Page 29 of Haunting the Mountain Man
“Please,” I whimper.
He rolls me onto my back, settling between my thighs, his cock thick and hot against me. He holds my gaze, voice rough.
“You ready for more, pretty girl?”
“Yes,” I breathe. “Always.”
He pushes into me slow this time, deliberate, stretching me until I’m clinging to him, whimpering against his mouth. Every inch feels like a vow all over again.
And as he moves, I realize this is what forever feels like.
“God, you feel good,” he rasps against my lips.
His weight pins me perfectly to the mattress, grounding me. I wrap my legs around his waist, arching up to take him deeper.His thrusts are unhurried, purposeful, like he wants to carve himself into me. Mold my body to his.
I clutch at his shoulders. He doesn’t flinch as my nails sink into his skin.
“You’re, ah, you’re going slow on purpose.”
He smiles against my neck, nipping gently.
“Want to feel all of you. Want you to remember this.”
Like I could forget.
He braces his weight on one forearm, the other hand sliding down to my thigh, guiding me to open for him. My body answers his, slick and needy, pleasure curling hot and low until I’m trembling under him.
“Daddy,” I whisper, the word slipping out before I can stop it.
He groans, thrusts harder once, just to make me cry out, then goes back to that maddening pace.
“That’s my girl,” he moans. “My wife.”
The words hit me harder than his body does.My wife.A title, a promise, a claim.
My eyes sting, heat spilling over into something softer, deeper.
“Cole…”
He lifts his head, dark eyes locking on mine. The intensity there nearly sends me over the edge.
“Say it, pretty girl. Tell me I’m yours.”
“You are.” My voice breaks. “You’re mine. Always.”
His mouth crashes onto mine, the kiss wet and desperate, and then he finally lets go. His hips drive harder, deeper, the steady drag of him inside me shoving me right to the edge.
I break first. My body seizes around him, pleasure ripping through me in hot, wild waves. I scream his name, clinging to him as if I can anchor myself to him.
He follows with a guttural groan, thrusting deep as he spills into me, holding me tight through it, shaking with the force of our combined pleasure.
When it ebbs, he collapses onto me, chest heaving, face pressed into my neck. I thread my fingers through his damp hair, laughing weakly through the aftershocks.
“You’re heavy,” I murmur.
“Get used to it,” he mumbles into my skin, kissing me there, soft and lingering.
The cats meow indignantly from the foot of the bed, but neither of us move. Wrapped in him, full of him, I’ve never been safer.
