The desk creaks beneath our weight, my palms braced flat against the surface, hair falling into my face as he drives into me, thick and perfect and unrelenting.
My breath punches out with every thrust. He’s so deep. So full. Each stroke hits something electric inside me, something I didn’t even know I had.
“God—Jamie—”
He leans over me, chest pressed to my back, his breath hot at my ear. “Feel how deep I am? That’s where I’m going to stay.”
One hand slides up, palm flattening between my shoulder blades, pinning me down like I’m his to take. And I am. In this moment, Iam.
