Page 10 of Burning for the Mountain Man
“Christ, Sage,” he breathed against my mouth before deepening the kiss, his tongue tangling with mine in a desperate, hungry rhythm. He was the one who broke away, his chest heaving. “Sage…bed. We should go to the bed.”
I shook my head, my pulse a wild drumbeat in my throat. I didn’t want softness or comfort. I wanted the wild, exposed truth of this.
Turning back to the window, I hooked my thumbs into the sides of my plain white panties and pushing them down my legs. I let them puddle on the floor.
“Here,” I said, my voice husky with a confidence I didn’t know I had. I put my palms flat on the cool glass, bracing myself. “I want it here.” A reckless laugh bubbled up. “Don’t worry, I’ll clean the handprints off after.”
I heard him let out a shaky, almost pained breath, then felt his overwhelming heat as he moved behind me. His hands settled on my hips, his touch both possessive and reverent. The broad, blunt head of his erection nudged against my entrance, slick with my arousal, and I held my breath.
“Look at me,” he whispered. I forced my eyes open, meeting his dark, burning gaze in our reflection. “Tell me if it hurts.”
He pushed in. The initial breach was a sharp, burning stretch that made me gasp and my nails scrape against the glass. A tiny, involuntary sound of protest—a sharp “Ah!”—escaped me. He stilled instantly, his body rigid with the effort.
“Sage?”
“Don’t stop,” I panted, my eyes pleading with his in the window. “Just…go slow.”
He obeyed, pushing forward with an excruciating slowness that gave my body time to stretch and accommodate him. The sharp pain receded, replaced by a profound, filling pressure thatstole the air from my lungs. He was inside me. We were one. A low, trembling moan escaped me, this one purely of awe.
As he began to move, a shallow, careful rhythm, his hand slid around my hip, his fingers finding my clit again. The touch, now familiar, was no longer a shock. He stroked me in time with his thrusts, and the pleasure began to build again, faster this time, a familiar cresting wave.
My cries became rhythmic, matching his movements—soft, breathy gasps that fogged the glass before me. I came—this time with a sharp cry, my inner muscles fluttering and clenching around him, my vision blurring at the edges.
But as the last tremor faded, a new, deeper hunger awoke. This careful joining wasn’t enough. Not anymore. I wanted the animal truth of him, the complete loss of control.
I pushed back against him, forcing him to still. “Wilder.”
He froze immediately. “What’s wrong? Did I hurt you?”
“No,” I breathed, my voice thick with desire. I met his eyes in the reflection, my own blazing with newfound power. “I want you to fuck me against this window. Lift me up and fuck me.”
A choked sound, half-laugh, half-groan, escaped him. He leaned over me, his chest plastered to my sweat-slicked back.
“That’s going to leave a lot more than just handprints to clean up, sweetheart.”
“Then it’s a good thing I’m thorough,” I panted, pushing my hips back against him in a clear challenge.
I turned and in one fluid, shockingly strong motion, his hands were under my thighs, lifting me clean off the floor. My shoulders and back met the cool glass with a soft thud, and I instinctively wrapped my legs high around his waist, hooking my ankles. The new angle was devastating. He was so much deeper now, filling me completely, and a raw, throaty cry was torn from me.
“Okay?” he asked, his face a mask of strained concern and raw, untamed need.
“More than okay,” I breathed, my fingers digging into the hard muscles of his shoulders. “It’s…Wilder, please. Harder. Deeper. I can take it. I want it.”
His control, held by a fraying thread, snapped.
A guttural sound ripped from his throat, and his thrusts became faster, harder, driving me back against the window with each powerful, piston-like surge. The world was reduced to a primal symphony—the wet, rhythmic slap of our skin meeting, our ragged, mingled breaths fogging the glass, the sharp, little cries he wrung from me with every deep plunge.
The friction was incredible, building a deeper pleasure with each movement. I met him thrust for thrust, my head thrown back against the window, completely lost in the sea of sensation, my voice joining his in a desperate, passionate harmony.
I felt the moment he lost himself completely. His rhythm faltered, his entire body tensed like a drawn bow, and a low, broken roar was wrenched from the depths of his soul as he spilled into me, my name a fervent prayer on his lips.
In the shuddering, breathless aftermath, as he held me there, still pinned between his weight and the cool, smudged window, a thought, clear and shocking, flashed through my mind with the force of a lightning strike.
I hope we make a baby.
My eyes flew open, staring at our tangled reflection. The thought should have terrified me. It was insane, reckless, too soon. But as the startling clarity of it settled in my chest, warming me from the inside out, I felt no fear. Only a profound, unshakable certainty.
Slowly, gently, he lowered me until my feet touched the floor. His arms stayed around me, holding me upright when my legs trembled uncontrollably.
