Page 9 of Mountain Man's Winter Wonder
He shrugged a massive shoulder, as if that was all there was to say. But it wasn’t. Not for me.
A spark of boldness, fanned by the thrill of rebellion, flared inside me. “That’s your first time. What about your most exciting time? The one that really stuck with you.”
His jaw tightened, a muscle jumping. “Nah, Sheraton. That’s not a story for now.”
“Why? Because I’m some innocent little thing you need to protect?” The challenge was clear in my tone. “I want to hear it, Buck. I do.”
He glanced at me then, a quick, searing look that scanned my face, my determined expression, the way I was biting my lip in anticipation. He saw I was serious. He let out a long, slow breath, the fight going out of him.
“Alright,” he said, his voice dropping into a deeper, rougher register that did things to my insides. “There was this woman…a few years back. A photographer, hiking one of the trails. She was fierce. Independent. Didn’t take shit from anyone.”
I was already captivated. I nodded, urging him on silently.
“We got to talking, ended up hiking a spur trail together to this outcrop. The view…it was like you could see the whole world. The air was so clear. And she just…looked at me with this fire in her eyes. No words. She just pulled her shirt over her head.”
He paused, and the image was so vivid in my mind I could feel the mountain sun on my own skin.
“She was all lean muscle and sun-kissed skin. Freckles everywhere. Her breasts were small and perky.” His voice was a hypnotic, gravelly whisper now, painting a picture that made my breath catch. “She didn’t wait. She pushed me back against this warm, flat rock and climbed on top of me. Right there, in the open air. The sky was so damn blue.”
The image was so vivid, I could practically feel the mountain sun on my own skin. My heart was hammering against my ribs.
“She rode me,” he continued. “Hard. Her head was thrown back, her hair whipping around her. Her breasts bounced with every movement, and I remember watching her, watching the raw need on her face, and I almost came right then and there.”
A small, involuntary sound escaped my lips. He heard it and his eyes flicked to me, dark and heated.
“I reached between us,” he said, his words deliberate, intimate. “My thumb found her clit, and I massaged her in rhythm with her hips. She came apart on top of me, crying out so loud it echoed off the mountains. And feeling her clench around me…that’s what made me lose it. I came right after, so deep inside her, both of us panting, slick with sweat, under that endless sky.”
The cab of the truck was sweltering. My skin was flushed, my blood singing. I could feel a throbbing ache between my legs, a direct result of his story, of his voice, of him.
“I want that,” I breathed, the words tumbling out before I could stop them. “I want to have sex outdoors. With you. Right now.”
He groaned, a sound of pure want and frustration. “Sheraton, baby, look at the dash.”
I dragged my eyes from his profile to the digital numbers glowing on the console. Thirty-four degrees.
“It’s freezing,” he said, his voice strained. “We’d get hypothermia.”
Disappointment, sharp and acute, washed over me. My bold fantasy met the wall of reality. I slumped back in my seat, the passionate energy dissipating into the cold air.
But Buck was silent, thinking. I saw his eyes narrow in concentration. Then, a slow, wicked grin spread across his face, transforming him from a rugged mountain man into a downright devil.
“My buddies and I sometimes have lunch at this covered pavilion that will at least help keep out some of the wind,” he said. “We’ve eaten there even when it’s pretty cold. I wouldn’t recommend getting naked, but we could at least get out of the truck and…”
My hope, and my arousal, came roaring back, hotter and fiercer than before. It would probably still be cold, but I was tingling with excitement.
Buck didn’t say another word. He just spun the steering wheel, and the big truck executed a sharp, confident U-turn on the empty mountain road, tires crunching on the gravel shoulder.
We didn’t speak for the next ten minutes. The only sounds were the rumble of the engine and the frantic beating of my heart. He drove with a new purpose, turning off the main road onto a narrower, steeply climbing service road.
Finally, the headlights cut through the dense pine, illuminating a rustic log-framed structure nestled in a clearing. It was exactly as he’d described. It had a sturdy roof and picnic tables and opened to a breathtaking, and thankfully private, view of the moonlit valley below. It was secluded. It was raw. It was perfect.
He pulled the truck to a stop just feet from the pavilion’s edge, the headlights illuminating the dusty wooden floorboards inside. He killed the engine, plunging us into a silence so deep that I could hear the whisper of the wind in the tall pines.
He turned to me, his eyes gleaming in the dark. His voice was a low, commanding promise that sent a shiver of pure anticipation down my spine.
“Get out.”
6
