Page 5 of Under The Mountain Man’s Spell

"I've got you." I didn't lift my mouth. "Let go for me."

She came with a cry she bit down on, her lower lip caught between her teeth, her hands white-knuckled on the armrest and her body clenching around my fingers hard enough to make me groan against her.

"None of that," I said, and the vibration made her jerk. "I want every sound you've got. You've been quiet long enough."

I didn't stop. I didn't even slow down. I kept my fingers moving inside her and my tongue on her, easy now, riding out the aftershocks, and I felt her go from limp to tight again in under a minute, her thighs shaking, her breath coming in broken pieces. Her right hand left the armrest and flew toward my head, and I caught her wrist before she touched me.

"Armrest," I said against her skin. "Where I put it."

"Wait." Her whole body had gone rigid. "Wait⁠—"

I lifted my head at once, my fingers still. "Talk to me."

"I just—" She was panting. "I need a breath. That's all. Don't you dare stop after."

I laughed, low, against her inner thigh, and kissed the soft skin there, once, twice, and gave her all the breath she wanted. When her chest slowed and her fingers found the wood again on their own, I looked up at her, at the flush and the mask and the wild dark hair spilling off the cushion.

"Ready?"

"Yes, please."

I went back down and worked her harder than before. I held her hips flat with both hands and used my tongue and my fingers together, steady and merciless, until she wasn't quiet anymore, until she was begging in a voice I'd never heard from anyone, saying you, you, you over and over. This time she came loud enough to scare the tabby off the windowsill, her back bowing off the couch, and I felt the sound of it all the way down my spine.

I knelt up and shoved my jeans off. The stranger watched me from under heavy lids, flushed everywhere now, glistening, undone in the best way, and when I rolled on the condom she sat up and wrapped her hand around my cock. Her fingers didn't quite close around me, and the small appreciative sound she made at that had me close. She squeezed like she was learning me by feel, her thumb dragging over the head, and my hips punched forward into her fist before I could stop them.

"Careful," I gritted out, "or this ends embarrassingly."

She laughed, low and delighted, and did it again, and I had to catch her wrist and pin it to the small of her back just to survive her. I sat back into the corner of the couch and pulled her over me, her knees bracketing my hips, all that gorgeous weight in my lap, my hands full of her. "Like this. You set the pace, I do everything else. Take what's yours, sweetheart."

She sank down onto me slow, both of us watching where we joined. I watched her body stretch to take me inch by inch, gripping me in slick pulses as she worked me in, and the sound I made was nothing I'd ever heard out of myself. She was tight and scalding and so wet I could hear it. By the time she'd settled flush against me, taking all of me to the root, her breath was in pieces and mine was gone. I filled my hands with her hips, the flesh giving under my fingers, enough of her to hold on to, and I held on. I made myself stay still, jaw locked, every muscle in my stomach jumping, while she adjusted around me and the firelight moved on her skin.

"Okay?" I managed.

"Okay is not the word," she groaned, and started to move.

There was nothing in the world but the roll of her hips, the wet slap of skin, and the sheen of sweat between her breasts. I leaned in and caught a nipple in my mouth and sucked hard enough to make her clench around me and cry out, and I guided her with my hands, slow, then faster, telling her how good she felt. I told her she was taking me so well, that I could feel her squeezing me with every roll of her hips, that she was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen.

Somewhere in the middle of it the cat committed her nightly crime. She hit the back of the couch on soundless feet and sank her teeth into the stranger's bare shoulder for sitting on her couch, not deep, but enough. The woman in my lap jerked and hissed through her teeth. Then, without looking, she snapped her fingers once beside her ear, and my cat, who had never obeyed a human being in her life, let go and dropped off the couch. "We don't bite our friends," she told the cat's back, light and laughing, and it wasn't the voice she'd used on me all night.

Then she laughed. It wasn't the polished laugh from the tent. It was low and helpless and unguarded, half-swallowed, shaking her whole body around me, on me, and the clench of it dragged a curse out of me. For one second I was somewhere else, with that laugh half-swallowed the same way. Then she rolled her hips, and the night took me back under, and I let it. It was the realest thing she'd shown me all night.

"She's never done that for me," I said, and the cat departed for the bedroom with her tail up, unrepentant. The woman in my lap leaned down until her mouth was a breath from mine and whispered, "I can be bossy," and nipped my lower lip.

Whatever leash I'd kept on myself snapped clean.

I planted my feet and took over. One hand splayed between her shoulder blades to fold her down against my chest and the other gripped her hip hard enough to leave my fingerprints in all that softness, and I drove up into her with everything I'd been holding back. The couch creaked under us. Her cries broke against my throat, and my own voice came out rough and constant: that's it, take it, you feel like heaven wrapped around me, look at me, sweetheart, eyes on me when you come. She locked her eyes on mine through the mask and obeyed, and she came saying you with her whole body clamped down on me, milking me in waves, her nails scoring my shoulders. I followed her over hard enough that my vision whited out, and I said sweetheart into her throat over and over, both arms around her, her heartbeat racing against mine through sweat-slick skin while we shook.

We stayed like that until our breathing slowed. Then I stood with her still wrapped around me, one arm under her ass and the other across her back, and she gave a startled little laugh against my neck.

"Where are we going?"

"Bed. I'm not done with you."

Chapter 4

Grayson

The cat was already on my pillow when I carried her down the hall, and she glared at us as she jumped down and stalked off. The woman in my arms started laughing again into my shoulder. I laid her down in the middle of my bed on the dark flannel sheets, with her hair spread across them and the glow from the stove just reaching the doorway, and I stood over her for a second and looked.