Page 84 of Beneath the Mountain Sky

Thinking about me?

Thinking about us?

And this?

That coiling low in my belly borders on painful as my release builds and builds.

Each expert glide of his fingers draws me tighter.

What the fuck happened between us?

That question drifts away as my orgasm finally hits me.

He swirls his thumb rapidly, pushing down on my clit, and I jerk against his hand, my pussy clasping around his fingers as he thrusts into me. Dragging it out. Catching my gasp with another kiss before I let out another long, slow scream of relief that seems to echo across the mountain.

Not just in our tent, but everywhere.

It consumes me the same way the fiery rush of the orgasm does, my release ebbing and flowing, rolling through me like the rapids do in the river a few yards from us.

The rapids that brought me back to Killian.

By the time I finally come down and sag onto the sleeping bag, a low rumble of approval vibrates his chest against mine, and he kisses each cheek, my nose, my eyelids, my lips.

“Fucking stunning. Every time, Honeybee.”

He pulls his hand from between my legs and out of my pants, and I let my lids flicker open in time to watch him slide his glistening fingers into his mouth.

Good God.

I’ve seen him do it hundreds of times, but watching him now might be the most erotic thing I’ve ever seen. His blond hair, disheveled from the hike today, hangs around his shoulders. His eyes sharp blue and wild, reckless, like he knows that what we did is going to have consequences.

He licks his fingers clean, groaning, and then grins at me just like I remember him always doing after getting me off—smug and satisfied. Then he leans in and drops his lips to my forehead, letting them linger there, his eyes closed, his body pressed to mine.

Time seems to stop as I live in the post-orgasmic haze.

Until he pulls away and rolls onto his back, tugging me into his side and settling my head on his shoulder. Several minutes pass in comfortable silence as I try to catch my breath.

His fingers stroke up and down my arm, a soothing, consistent rhythm that helps me drift back to reality slowly.

“Now, go to sleep, Honeybee.” He kisses my forehead. “You need the rest, and we have a lot to cover tomorrow.”

He means the hike down the mountain to the cabin.

A return to that limbo I’ve been living in for weeks.

No.

The thought of doing that makes me shiver.

Something is drawing me farther up the mountain, the opposite direction…

Another flash of towering stone walls flickers through my head.

“Will you take me to the gorge?”

He releases a long, heavy sigh that I think will lead to a “no” that I don’t want to hear, and continues to drag his fingers down my arm. I can practically hear him considering my request, the cogs turning in his head. The internal debate between not wanting to push me too hard and needing answers. “Do you think it’ll help?”

It has to.