Page 240 of Mountain Grump
My head snaps up, and I take a small step forward.
My stomach presses against the counter, and I hear Tilda’s quick inhale of surprise as I crowd into her. But I can’t let anyone see her. Not like this. Not on her knees with sex in her eyes.
And Ireallycan’tlet this guy see her.
The man in question lifts his hand as he and his wife walk into the Visitor Center. “Howdy, Ranger Dickhead.”
A snort comes from under the counter, and I clear my throat to cover the sound. “Rocky.Matureas ever.”
His wife grins, getting the joke.
“And that’s why I call you a dickhead.”
I grunt in reply.
Tilda places her hands back against my thighs.
I grit my teeth to keep from groaning as she slides her hands up higher.
She goes up. Then down.
“Joe sends his regards with the latte,” Rocky says while spinning the postcard rack.
“What latte?” I focus on the couple with nothing in their hands, not on the hands rubbing up and down my thighs.
“The one he told me to bring.” Rocky shrugs and turns his attention to the stickers. “But I don’t take orders from that old man, so you can get your own latte if you’re thirsty.”
I grunt again. Because Tilda’s hands are moving higher. And higher.
Rocky stops beside Kendra in front of the T-shirt display.
One of Tilda’s hands grips the side of my pants, holding the material to keep her balance. And then her other hand…
I grit my teeth as her fingers slip through my open fly.
My button is still done, and my belt is still on, so she can’t get my dick out. But she can reach in.
Her fingers are warm through the cotton of my boxer briefs.
And I feel my dick pulse with the contact.
I clear my throat. “Can I help you find something? Like the door? No offense, Kendra.”
Rocky points a finger at me. “Dick. Head.”
Yeah, Rocky. I’m fucking trying.
Rocky drapes an arm over his wife’s shoulders. “We were out running errands. Needed to use the bathroom.” He shrugs. “Figured I’d come use mine.”
His.
I shake my head.
Tilda’s touch disappears. And I open my mouth to ask how Buddy is doing. But then Tilda’s hands reappear. On my belt.
I hold still as she tugs at the leather.
And I hold my breath as she moves to my button.
