Page 9 of Blazing Mountain Man

She nods, shaky, eyes glassy. A soft, needy moan slips out of her when I roll my hips once, just testing. The drag of her cunt along my cock is filthy—hot and silky and so fucking wet it makes a slick sound every time I move.

I start slowly. Deep rolls of my hips, letting her feel every thick inch sliding out and then punching back in. The rig rocks faintly with us. Outside the storm seals us in, but inside there’s only the wet slap of skin on skin, the filthy sound of her body taking me, and the soft, helpless noises she can’t keep in.

“Jesus, listen to that,” I growl against her mouth. “Hear how wet you are for me? You’re soaking my cock, baby. Such a good girl.”

She gasps when I drive in harder, a high broken “ah—“ that turns into a moan when I grind deep and stay there for a second, letting her feel how full she is. My thumb finds her clit again, still swollen and sensitive from my mouth, and I circle it in tight, filthy little strokes while I fuck her.

“That’s it. Take it. Let me hear you.”

She does. Soft, desperate sounds every time I fill her—little punched-out moans, shaky breaths, my name broken on her tongue. Her nails scrape down my back. Her cunt squeezes me like she’s trying to keep me inside her forever.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” I tell her, voice low and dirty. “So tight. So wet. This pretty little pussy was made for me, wasn’t it?”

She’s close fast—still sensitive, still shaking from the first orgasm. I feel the flutter start, the way she tightens around my cock in rhythmic pulses.

“That’s it. Come for me again. Come all over my cock like a good girl. Let me feel you.”

She breaks with a sharp, broken cry of my name, clenching hard around me—hot, rhythmic, milking me so perfectly I can’t hold back. The second her pleasure peaks, I follow, hips slamming deep as the release rips through me. I bury myself to the root and come hard, thick pulses spilling deep inside her while she keeps contracting around me, both of us shaking.

The storm howls against the glass. The heater ticks. And nothing else in the world exists except the two of us naked and locked together in a stranded rig on a closed mountain pass, my cock still throbbing inside her as I fill her up.

I hold her through it, arms wrapped tight, mouth pressed to her temple, breathing her in.

After, we don’t move.

The storm’s still going out there, every window packed white and the heater ticking its slow rhythm, and I’ve got her tucked against me across the bench with my jacket over the both of us. Her breathing’s gone slow and even. One of her hands is still open on my chest like she set it down to make sure I was staying and forgot to take it back.

I’ve spent four years learning how to leave a place before it can matter. I’ve got a truck in a lower lot and a season half booked and a whole life built on being gone by the time the lifts spin. And I am lying in a stopped rig in the middle of a closed pass, snowed in with nowhere to run to and no want to run. For the first time since I carried Craig off a mountain, being still doesn’t feel like the thing that’s going to destroy me.

It feels like the first place I’ve stood that I don’t want to leave.

“You went quiet,” she says into the dark. “Where’d you go?”

“Nowhere.” I tighten my arm around her. “That’s the whole point. I’m not anywhere else. I’m right here.”

She’s quiet a second. Then the radio crackles, low, Base checking in—no change, wind’s not laying down, sit tight—and I feel her go stiff against me at the sound of it. Just for a breath. Then she settles back down and I tell myself I imagined it.

I didn’t imagine it.

But first light’s still hours off, and she’s warm against my side, and I let myself have the hours. I’ve earned every one. I put my mouth to the top of her head and I close my eyes and I stay. Outside, the storm keeps every road in this town shut, but I’ve never in my life been so grateful for a thing that won’t let me go anywhere.

5

ELYSE

The radio says morning, and that’s the problem.

Not the storm. Not the cold. The morning, ticking toward us out there in the white. When it comes, the plow breaks the pass open and we drive down the mountain and back into the world, where he’s a man who doesn’t winter the same place twice and I’m the woman who holds the desk he’ll leave from.

I’m warm against his side, and I’ve never felt anything like it in my life. That’s exactly why the fear has teeth now. I let him matter. I did the one thing I swore I’d never do again, and by the time it’s light, the road’s going to open, and he’s going to remember he has a truck in a lower lot and a season half booked and somewhere else to be by the time the lifts spin.

Better to be the one who says it first. I’ve been left in the dark before. I know how it goes when you don’t see it coming. I don’t intend to be surprised twice.

“So this was the storm,” I say.

I feel him go still under my cheek. “What?”

“This.” I sit up, pulling the jacket with me, putting air where there wasn’t any. “Two people stuck in a rig with nothing to do and a lot of adrenaline. It happens. It doesn’t have to mean anything past tonight. You don’t have to do the part where you pretend it does.”