Page 9 of Booked Up with the Mountain Man Firefighter

My hands roam over her back, down her sides, learning the shape of her through her thin blouse. When my thumbs brush over her nipples through the thin cotton of her bra, she gasps into my mouth. The sound goes straight to my cock.

Her hips roll forward instinctively, grinding against the growing hardness in my jeans. She doesn’t seem to realize what she’s doing, but I feel every slow, unconscious rub and have to bite back a groan.

I break the kiss just enough to rest my forehead against hers, breathing hard. “Ellie…we should probably stop unless you want me to take you right here on the floor of the bookstore.”

Her eyes are dark. “That’s exactly what I want,” she whispers. Her fingers are already tugging at the hem of my T-shirt. She pulls it up and off in one motion, tossing it aside, and runs her palms over my chest like she’s been dying to do it. “But you should know something.”

I freeze as her hands keep exploring, tracing the lines of muscle down my stomach. “What?”

“I’m a virgin.”

The words hit me like cold water. I glance toward the front of the shop, noting the dim courtyard beyond the window.

“Then we should go back to my place. Somewhere more comfortable⁠—”

“I’m glad you didn’t bail,” she says softly, relief clear in her voice. She leans in and kisses me again, slow and reassuring. “But I don’t want to go anywhere.”

I pull back just enough to meet her eyes. “Are you sure you want this? Here? With me?”

Instead of answering with words, she shifts back a little, reaches down, and unzips and unfastens my pants. Her hand slips beneath the band of my underwear and wraps around me, stroking with a tentative but eager grip. I groan, hips jerking up into her touch.

“Fuck, Ellie…”

I start unbuttoning her blouse with shaking fingers. She helps, shrugging it off, then reaches behind herself to unhook her bra. It falls away and she’s topless in the warm shadows, breasts full and perfect, nipples tight from my earlier attention.

I pull her back to me and kiss her hard, palming one breast while my other hand shoves her skirt up her thighs. I stroke her through the damp fabric of her underwear. She groans against my lips, hips rocking into my hand.

“Stand up for me,” I command.

She rises on unsteady legs, bracing one hand on the shelf for balance. I hook my fingers into the waistband of her panties and slowly drag them down her thighs. They catch briefly at her knees before sliding the rest of the way to her ankles. She steps out of them carefully, breathing already shallow.

I slide down flat against the hardwood, the poetry shelf cool against the top of my head, and guide her back to me, hands on her hips, helping her straddle my face. Her skirt bunches around her waist as she lowers herself, knees settling on either side of my head.

She reaches up and grips the edges of the bookshelves above us, fingers curling tight around the wooden lip. The moment my tongue slides along her slick folds in one long, slow lick, her thighs tremble against my ears. I do it again, savoring her taste, and a soft, startled moan escapes her—low and breathy, like she wasn’t expecting the intensity of it.

I focus on her clit, circling it lazily at first, then sucking gently. Her hips twitch, a small involuntary roll that presses her hotter and wetter against my mouth. I suck a little firmer, flicking my tongue in tight strokes, and her breathing fractures into broken whimpers and soft, desperate gasps.

“Mack…” she breathes, the word shaky.

Her hips start moving more deliberately now—slow, rolling grinds that chase my tongue, growing bolder as pleasure overtakes hesitation. She rocks against my face, riding my mouth with increasing urgency, her thighs tightening around my head. Her fingers grip the shelf harder, knuckles whitening, the wood creaking faintly under the pressure as she holds herself up.

I groan against her, the vibration pulling a higher, needier whine from her throat. Her movements turn frantic—short, stuttering thrusts of her hips as she chases the edge. Her whimpers climb into soft, desperate cries that she tries to muffle but can’t quite contain.

When she comes, it hits her hard. Her whole body tenses, thighs clamping around me as her hips buck wildly against my tongue. A sharp, broken cry tears from her—“Ah— Mack!”—her fingers gripping the shelves so tightly I hear the strain in the wood. She shudders violently, riding out every pulse and aftershock while I keep licking her through it, gentling my strokes as she slowly comes down.

When her legs stop shaking, she lowers herself, sliding down my body until she’s straddling my lap again. I shove my pants and underwear down to my thighs, freeing myself completely. I grip her hips, guiding her until the head of my cock is notched at her entrance. I nudge inside gently, just the tip, groaning at the tight, scorching heat of her.

She closes her eyes and sinks down slowly, taking more of me. Her face winces at the stretch, and I freeze, one hand moving between us to rub tight circles over her clit.

“Breathe, baby. I’ve got you.”

It works. The tension eases, and she starts moving, bouncing shallowly at first, then deeper, working me inside her inch by inch until I’m buried deep.

I lean forward and take one nipple into my mouth, sucking hard while she rides me. The wet heat of her tight pussy slides up and down my cock in a rhythm that’s already driving me insane. She gasps sharply, a broken little sound that turns into a throaty moan as she threads her fingers through my hair, holding me against her breast.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” I growl against her skin, flicking my tongue over her nipple before sucking again, harder. “So tight and wet for me. That’s it, baby—ride my cock just like that.”

I switch to her other breast, sucking deep and greedy, while my thumb keeps stroking her swollen clit in tight, slick circles. Her moans get louder, needier—soft, desperate whimpers that spill out with every bounce.