Page 14 of Ensnared By the Mountain Man

She winces as I sink deeper, her brows pulling together. I freeze immediately, heart hammering, every muscle locked so I don’t hurt her.

“Keep going,” she breathes, the words trembling. “Please, Elias.”

I move my thumb back to her clit and circle it gently, soothing. I watch her face until the tension eases and pleasure starts to flicker across it again—her lips parting wider on a soft moan, her eyes fluttering. Only then do I keep going, sinking deeper, savoring every tight, wet inch as her body slowly opens for me.

Soon, her legs wrap around my waist, heels digging hard into my back as she pulls me in all the way. The last bit of resistance gives, and I fill her completely. Then I begin slowly moving, the wet, slick sound of our bodies filling the kitchen.

“Harder,” she gasps, voice breaking. “Elias…that feels so good.”

I thrust deeper, setting a steady rhythm. The sound of skin meeting skin grows louder—wet, rhythmic slaps mixed with her breathy moans and my rough groans. Every time I drive into her, her full tits bounce with the force of it, and I can’t look away. I lean down and capture one nipple in my mouth again, sucking hard as I fuck her.

“You feel so fucking good,” I rasp against her skin. “So perfect around me.”

She answers with a high, needy whimper that turns into a moan when I hit a spot deep inside her. Her nails dig into my shoulders, her hips rising to meet every thrust. The wet sounds of her pussy taking me grow louder, more obscene, as she gets even wetter.

The pressure builds fast and fierce. Her walls start fluttering around my cock, gripping me tighter with every stroke.

“Come for me, baby,” I growl, thumb still working her clit. “Let me feel you.”

She cries out sharply as her orgasm hits, her pussy clenching rhythmically around me, pulsing and squeezing so tightly, it drags me over the edge with her.

I bury myself deep and come hard, groaning her name like a prayer as pleasure rips through me in heavy waves. As we both come down, our bodies stay locked together, trembling, the wet heat of her still fluttering around me, breathing hard against each other’s skin.

The cabin is quiet.

It’s the kind of quiet that feels different from every other silence I’ve sat in for the last four years. A full silence. Full of her breathing and the woodstove ticking and the last light coming through the window turning everything soft and gold.

She’s still on the counter. I’m standing between her knees with her fingers in my hair, and neither of us has moved because moving means this moment ends, and I’m not ready for that. I don’t think I’ll ever be ready for that.

“Stay,” I say. The word comes out rough and low, and I don’t recognize my own voice. I’ve never asked anyone to stay. In three towns and four years, I’ve never once wanted someone to be in my space with me. Spaces I built specifically so I could never let anyone down again.

She pulls back just enough to look at me. Her cheeks are flushed and her hair is a mess and she’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen in my life.

“Okay,” she says. Simple. Like staying was never even a question.

I carry her to the bedroom because her ankle is still healing and because I want to and because she lets me. She curls into my side and her head fits into the space below my shoulder like it was built for her, and I pull the blanket over us and listen to her breathing slow down.

She falls asleep before I do. I know because her hand goes slack against my chest and her body gets heavy in that way people do when they feel safe enough to let go completely. I stare at the ceiling and think about how I came to Wildwood to disappear—and how the woman sleeping in my arms is the reason that plan failed.

I’m not sorry about it. Not even close.

9

MORGAN

Iwake up in a bed that isn’t mine, in a room I’ve never slept in, and for three full seconds I don’t know where I am.

Then I feel him.

His arm is heavy across my waist. His chest is warm against my back and his breath is slow and steady against my hair, and everything about last night comes rushing in so fast that my whole body flushes.

The kitchen. The counter. His hands. His mouth. The way he said my name like it was the only word he’d ever needed to know.

I lie still and let myself have this. Just for a minute. Just the feeling of being held by someone who asked me to stay and meant it. Someone who carried me to his bed because he wanted me there, not because I earned it by being useful or agreeable or easy to be around.

The morning light is coming through the window in pale gray strips. The bedroom is as spare as the rest of the cabin. A bed, a dresser, a lamp. No curtains, just the trees outside filtering the light into something soft and private.

His boots are on the floor by the door, lined up neatly, and mine are somewhere in the kitchen, along with most of my clothes. The thought of that makes me press my face into the pillow to keep from smiling too hard.