Page 17 of Pretending with the Mountain Man
A growl rumbles through his chest. "Not here. Not like this."
"Where? When?" I'm almost embarrassed by the eagerness in my voice.
Malik checks his watch. "Our team has secured the cabin. We can return there now."
The drive back feels endless, tension building with every mile. Malik keeps one hand on the wheel, the other resting on my thigh, his thumb tracing small circles that send sparks through my body. We don't speak much, both aware of what awaits us.
When we finally reach thecabin, he circles the property once before parking, security instincts still engaged despite his obvious desire. Inside, he locks the door and activates the security system before turning to me.
The air crackles with anticipation. My hands shake slightly as I set down my purse.
"Come here," he says softly, and I move toward him on unsteady legs.
His hands frame my face, thumbs brushing my cheeks. "We need to talk before anything happens."
"We talked last night." My voice comes out breathier than intended.
"We talked about your past. Now we need to talk about right now." He guides me to the couch, sitting beside me butmaintaining a few inches of space. "You've never done this before. That means we do this on your terms, at your pace."
"What if I want your terms? Your pace?" The boldness surprises even me.
His eyes darken. "Babygirl, my terms and pace aren't appropriate for someone's first time. We build up to that. Today is about you learning what your body likes, what feels good, what doesn't."
"Okay." I nod, trying to calm my racing heart. "So what happens?"
"Whatever you want to happen. We can kiss and explore. We can stop there if that's all you're ready for." His hand finds mine, fingers intertwining. "We can go further if you want, but you need to know you can say stop at any point. No questions asked. No judgment. No disappointment."
"I want to go further." The admission comes easier than expected. "I want you to be my first, Malik. I'm sure about that."
He studies my face, searching for doubt or hesitation. "Why me? Why now?"
"Because you make me feel safe." I turn to face him fully. "Because I've spent twenty-six years waiting for someone who made me want this. Because when I go to bed at night, you’re who I see in my fantasies."
His breath catches. "Melody."
"I know I'm inexperienced," I continue, needing him to understand. "I know I might not be good at this or know what to do. But I trust you to teach me. To show me."
"There's no 'good' or 'bad' at sex," he says firmly. "There's just communication and honesty about what feels right." He brings my hand to his lips. "And for the record, your inexperience isn't a flaw. It's a gift you're choosing to share with me."
Tears prick my eyes at the reverence in his voice. "So you'll... we can...?"
"Yes." He stands, pulling me up with him. "But slow. Gentle. With lots of checking in. This is about your pleasure, your comfort, your discovery. Understood?"
"Understood."
He leads me to the bedroom, and I'm suddenly aware of every detail. The way afternoon light filters through the curtains. The scent of cedar and something distinctly Malik that clings to everything. The softness of the rug beneath my feet as he positions me near the bed.
"Tell me if anything feels wrong," he murmurs, hands settling on my waist. "Too fast, too much, uncomfortable. Anything."
I nod, words stuck in my throat as he slowly begins unbuttoning my blouse. His movements are deliberate, giving me time to object or retreat. When the fabric parts, his eyes travel over me with an intensity that makes heat pool low in my belly.
"Beautiful," he says simply, sliding the blouse off my shoulders.
My hands move to his shirt, fumbling with buttons until he covers them with his own.
"Let me," he says gently, removing his shirt in one fluid motion.
I've seen him shirtless before, but this feels different. More intimate. His chest is broad, muscled, marked with scars that tell stories he rarely shares. I reach out tentatively, fingers tracing the lines of old wounds.
