Page 6 of Craving the Mountain Man
Thirty seconds with Cassidy Monroe and all of that self-discipline is crumbling.
I should stay up here and wait until she leaves for a hike or goes into town for supplies. Maybe put some distance between us until I can think straight again.
Instead, I'm pulling on jeans and heading for the stairs.
***
I come down the stairs slow, like maybe if I take my time, I'll talk myself out of whatever's about to happen. Like maybe I'll remember all the reasons this is a bad idea.
I don't.
The morning light streaming through the kitchen windows catches the dust motes dancing in the air, turns everything golden and soft. It should be peaceful, after all it’s just another quiet morning in the mountains.
Except, there's nothing peaceful about the way my heart is hammering against my ribs.
I turn the corner, and there she is.
Hair messy from sleep, shirt hanging off one shoulder, exposing the delicate line of her collarbone. Those long, soft legs and the shape of her ass teasing me as she leans over the counter pouring coffee.
She's humming that melody again, completely unconscious of the picture she makes. Or maybe not so unconscious. Maybe she knows exactly what she's doing to me.
It's not even fair.
She glances over her shoulder like she feels me watching, and when our eyes meet, there's a spark there.
"Mornin'," she says, all casual, like she's not standing in my kitchen half-naked, and that she didn't tell me last night that she wanted me.
I don't say a word.
I just move.
Her lips part in shock as I kiss her.
Hard.
Hot.
Full of everything I’ve been holding back.
She gasps into my mouth, and then she melts. Fucking melts. Her hands fist in my shirt, her body arches, and she moans, and I swear it’s the sweetest fucking sound I’ve ever heard.
I deepen the kiss, tug her closer and press her back against the kitchen bench until there’s nowhere left for her to go. Her thighspart instinctively, her hips rocking forward like she’s already imagining what comes next.
“Jesus, Cass,” I rasp against her lips.
She whimpers, dragging her nails down my chest.
And that’s it. That’s the moment I break.
I kiss her again, deeper, hungrier, and she matches me stroke for stroke. Tongue to tongue. I pull her shirt up and feel warm, bare skin. My hand spans her waist, fingers brushing the swell of her hip.
She’s soft. So fucking soft. And warm. And perfect.
I nip her bottom lip and she whimpers. “I want you like I’ve never wanted anything.”
Her eyes are dark and wild.
I drag my knuckles down the side of her thigh, feel her shiver.
