Page 7 of Mountain Man's Longing
“Know better than what?” I lean close enough for my breasts to brush his arm, and he goes rigid.
A muscle ticks in his jaw as he fights to keep his hands at his sides. “This is a bad idea.”
No, it’s not. This man, all barely leashed power and the kind of raw masculinity that makes every nerve ending in my body sing, is the best idea I’ve had in a long time, if ever. The fact he’s got probably close to twenty years on me? Not a problem in my book.
Not that I can confess I’m a virgin.
If Graham knew that, he would shut this down immediately. He’d either turn all honorable on me or march me right back to the rental cabin, power or no power. I have to play this as if I know what I’m doing, even if my inexperience is probably written all over my face.
My tongue darts out to wet my lips as I erase the distance between us. My hands tremble slightly as I sit back on my calvesand place my palm flat against his pec. The wild, unsteady beat of his heart races under my fingertips.
He cocks an eyebrow, but I plow ahead, unwilling to turn back now.
“You’re right,” I whisper, holding his storm-gray gaze. “This is a terrible idea.”
For a heartbeat that feels like eternity, his hands hover near my face, fingers almost touching my cheek. I watch him lose the battle with himself, see the moment restraint gives way to raw need. Something feral flashes behind his eyes before his control doesn’t just break; it shatters completely.
His hands fist in my hair, and his mouth crashes down on mine with a hunger that steals my breath. His lips are firm and demanding, moving against mine with a confidence that makes my pulse race. When his tongue traces the seam of my lips, I open for him.
The kiss deepens, becomes something wild and desperate. His beard scrapes against my skin, while one large hand spans the back of my neck, his callused fingers rough against my skin as he holds me exactly where he wants me. Lightning flashes outside the windows, illuminating us for a heartbeat before plunging us back into firelight.
I melt into him completely, letting him drag me onto his lap until I’m settled against the rigid evidence of his desire. He’s so much bigger than me. I feel deliciously trapped, completely at his mercy, and every inch of my skin burns with want.
When we finally break apart, I drag in a lungful of air and cling to him . His forehead rests against mine, and there’s a war raging in his eyes.
“You’re too sweet for the dirty things running through my head, Brenna Buchanan,” he growls, his hands still tangled in my hair.
Moisture floods my panties as I wiggle against his stiff length. He sucks in a sharp breath. My pulse thunders so hard I can barely think straight, but I manage to meet and hold his gaze. “I’m tired of being sweet.”
Chapter five
Graham
The fire crackles and pops, casting flickering shadows on Brenna’s flushed face, highlighting her swollen parted lips. She’s a vision, a fucking siren, and I’m helpless against her call. Thunder rolls overhead, echoing the storm inside me. I should stop this. Should tell her to find a man her own age, but she’s old enough to make her own decisions. Who am I to question what she wants?
Especially when what she wants is me.
Plus, her words, “I’m tired of being sweet,” ricochet in my mind. I can relate. I’m tired of being the responsible one, a man who always does the right thing. Not that fucking this beauty is wrong. Not even close. And especially not when she’s staring at me with big doe-like eyes as if I’m her whole world and I can picture her buck-naked, riding my cock.
To hell with it. I claim her mouth again, and she responds eagerly, her hands exploring my chest, my shoulders, my arms, as if she can’t get enough.
Her manicured nails scrape against my forearms; her expensive perfume mixes with the wood smoke. City softnessmeeting mountain rough. She shouldn’t fit, but Christ, this girl feels like everything I didn’t know I needed.
I trail kisses down her neck, her collarbone, her skin soft and sweet under my lips. She shivers with every touch, every kiss, and I feel her heart racing. The way she arches into me, trusting and vulnerable, fills a hollow I didn’t even know was there.
I push up her sweater, exposing her breasts as she helps it off, up over her head. I take a moment to appreciate the sight. Her perfect curves remind me of the grains in cherry wood, begging to be touched, shaped, worshipped.
I unclasp her lacy bra, the single piece of delicate undergarment probably costing more than my steel-toe boots. Tossing it aside, I tug one hardened nipple into my mouth, swirling my tongue around it. She gasps, arching her back, rocking her warm pussy against my crotch. Her response is pure and uninhibited. Nothing like the calculated moves of women who know exactly what they’re doing.
This is real. Raw. And it’s mine. I lavish attention on her breasts, moving from one to the other, relishing her faint moans and soft whimpers. Her hands fist in my hair, holding me in place, as if she’s afraid I’ll stop.
Not a chance, baby girl. Not a chance in hell.
She sits up, moving her mouth to my left ear, but then pauses and switches to my right one to whisper, “You make me feel so good, Graham,” her breath hot and damp against my skin.
And fuck, the fact she cared enough to accommodate my condition sends a shiver racing down my spine. I’ve never felt such a deep connection with a woman. A flaming, white-hot desire that goes bone deep.
I capture her mouth again, my lips claiming hers with a hunger that’s been building since she stumbled in from the storm. This kiss is different—deeper, more demanding. Her hands fist the fabric of my shirt as I angle her head exactly where I want it,my fingers tangled in her damp hair. The kiss turns desperate, all teeth and tongue and breathless gasps between us. She tastes like honey and rain, sweet with an edge of wildness that makes me want to devour her completely.
