Page 14 of Enticed by the Mountain Man
When he finally pulls back, both of us are breathing hard, our skin flushed. His forehead rests against mine.
“Tonight,” he says. “I’m going to make you mine.”
“Do we have to wait?” I ask.
“Yes, we’re going to do this right. I’m not taking you for the first time standing up in my dusty workshop. We’ll have dinner, without wine, and then see where that leads us.”
“Okay,” I whisper as I kiss him one more time. I wouldn’t mind him taking me here, right now, but hopefully, we would make it there in the future.
Chapter six
Graham
The house is quiet when she walks into my room. No knock, no hesitation, just Maeve, barefoot and flushed, framed in the dim light from the hallway. She’s wearing one of my shirts again, an old, worn-out T-shirt that looks a hundred times better on her than it ever looked on me.
I motion for her to come to bed. Once she slides between the covers, I reach for her. My thumb traces the corner of her mouth, then lower, down her throat, where her pulse flutters. She leans into it, the tiniest sound slipping out, and my restraint starts to fray.
“You know what this means,” I murmur.
“Yes.”
“You know what I’ll want.”
“I know what I want too.”
My hand finds her waist, my fingers splaying over the soft curve there. I can feel the tremor in her breath.
When I kiss her, she exhales against my mouth, a sound that’s half relief, half hunger. She presses closer, hands sliding up my chest, exploring me like she’s been waiting years to do it.
I should slow down. Instead, I kiss her harder, deeper, until we’re both breathless. She tastes like wine and nerves and something that feels too much like forever.
Her fingers curl in the back of my shirt. I pull her closer, my hand sliding up her spine. She arches against me, soft and warm, and I swear I feel her heart racing in time with mine.
“Tell me if we’re moving too fast,” I whisper against her lips.
“We’re not,” she says. “I just want to be with you.”
I don’t think she realizes how much that undoes me.
I trail my mouth along her jaw, down her neck. Her skin is hot beneath my lips, her body trembling under my hands. Every time she exhales, it sounds like my name.
When I pull back, her eyes are glassy and wide. “You’re sure?”
She nods, breathless. “I’ve never been more sure of anything.”
The confession lands between us like a promise. I kiss her again, slower this time, letting her feel what words can’t say. My hands roam her sides, my thumbs brushing along her ribs, careful and reverent.
I pull her shirt over her head. She’s all soft skin and nervous energy, a mix of innocence and trust that nearly drops me to my knees.
“You’re beautiful,” I say, barely able to get the words out.
Her smile is shaky. “You’re just saying that.”
I shake my head. “No, Maeve. I mean it.”
I kiss her shoulder, then her collarbone, lingering over the slight shiver that moves through her. Every inch of her is warm beneath my hands.
She traces my jaw, her touch light. “You’re shaking,” she says softly.
