Page 44 of Broken on the Mountain
He moves over me, knees bracketing my hips, the blunt head of his cock brushing my entrance. His hand shakes ever so slightly as he rolls the condom down his length, his hazel eyes holding mine like we’re signing a contract far more binding than a napkin agreement.
What does falling fast look like for Chase Morrison?Is it this? This desperate need to be inside me after only a week?
Panic tightens my throat.
Suddenly, this feels terrifyingly permanent. Not just friends with benefits. Not justsex. Not just weekends.
He leans down, bracing himself on his forearms, caging me in. The scent of him pure sweat floods my senses. His forehead touches mine as he nudges my core.
“You ok?” he rasps, voice thick with need.
“Yes,” I gasp, wrapping my legs around his hips, pulling him close. “Please. Now.”
He doesn’t tease. One powerful thrust and he’s buried to the hilt. Filling me completely. Stretching me deliciously.
God, yes. This.
He stills for a heartbeat, his forehead pressed to mine, breathing ragged. “Fuck. Feels… incredible. Missed this. Missed you.”
He pulls back slowly, almost out, then slams home again. Deep. Hard. A moan rips from my chest and he sets a brutal, demanding pace, driving into me with possessive strokes that leave no doubt who I belong to right now.
His hands grip my hips, holding me steady, anchoring me as he takes what he needs. Whatweneed.
My eyes open, staring past the magnificent flex of his shoulders as he moves above me to where the bedroom door stands open.
And I see it.
A dresser drawer, pulled open just enough. On the front, in Chase’s familiar, slightly messy scrawl:Weekend Occupancy Only.
Oh god.
My hips jerk beneath his, but the shock isn’t pleasure this time. It’s… panic?
Beyond the drawer, the bed is meticulously made. Perfect corners. Sheets tucked tight. And laid out neatly on the right side –myside? – is another flannel shirt, folded precisely, ready for me.
My gaze darts frantically to the kitchen counter. There, nestled beside the sink, sits the pie from Betty’s. The one I saw when I barreled in the door, enthusiasm taking over that led us to… well,this.
My parents’ faces flash before my eyes. Mother’s perfectly sculpted brows arching in icy disdain.
“A drawer, Piper? In some… mountain man’s hovel? Really? How… provincial.”
Chase slams into me, deep, drawing a ragged gasp I don’t entirely control. His hand slides under my back, lifting me, changing the angle, hitting a spot that makes stars explode behind my eyelids.
God, yes.He feels so good. Soright.
“Mine,” he growls, his voice thick with satisfaction. “Say it, Piper.”
“Yours!” I cry out as his angle shifts, swallowing the emotions I've been controlling all damn week.
“Remember this…” He grunts, pistoning faster, harder. “When you’re back in that fancy cage… remember how I make you feel…”
I do. I remember the sterile quiet of my penthouse bedroom. The emptiness. The quiet desperation. Here, there is only heat, friction.
Here, I feelalive.
“Harder!” I beg, meeting his thrusts, my nails scoring his back. “Please, Chase! More!”
He gives it to me. Every punishing stroke drives me higher.
