Page 41 of Broken on the Mountain
Forhim. Five days without this feels like a goddamn lifetime.
“Missed you.” The words tear from my throat, raw and breathless against his mouth. “So much.”
"Yeah?" He groans, fingers tangling in my hair, tilting my head back. “Show me.”
His kiss swallows my gasp. Hot. Deep. All-consuming.
It’s like stepping into sunlight after being trapped in a cave. The sterile perfection of my Chicago penthouse evaporates in the wake of him, the scent of pureChaseflooding my senses.
His tongue strokes mine, and I melt into it. Into him.
His rough hands make quick work of the buttons on my ridiculously expensive silk blouse and the fabric tears. A button pings against the wall as we stumble back, but I don't care.
"Oops.” Even he doesn’t sound sorry. Not one bit. A feral grin lights up his hazel eyes. "Guess you'll have to stay longer now. Nothin' to wear back to Chicago."
“Such a smooth talker, Morrison.” I shove his flannel off his shoulders. It joins my ruined blouse and his gray t-shirt follows.
And then… oh God.
Defined, sculpted muscle. A dusting of sandy hair across his pecs tapering down into a perfect trail disappearing into his jeans.
The man has abs. For days.
Hard ridges I want to map with my tongue. I remember being drunk the first time and the details have always been fuzzy.
But the sight ofthis? Sober?
It’s… obscene. It’s art. And it's allminefor this entire weekend.
My hands glide over the warm, smooth skin of his chest and he shudders under my touch.
“Like what you see, Chicago?” His voice is a low rumble vibrating against my palms.
“I told you, it's Piper,” I correct breathlessly, leaning in to press an open-mouthed kiss just below his collarbone. He tastes like clean sweat. “And yes. Very much.”
My lips travel lower, tracing the defined dip between his pecs. Slowly, I move down, dragging slowly down the center line of his stomach.
His muscles jump and tighten under my mouth. A sharp intake of breath hisses above me.
“Been thinkin’ about this all week,” he rasps. His fingers tighten in my hair, not forcing, just… holding. “Woke up hard every damn morning wishing you were here.”
The raw honesty in his voice, the need, shoots straight to my core.
I sink lower onto the worn rug, fingers hooking into the waistband of his jeans. His cock strains against the denim, thick and demanding. The bulge is impressively maddening.
A visual reminder of what I’ve been missing. What I craved during endless rounds in the ICU, during that agonizingly stiff dinner with Mother and the suffocatingly bland Maxwell Pemberton.
God, that was awful.
Maxwell’s perfectly manicured hands flashing beside Chase’s calloused ones in my mind. Maxwell’s polite, empty chatter versus Chase’s dirty promises breathed against my skin.
It’s no contest. Not even close.
“Tell me,” I murmur, popping the button of his jeans. The zipper rasps down and my nipples tighten with excitement. “What exactly were you thinking about?”
I free his cock and instantly grab for it.God. It's amazing.Thick and heavy in my hand, the tip already glistening.
His hips jerk as I wrap my hand around it and stroke.
