Page 17 of The Forbidden Mountain Man Lumberjack
He begins slowly, with gentle rocking motions that gradually deepen, his eyes never leaving mine. What started as discomfort transforms into pleasure that builds with each careful thrust, each whispered word of praise.
"You feel incredible," he tells me, voice strained. "So perfect, so tight around me."
His words are as arousing as his movements, stoking the fire building inside me once more. When he shifts slightly, changing the angle of his thrusts, pleasure sparks sharp and bright, making me cry out.
"There?" he asks, repeating the movement.
"Yes," I gasp, clutching at him. "Right there."
He maintains the rhythm, one large hand sliding between us to touch me where we're joined, adding another layer of sensation that has me spiraling toward release once more.
"Come for me again," he urges, his voice a rough command. "Want to feel you come around me."
His words, combined with the dual stimulation, push me over the edge. I shatter beneath him, pleasure more intense than before crashing through me in waves. He follows moments later, my name a broken sound on his lips as he buries his face against my neck.
Afterward, we lie tangled together, his weight partially supported on his forearms, his forehead pressed to mine as our breathing gradually slows. The connection between us feels monumental, transcending the physical act we've just shared.
When he finally eases away, it's only to gather me close against his side, my head pillowed on his chest where I can hear the strong, steady beat of his heart.
"You okay?" he asks, pressing a kiss to the top of my head.
I nod, too overwhelmed for words at first. When I finally find my voice, it's soft with wonder. "That was... everything."
His arms tighten around me. "You're everything," he murmurs into my hair, the words so quiet I almost miss them.
But I hear them, and they settle deep in my chest, taking root in places I didn't know were empty until he started to fill them.
"I didn't expect this," he confesses after a while, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on my bare shoulder. "Any of it."
"Neither did I." I press a kiss to his chest, right over his heart. "But I'm so glad it happened."
"No regrets?" he asks, and there's a vulnerability in the question that makes my heart ache.
"None," I assure him, raising my head to meet his gaze. "You?"
His answer is a kiss, deep and thorough, that leaves no room for doubt. "Only that we didn't do this sooner."
I laugh softly against his lips. "I think the timing was perfect."
We drift to sleep tangled together, his larger body curled protectively around mine, my head tucked beneath his chin as if we were designed to fit together this way.
Morning comes with golden light filtering through the curtains, warming my face and gently pulling me from the deepest sleep I've had in months. I become aware of sensations one by one: the pleasant ache between my thighs, the weight of Wyatt's arm draped possessively across my waist, the steady sound of his breathing beside me.
I turn carefully in the circle of his arm to look at him, vulnerable in sleep in a way he never allows himself to be awake. His dark hair is mussed from my fingers, his beard slightly untamed. The hard lines of his face are softened, years falling away from him.
Last night rushes back in vivid detail—his gentleness, his patience, the way he'd made me feel both cherished and desired. How he'd whispered praise and encouragement, guiding me through each new sensation, putting my pleasure before his own. How completely I'd surrendered to him, and he to me.
Part of me wants to reach out and trace the contours of his face, to wake him with soft touches and reclaim the passion ofthe night. The other part—the rational, professional part that seems increasingly distant—whispers that I've made a terrible mistake.
He's my client. He's twenty-one years older than me. He represents everything I'm supposed to be changing.
And yet lying here, watching the rise and fall of his chest, I can't bring myself to regret what happened between us.
His eyes open, those pine-shadow depths finding mine immediately, as if even in sleep he was aware of my presence.
"Morning," he says, voice rough with sleep.
"Morning." My reply comes out softer than intended.
