Page 6 of Under The Mountain Man’s Spell

The amber light lay across her in stripes: the swell of her breasts, the dip of her waist, the broad curve of her hip. Her chest rose and fell fast. The mask was a dark shape against her pale face, and her mouth was swollen from my kisses.

"You're still wearing the mask," I said.

"It stays on."

"I know." I knelt on the bed and traced the edge of it at her temple with my thumb, and stopped there. She'd set a term. I kept it. "It's the only thing I'm leaving on you."

Her laugh came out low and shaky. "Is that a promise?"

"It's a fact."

I kissed her, long and slow this time, until she stopped trembling and started to soften under me, until her fingers slid into my hair and her hips began to roll up against my thigh. Then I took my time. I kissed the corner of her jaw and the place under her ear that made her gasp, and the hollow of her throat where her pulse fluttered. I worked down her body in no hurry at all, over her collarbone and the swell of her breast and the tender skin underneath, where she was softest. I kissed her ribs, one at a time. There was a ticklish spot just below her left breast, and when I found it she jerked and snorted a laugh and clapped a hand over her mouth.

"Don't you dare," she warned.

"I'm exploring."

"You're doing it on purpose."

"I am." I did it again, and she squirmed and swore at me, and I pressed my smile into her skin.

I kissed down the soft curve of her belly, the dip of her navel, the crease at the top of her thigh. Her fingers tightened in my hair. "Tell me what you want," I said against her hip. "Tell me, and it's yours."

"Tell me what to do," she said. "I don't want to decide anything tonight."

My whole body went tight. "Then roll over for me. On your side, facing the window."

She rolled without a word. I stretched out behind her and pulled her back against my chest, skin to skin from shoulder to knee. She was warm and soft, and her hair smelled of the stove and something sweeter that was only her. I slid one arm under her neck and curled it around her collarbone, holding her, and let my other hand slide down her belly to the heat between her thighs.

She was still slick and swollen from the couch. I stroked her slow, two fingers circling, and felt a shudder run the whole length of her. "That's it," I said into her ear. "Easy. I've got all night."

"I don't think I can take all night."

"You can take whatever I give you. You've been doing it beautifully." I reached to the nightstand, found a fresh condom, and rolled it on one-handed without letting go of her. "Lift your knee for me."

She hooked her top leg back over mine, and the angle opened her up. I pressed against her from behind and pushed in a half inch at a time, my arm tight around her, and we both groaned. She was so hot, and so tight after the couch, that I had to stop halfway and breathe through my teeth.

"Are you all right?"

"Yes." Her voice was thin. "Don't stop. Please don't stop."

I eased the rest of the way in until my hips were flush against her, and held there with my face in her hair. Then I started to move. It was nothing like the couch, slow and deep and unhurried, a long roll of my hips that made her breath catch each time I filled her. My fingers kept circling, light and steady, and her hand came back to cradle the side of my head, her nails scratching at my scalp. I kissed her neck, her shoulder, the soft spot behind her ear.

"You feel so good," I told her. "You have no idea. Like you were made for me. Feel how you're holding me."

She turned her head, and I caught her mouth, the edge of the mask against my cheek, and kissed her through a long, shuddering moan. I picked up the pace by one degree, just enough that every stroke dragged along the spot inside her that made her whimper. She came in long, helpless waves, shaking against me, her leg clamped over mine, saying please, please, please into the dark. I held her through it, telling her she was perfect, that she was doing so well, that I had her.

When she went limp, I stayed buried inside her, kissing her shoulder, my heart pounding against her back.

"Better?" I whispered.

"I can't feel my legs," she said, in a voice thick with satisfaction. "I think I've been dismantled."

"Good. I'm not finished with you."

"I was afraid of that." She was smiling. I could hear it.

I pulled out slow, and she made a small sound of protest that nearly broke me. "On your back."