Page 46 of Broken on the Mountain
The ‘i’ is dotted with a perfect little heart.
Tears blur my vision again.
This ridiculous, golden-retriever of a man. This thoughtful, overwhelming sweetness beneath the dirty talk and the powerful thrusts. Henoticed. He cared. He wanted me to feel… welcome.
To feel… at home.
Chapter Ten
Chase
Morning light slants through the bedroom window, turning the tangled sheets into something that belongs in an ancient Roman painting… if painters had been into depicting post-sex chaos.
And the kind of satisfaction that makes a man feel like he could bench-press a mountain.
Piper's sprawled across three-quarters of my bed, one leg hooked over mine, her hair a wild mess across my pillow. She's wearing nothing but my T-shirt from last night, the hem riding up to reveal the curve of her beautiful bare ass.
I'm pretty sure I've died and gone to some kind of heaven. A heaven where the goddess sleeps in, and occasionally steals the blankets.
We've been at this since she arrived yesterday evening.
The frantic reunion sex on the living room floor where we finally got what we both so desperately wanted, but neither of us was brave enough to ask for the last time she was here.
We had round two in the actual bed, slower, sweeter, with her wrapped around me like she was afraid I'd disappear if she let go.
Somewhere around two in the morning, with Betty's pot pie consumed and my new sheets a wreck, I woke her up with kisses trailing down her spine until she was writhing and begging for more.
We went again. Her face pressed into the pillow while I gripped her hips from behind, losing my goddamn mind at the view of this woman on all fours for me.
Then this morning.
Oh, this morning.
I'd stumbled to the kitchen around seven, determined to be the kind of guy who makes breakfast for his girl. The cinnamon rolls I picked up, scrambled eggs, toast with too much butter, sliced strawberries and two mugs of coffee... you know the deal.
I'd carried the whole production back to the bedroom on a tray I didn't even know I owned only to find Piper finally blinking awake, sleepy and rumpled and so beautiful it physically hurt.
The eggs went cold while we kissed. Then she'd declared the shower was calling her name, and I'd followed like the lovesick fool I am.
Jesus Christ, the shower.
I'd barely gotten the water hot before I had her pressed against the tiles, her legs wrapped around my waist, steam rising around us like we'd conjured our own private fog bank.
I fucked her hard and fast, one hand braced on the wall, the other gripping her thigh, water cascading over us while she clung to my shoulders.
It was quick. Filthy.So goddamn goodI'm still riding the smug satisfaction hours later.
Now we're back in bed, dozing in that lazy post-everything haze where the world feels soft and far away.
Her toes wiggle against my calf, and I crack one eye open to find her grinning at the ceiling.
"We should probably do something," I murmur.
Piper's head turns, and that look, the one that says she's already mentally undressing me again reappears.
"Whoa, whoa." I hold up both hands in surrender. "You need to chill, baby. My dickofficiallyhurts."
She laughs against my chest. "Awwww… poor baby. Would it help if I rubbed it?"
