Page 36 of Her Mountain Man Protector

He does what I say. He kisses me and I taste myself on his mouth, salt and heat, and I should be shy about that. I'm not. He notches against me and pushes in on a slow, shaking stroke that steals the air from both of us. I'm tight around him. He's a lot. He holds still when he's seated, breathing against my cheek, giving me the second I need.

"Fuck. Oakley. You feel..." He loses the rest of the sentence in a groan. "Hot. Perfect. Taking me so well. That's my girl. That's it."

I hook my calves around his hips. "Move."

He moves. Deep and measured at first, a long drag out that makes me feel every inch, then a roll back in that seats him against a place that sparks behind my navel. I ask for harder with my nails and my mouth at his throat. He gives it. The bedframe knocks the wall in a steady, filthy rhythm. Snow rushes the glass in a white roar. His chest hair scrapes my breasts. His mouth finds the hinge of my jaw, then the tendon in my neck and he kisses me there. He gets a hand under my ass and changes the angle and I see white that has nothing to do with the storm. My heels dig into the backs of his thighs. Sweat slickens the place where his stomach meets mine. Each thrust wrings a sound out of me I would mock in daylight and can't spare the breath to mock now.

"Listen to you," he rasps. "Dripping down my cock and still trying to boss me. You want it deeper? You want me to fill this tight little pussy until you can't invent a joke?"

"Yes. God. Yes."

"Then take it. Look at me while you take it. I want those eyes. I want you knowing who's in you. Nobody else gets this. Nobody else gets you making these sounds. You're mine in this bed. Say it."

"I'm yours." It comes out easy. Terrifying. True. "Your turn."

He laughs, wrecked, and gives me the words I didn't know I needed. "I'm yours. Have been since you crashed into my chest and started talking. Now come on my cock and mean it."

His hand slides between us. His thumb finds me where I'm already oversensitive and works a tight circle. The second orgasm hits harder than the first, long and helpless, and I clamp down on him while he drives through it with a growl I feel in my teeth. He follows on a broken curse, buried deep, hips stuttering, mouth open against my temple.

We stay joined until the shaking turns into breathing. He's still in me. I'm still holding him with my legs.

He kisses the corner of my mouth, then the damp hair at my temple. The dirty talk thins into something quieter that still isn't soft.

"You good?"

"I'm excellent. Don't start a speech."

"It's a check." He eases out of me and I make a small betrayed sound. He huffs, disappears for a cloth, and comes back to clean me with that same precise attention he used on my wrist in the other house. When he's done he pulls the blanket over both of us and hauls me half onto his chest.

Outside, the storm keeps coming. The spur we drove is gone under white. Yard 4 will still be there when the road exists again.

Right now there’s a fire starting to throw real heat and a man whose heart is hammering under my ear.

"When it breaks," he says into my hair, "we go to the yard. Until it breaks, you're here. With me. In this bed. If you want more, you wake me. If you want sleep, you take it. If you want me to say filthy things against your skin until the windows thaw, you only have to ask."

I tip my face up and kiss the underside of his jaw. "I want all of that. In that order. After I can feel my legs."

His arm tightens around my waist. Under my ear his heartbeat is still too fast. I drag my fingers through the hair on his chest and feel him twitch inside the leftover aftershocks. Outside, wind finds a loose shutter and worries it. Inside, his thumb draws idle circles on my hipbone, possessive even in rest.

"If the road melts at dawn," I say, "we go. I'm not hiding in this bed while they open my files."

"At dawn we check the spur. If it's passable, we go. If it isn't, I put you back in this bed and I keep you warm until it is. That's the whole weather report."

"Bossy."

"Alive." He kisses my hair. "Sleep, sunshine. I've got the door."

I close my eyes with his hand splayed over my hip, heavy and claiming. The snow keeps rushing the cabin. The mountain goes quiet in the only way that has ever felt safe with him in it, and I let that quiet have me until sleep finally does.

13

Colt

I wake to heat and wet and the dark shape of her hair over my hip. For one stupid second I reach for the pistol on the crate. Then her mouth sinks down my cock and the sound I make has nothing to do with a threat I can shoot.

"Oakley."

She hums around me. The vibration punches up my spine. Snow still rushes the window. The fire has burned down to a low red. The cabin is one room of breath and blankets and a woman who said she'd wake me if she wanted more.