Page 22 of My Mountain Man Stalker
My legs wrap his waist as he takes me into the bathroom. He sets me down, and turns the shower on. The steam rises, and he pulls me under the hot spray of the shower with him.
He proceeds to wash my hair, my body, all of me. Reverently. Like he’s cherishing every single inch of me. I take my time as I wash him as well.
After a while he kisses me. It’s different than before. Sure, there’s still hunger beneath it but it’s layered with love and affection.
At least it is on my end. I can imagine a life here. I can imagine a forever with him. It’s scary, but when I stare into his eyes, I know I’m making the right choice.
We leave the shower, and he takes his time as he dries me off and pulls an old NAVY shirt over my head. It smells like him. We slide under the covers, and he kisses me once more. It’s slow and deliberate. Then he eases back to his side, pulling me with him, tucking me into the curve of his body like I was made to fit there.
We’re both breathing hard. We’re both shaking a little.
I feel his mouth at my temple, the gentlest brush, and the sound he makes isn’t a groan this time. It’s a vow.
“Sleep,” he says.
“I don’t think I can.”
“You can. I’ve got you.”
His hand settles warm and wide over my stomach. His heartbeat steadies beneath my cheek, and slowly, so slowly, mine matches it.
I close my eyes and let the dark take me, wrapped in the heat of a man I shouldn’t crave, safer than I’ve ever been.
9
Hale
I wake to the feel of her. The weight and warmth of her tucked against me like she belongs there—and she does. One of her legs is thrown over my hip, her palm resting open against my chest like she’s keeping time with my heart. The room is all slow dawn and quiet heat. Nothing in me plans on leaving this bed anytime soon.
She’s still asleep.
I breathe her in. Quiet. Careful. The scent of her hair—soap and sex and something that’s only Wren—slides into all the scraped-out places in me and fills them up. I shift just enough to see her face. Soft mouth. Lashes at rest. A tiny crease between her brows like even her dreams refuse to give up their fight.
I move lightly so I don’t wake her, easing my hand along the length of her spine. Lazy strokes. Nothing greedy. The kind of touch you give when you’ve got all the time in the world. Her skin warms under my palm, goosebumps rising in the trail I leave behind. I press my mouth to her temple. Once. Twice. She sighs, the sound threading right through me.
“Morning,” I whisper into her hair, not really expecting an answer.
She gives me one anyway, a low hum that’s more feeling than word. Her fingers curl against my chest, then drift lower as she nuzzles closer, nose skimming my throat. My pulse jumps. She feels it. I know she does, because her mouth tips into a sleepy smile I canfeelagainst my skin.
“Are you awake?” I ask, voice rough.
“Mm.” Her lashes lift, eyes hazy and wicked all at once. “Now I am.”
I should say something chivalrous. I don’t. I slide my thumb beneath the hem of her (my) shirt and trace the warm line of her waist. Her breath catches, small and sharp, and she tilts her chin up to find my mouth. The kiss is unhurried but deep, the kind you don’t walk away from the same. She tastes like night turned into morning.
She shifts, climbing over me, knees bracketing my hips. The sheet drapes around her back like a halo. Sunlight paints her in soft gold and shadow, and for a second I forget what it means to be careful. I justwant.
“Hi,” she whispers against my mouth, smile in it.
“Hi,” I answer, hands finding the curve of her thighs, the dip of her waist, the small of her back. I hold her like she’s the only thing in my orbit—which she is.
“Touch me,” she says, open and sure.
“Tell me where.” Always a question. Always hers to answer.
“Everywhere,” she breathes, and then she kisses me again, slow turning hungry. Her hips roll, a lazy glide that short-circuits my good intentions. Heat sparks low and spreads. I feel her shiver when my hands map the slope of her ribs, the elegant pull of her shoulder blades under my palms. I take my time, learning her again even though I didn’t forget a single inch.
She bends to my throat, teeth grazing skin, and my control frays. I grip her a little harder—steady, not possessive—guiding the rhythm she’s setting. She gasps into my neck, and the sound goes straight to my head.
