Page 17 of Consumed By The Forbidden Mountain Man

"Reid. I'm gonna come."

"Then come."

His fingers curl forward, pressing deep, and his thumb grinds against my clit. I shatter. The orgasm rips through me, my pussy clenching around his fingers, my forehead dropping to his shoulder. He keeps stroking me through it, slow, until the aftershocks fade.

"Bedroom," he says. "Now I can wait."

He carries me down the hall. Lays me on the bed. Strips out of his jeans. His cock is thick, hard, flushed dark at the tip. He opens the nightstand, rolls on a condom.

Covers my body with his. One forearm braced beside my head, the other guiding himself against my entrance.

"Look at me."

I look. Dark eyes, silver temples, scruff on his jaw. This man who keeps the world at arm's length is looking at me with zero distance left.

He pushes inside me. Slow. One long stroke that fills me completely. My back arches off the mattress.

"Oh fuck."

"Yeah." His voice is wrecked. "Fuck."

He moves. Deep strokes, unhurried, pulling almost all the way out before driving back in. Every thrust hits a spot that makes me see static. His thumb drops between us, finding my clit again, circling in tight pressure timed with his hips.

"Harder," I whisper.

He gives me harder. His hand grips my thigh, hitching my leg higher. The angle changes. Deeper. The headboard taps the wall. I don't care. He doesn't care.

My nails dig into his back. He drops his mouth to my neck, sucking at my pulse point while he fucks me steady and relentless. His thumb keeps working my clit.

I come again. Hard. His name on my lips, my whole body locking around him. He follows three strokes later, burying deep, a low groan against my neck.

We lie there. Breathing. His weight on me, heavy and warm. His face in the curve of my shoulder.

After a minute, he rolls off and pulls me against his side. My head on his chest. His hand in my hair, fingers moving slowly.

"I'm in trouble," he says. Quiet. To the ceiling.

My palm flattens against his chest. His heart is still hammering under my hand.

"Me too."

We lie there for a long time. His thumb traces circles on my shoulder. The cabin is dark. Through the window, I can see my porch light through the pines. Still on.

"I'm falling for you," I tell his collarbone. "I know that's insane. I know the list of reasons this doesn't work."

His arm tightens around me. One hard squeeze.

"The list doesn't matter," he says. "I fell the night you brought wine I told you not to bring."

Later, when he's asleep, I find my phone in the pile of clothes by the couch.

Me:

I need to tell you something and you're gonna be mad

I stare at it. Delete the text. Put the phone down.

Some conversations need to happen face to face. And right now, all I want is to go back to the bedroom where Reid Castellano is sleeping in a bed that was too big for one person and exactly the right size for two.