Page 9 of Craving the Mountain Man
She's naked, padding around my kitchen like she's lived here for years instead of two days. She's sipping coffee from my favorite mug, like she didn't just let me bend her over the kitchen counter and ruin my ability to think straight.
Fuck. I can't stop watching her.
I can't stop thinking about how she felt wrapped around me, so tight and perfect it nearly broke me in half. How she sounded when she came apart in my arms, breathless and beautiful and completely mine for those precious moments.
How she fucking tasted.
I have to grip the doorframe to steady myself. Three years of celibacy and of telling myself I didn't need this, and two days with Cassidy has reduced me to a man who can't control his own body.
Cassidy glances up from her mug, catches me staring, and laughs.
"You always scowl after sex?" she asks lightly, taking another sip as she reaches for my flannel shirt to slip on.
"It's not the sex," I mutter, running a hand through my hair.
"It's the 'she's my best friend's baby sister' guilt, huh?"
Yeah, it's that. It's the weight of betraying Dylan's trust, of crossing a line I swore I'd never cross. It's the knowledge that if he finds out, it'll destroy a friendship that's lasted fifteen years.
And it's also the fact that I'm already hard again just watching her lick coffee off her bottom lip.
"You were growling my name thirty minutes ago," she teases, walking past me with a little extra sway in her hips and my hands clench involuntarily. "Now you're brooding."
"I'm not brooding."
"You're brooding and avoiding eye contact," she calls over her shoulder. "Classic post-orgasm retreat."
The casual way she says it, like she's discussing the weather, makes me want to laugh despite everything. Or maybe throw her over my shoulder and carry her back to bed.
I run a hand through my hair, still standing in the doorway like an idiot. "Jesus, you're a menace."
"You say that like it's a bad thing."
She disappears into the bathroom, and I sink onto the couch, scrubbing my hands over my face. The leather is cool against my skin, grounding me in reality. My jeans are still undone, a reminder of how quickly I lost control.
My body's already buzzing like it didn't just get what it needed. Like it wants more.
This was supposed to be simple. One week of allowing Cass to gather her thoughts, not a moment of weakness, a mistake.
Except it wasn't a mistake. Not even close.
It was the best goddamn thing I've had in years. Maybe ever.
The way she responded to me, and the way she looked at me afterward, eyes bright and satisfied and completely unashamed.The way she fits against me, like all the broken pieces of my life suddenly make sense.
And now she's in my space. My home. My head.
And she's staying.
For four more days.
She emerges ten minutes later, hair damp from washing her face, skin glowing, and wearing a smug little smile. She has put my flannel shirt on, and it's loose around her collar, giving me glimpses of smooth skin and the shadow between her breasts.
I stand.
Because sitting here pretending I'm not about to lose control again isn't working as every second I spend looking at her in my shirt is another nail in the coffin of my self-control.
"Cass," I say, stepping in front of her before she can settle back onto the couch. "What are we doing here?"
