Page 25 of Working for the Mountain Man

"Hugo, please?—"

"I've got you."

He doesn’t rush. His fingers move slow and then not slow, and I have both hands fisted in the blanket and I’m entirely at his mercy and I don’t care at all, because he’s looking at me like I’m something worth paying attention to, like he’s memorizing this, like he has been waiting a long time to have permission to want something and he’s not wasting a second of it.

When I come it is deep and slow and he keeps his hand on me through all of it, watching my face with that serious expression, his jaw tight, until I stop shaking.

"Okay," I say, when I can talk again.

"Yeah," he says. There is something almost satisfying in his voice. Not smug. Just certain.

I pull him up and he comes over me, his weight settling, and I feel how much he wants this and I reach for him.

"Wait," he says. He shifts, finds his jeans on the floor, digs in his pocket.

I blink. "You have?—"

"Emergency kit in the field bag." He shows me the foil packet.

I laugh, a real one, and he looks at me for a second with an expression I have not seen on him before, something warm and unguarded.

"You laughed," he says.

"Is that a problem?"

"No." He leans down and kisses me once, soft. "It's good."

He rolls the condom on and then he’s right there. I pull him closer, and when he pushes into me I exhale hard against his shoulder because he’s not small and he does not hurry and every inch of it is deliberate.

"Okay?" he asks.

"Yes." I tilt my hips toward him. "More."

He gives me more.

He moves slowly at first, deep and careful, and I wrap my legs around him and try to pull him closer and he resists, setting his own pace.

"Hugo," I whine.

He slows to an almost stop. "I hear you."

I whimper. God, no, please. "I'm not asking you to stop."

"I know." His voice is rough at my ear. "I want to feel you."

I stop pushing and let him have his pace and it is the right call because every stroke is deep and precise, my thighs tighten, my breath comes shorter, and my fingers dig into his shoulders.

"Look at me," he says thickly.

I look at him, his jaw's tight, his gorgeous brown eyes are dark, and there’s sweat at his temple.

"You're not foolish for wanting this," he says. "You hear me?"

Something in my chest cracks open a little. "I hear you," I say.

He moves harder and I meet him and we stop talking, because his control frays at the edges, his hands gripping my hips, his breathing rough against my neck. I feel the way his body tightens as he moves faster, his movements are chaos and I love it.

When I come the second time he’s right there with me, his whole body going taut, his face buried in my neck, a low sound against my skin that I feel more than hear.