Page 14 of Trouble with the Mountain Man
I turn to find him watching me with an intensity that makes my pulse race. The drive here has only heightened the tension between us, and now, alone in his space, there's nothing holding us back.
"Flint," I whisper, not sure what I'm asking for but knowing I need it.
He crosses to me in two strides, cupping my face in his calloused hands. "You sure about this?"
"More sure than I've been about anything in years."
The kiss that follows is nothing like our careful explorations before. This is hunger unleashed, need given permission to burn. His mouth is demanding against mine, his hands mapping the curves of my body through my clothes with a reverence that makes me tremble.
"Bedroom," I gasp when he breaks away to trail kisses down my throat.
"You don't have to ask twice."
He lifts me easily, carrying me down the hall to a room dominated by a massive bed built from the same rich wood as his dining table. Moonlight streams through the windows, painting everything in silver and shadow.
He sets me down gently, then reaches for the hem of my top. "Can I?"
I nod, raising my arms so he can pull it over my head. His breath catches when he sees me in just my bra and jeans, his eyes darkening with desire.
"God, you're perfect," he murmurs, hands skimming over my bare skin with a touch that sets me on fire.
I reach for his shirt, needing to feel him, to touch the body I've been admiring for weeks. He's even better without clothes—all hard muscle and warm skin, his chest rising and falling rapidly as I explore him with eager hands.
When we're both naked, he lays me back against the soft sheets, his body covering mine as he kisses me with a tenderness that makes my eyes sting with unshed tears.
"I've wanted this since the first day I saw you," he confesses, lips brushing against my ear. "Wanted to hold you, touch you, make you mine."
"I'm yours," I whisper back, meaning it completely. "Show me."
His hands and mouth worship every inch of my skin, finding sensitive spots I didn't know existed. When his lips close aroundmy nipple, I arch off the bed with a cry of pleasure that seems to drive him wild.
"So responsive," he growls against my breast. "So perfect for me."
His hand slides lower, fingers finding me wet and ready. I'm already trembling on the edge when he touches me there, circling and stroking until I'm gasping his name.
"Please," I beg, not caring how desperate I sound. "I need you."
He positions himself at my entrance, looking down at me with such love and desire that my heart feels like it might burst. "I love you, Maple. I need you to know that."
"I love you too," I breathe, pulling him down for another kiss.
He enters me slowly, carefully, giving me time to adjust to his size. The sensation of being filled by him, of being completely joined, is overwhelming in the best possible way.
"Okay?" he asks, voice strained with the effort of holding still.
"More than okay. Please."
He sets a rhythm that's both tender and demanding, each thrust hitting depths that make me see stars. I wrap my legs around his waist, meeting him movement for movement as pleasure builds between us like a storm gathering strength.
"So tight," he groans, face buried in my neck. "So good. Never felt anything like this."
Neither have I. Sex with Derek had been mechanical, perfunctory. This is transcendent, a connection that goes beyond physical to something deeper and more meaningful.
When Flint shifts the angle slightly, hitting a spot that makes me cry out in pure pleasure, I know I'm close. My inner muscles clench around him, and he responds by increasing his pace, driving us both toward the edge.
"Come for me," he demands, voice rough with desire. "Let me feel you."
The words push me over the cliff. My climax crashes through me in waves of sensation so intense I can barely breathe. I'm vaguely aware of calling his name, of my nails digging into his shoulders as pleasure consumes every nerve ending.
