Page 8 of Sugar-Shacked with the Mountain Man
"Beautiful," he murmurs, his palms skimming over my ribs, cupping the soft weight of my breasts.
I arch into his touch, gasping when his thumbs brush over my nipples. "Kane, please."
"Please what?"
"Touch me. Everywhere. I need to feel your hands on me."
He's happy to oblige, mapping every inch of exposed skin with his calloused palms while I work at the buttons of his shirt. When I push the flannel off his shoulders, revealing broad chest and defined abs, it's my turn to stare.
"God, you're beautiful," I breathe, my hands exploring the hard planes of his torso.
"Men aren't beautiful," he says, but his voice is rough with pleasure.
"You are. You're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen."
I lean down to press kisses across his collarbone, tasting salt and something uniquely him. He groans, his hands tightening in my hair.
"Sophie, if you keep doing that, I'm going to lose what's left of my control."
"Good," I murmur against his skin. "I don't want you controlled. I want you wild."
His restraint snaps. In one fluid motion, he flips us so I'm on my back beneath him, his weight pressing me into the mattress. The sensation of skin against skin is almost overwhelming.
"Wild?" he asks, his voice dark with promise. "I can do wild."
He proves it by kissing his way down my throat, across my collarbone, lower. When he takes one nipple into his mouth, I cry out, my back arching off the bed.
"That feels incredible," I gasp, my hands tangling in his hair.
He lavishes attention on first one breast, then the other, using his tongue and teeth to drive me to the edge of madness. By the time he works the oversized pants down my legs, I'm trembling with need.
"So responsive," he murmurs, pressing kisses to my hip, my thigh, everywhere except where I need him most.
"Kane, please," I beg, beyond caring how desperate I sound.
"What do you need?"
"You. All of you. I need you inside me."
He looks up at me with eyes so dark they're almost black. "Not yet. First, I want to taste you."
Before I can respond, he settles between my thighs and puts his mouth on me.
I cry out at the first touch of his tongue, my hands flying to grip the quilt beneath me. He's thorough and relentless, alternating between broad strokes and focused attention on my clit until I'm writhing beneath him.
"Kane," I gasp, feeling my climax building. "I'm going to—"
"Let go," he commands against my flesh. "Come for me, Sophie."
I shatter with a scream, my body convulsing as waves of pleasure crash over me. He doesn't stop, working me through the aftershocks until I'm boneless and trembling.
When he finally lifts his head, his lips are glistening, and the sight is so erotic I feel fresh heat pooling between my thighs.
"My turn," I say, reaching for his belt.
He catches my hands. "Sophie, you don't have to—"
"I want to," I interrupt, sitting up to work at his jeans. "I want to taste you the way you tasted me."
