Page 55 of Mountain Grump

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Her fingers twist in the damp fabric clinging to my side. And as she tugs, pulling me closer, her grip shifts again, and then her hand is against my bare skin.

Her fingertips are against my hips, just above the band of my shorts.

I slide my hand from her side, over the swell of her hip, to the center of her back, my pinkie resting against the top of her ass.

Her shirt is still bunched there.

And I shift my hand.

So it’s under her shirt.

Against her skin.

Her incredibly soft, so warm skin.

And I do the only thing I can.

Chapter 37

Tilda

He pulls me closer.

Impossibly closer.

Our bodies are flush.

My head is tipped all the way back. I’m on the tip of my toes. And my hands have moved to his lower back, under his shirt, just like his hand is on me.

It’s reckless.

All of this is reckless.

I don’t actually know this man.

But my body recognizes him.

His energy.

His need.

His… desire.

The pressure on my forehead disappears as he releases his hold on my hat.

I feel the loss.

And without meaning to, a sound—something needy—leaves my chest.

The missing hand smacks down against my ass.

I gasp.

He tilts his head, shoving more of his tongue into my mouth.

His hand doesn’t lift away. It stays on my ass cheek, squeezing, fingers digging into my soft flesh.

And I do the only thing I can.

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