Page 50 of Eco-Activist's Mountain Men
Toby throws up his hands, mock-offended. "Cross my heart, swear to die—I’m honestly sorry you got banged up again. Truly."
My glare softens—just a little.
"But it’s still funny as fuck," he adds.
"What? You little—" I grab a pillow and hurl it at him, but he ducks, laughing. Southpaw’s ears flatten. With a long-suffering sigh, the wolf leaps off the bed and stalks out of the room, every inch of him radiating offended dignity.
"Oh, I say—you’ve come all untucked." Toby leans closer, voice low and suggestive. "Want me to tuck you back in?"
"What the actual?—"
"Or shall I just join you? Clearly, you’ve got way too much energy for an invalid. What you need, Luna, is a course of Doctor Toby’s very special treatment for over-excitable young ladies."
He strips off his shirt in one smooth motion, whirls it twice above his head, then flings it into the corner. With the same flourish, he kicks the door shut behind him—all while flashing that patented grin that could sell sin.
Despite myself, I giggle.
His grin widens. "Room for two?"
I nod slowly, lifting the sheets to reveal my bare skin. Vulnerability flickers with the heat rising in me. Only Toby seems able to stir both at once—the thrill of excitement and the ache of being exposed.
The bed creaks under his weight as he climbs in beside me. His grin is wicked, but there’s something else behind it too—something softer that makes my chest tighten.
I’m already wet for him, aching. All I can think of is how good he felt inside me up on that hill, just days ago. The memory alone makes me shiver.
He kisses me—gentle at first, then deeper, hungrier. His tongue teases my lips open, sliding against mine, heat building with every stroke. For all his cocky swagger, there’s safety in his kiss, like he wants more than just my body.
His hands roam—broad palms over my shoulders, down my back, gripping my thighs. Each stroke is deliberate, teasing and claiming at the same time, like he’s committing me to memory.
He trails kisses along my neck, nibbling at my earlobe, breathing into my ear until sparks race through me. My back arches. A moan slips out before I can stop it. In that moment, I don’t just feel wanted—I feel seen.
He moves lower, mouth closing around one breast, then the other. His tongue flicks, circles, and sucks, drawing sharp gasps from me. My nipples harden under his mouth, and I clutch at hishair, digging my fingers into his scalp, shoulders, anywhere I can hold on. The pleasure is dizzying, yes—but there’s more. A part of me clings because I don’t want to let him go.
Lower still. His lips leave a hot trail down my belly, his tongue swirling in my navel, making me shiver. His hands grip my thighs firmly, spreading me wide, opening me like a flower.
And then—finally—his mouth finds the very center of me.
His tongue slides between my folds, flicking across my clit, slow and deliberate, then faster, coaxing her up, awake, standing tall in the heat of his attention.
He flicks, he sucks, he rolls, he licks—and all the while I’m groaning and bucking my hips against him. The sensation is too sharp, too sweet. Too much, yet never enough. And through it all, there’s this flood of trust—trusting Toby to take me apart and put me back together again.
My hands lock in his hair, pressing him into me, holding him there, urging him on until release crashes through me. An urgent gasp bursts out of me—half moan, half cry—as my hips jerk rigid, then shudder again and again in waves of aftershocks.
I’m still catching my breath, trembling, when I feel his lips on mine again—soft, teasing.
“More?” I whisper, already hungry for him again. Not just for pleasure, but for the closeness that comes with it.
But instead of sliding over me, he pauses. Mischief dances in his eyes.
“Actually… wait.”
I blink. “Wait?”
His grin tilts sly. “I’m expecting a visitor.”
Confusion flares. “What the hell are you talking about?”
A knock at the door. Tentative.
