Page 4 of Claim Me, Colt (The Mountain Code #2)

Simone

I don’t know who moves first—me or him—but suddenly we’re tangled together, mouths crashing, hands searching, breathing like we’ve been drowning and just came up for air.

It’s messy. It’s desperate.

And it’s exactly what I need.

He cups the back of my head, pulling me deeper into the kiss while his other hand grips my hip, fingers digging in like he doesn’t quite believe I’m here.

I straddle his lap, feeling the heat of him through his jeans, hard and thick and ready.

It sends a jolt through me—because this isn’t pretend. This isn’t obligation or expectation.

This is raw, reckless want .

I rock against him, chasing friction, and the sound he makes—half growl, half groan—goes straight to my core.

“Simone,” he rasps. “If you don’t want this, tell me to stop now.”

“I won’t,” I whisper, breathless. “Don’t ask me to.”

His eyes search mine like he’s trying to be sure, like he needs this to be more than a reaction.

So I say it again, louder this time. “ I want this. I want you. ”

That’s all it takes.

He stands in one fluid motion, taking me with him, my legs wrapped around his waist, his hands gripping my thighs. I kiss his jaw, his neck, tasting salt and cedar and something uniquely Colt as he carries me down the hall.

The bedroom is dimly lit by firelight spilling through the open door. It flickers across his face as he lays me down on the bed, his expression dark with intent.

He kneels beside the mattress, eyes devouring me as I lie there in nothing but his flannel shirt. I start to unbutton it, but he catches my hands.

“Let me,” he says, voice low and rough.

He opens the shirt slowly, reverently, like he’s unwrapping something sacred. When he reaches the last button, he pushes the shirt open to reveal my bare body beneath.

His gaze scorches me.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he mutters, hands trailing from my collarbone to my waist, then lower. “You don’t even know.”

I shiver as he leans down and takes one of my nipples into his mouth, hot and wet and wicked. My back arches as he sucks, tongue circling, then switches to the other, giving it the same devastating attention while his hand slides between my thighs.

I’m already wet for him.

He groans against my skin, fingers teasing along my slit, then dipping in just enough to make me whimper.

“Colt…”

“You like that?” he asks, his voice like gravel and smoke.

“Yes,” I gasp. “More.”

He gives me more.

One thick finger, then two, pumping slow and deep while his thumb circles my clit with maddening precision. He watches every reaction—every shudder, every moan, every arch of my hips—and it only makes him touch me better, rougher, hotter.

“I’ve thought about this,” he growls, curling his fingers just right and making me cry out. “Since the second you walked out of that creek. Thought about what you’d sound like when you fall apart for me.”

I’m close—so close—and he knows it.

He leans in, brushing his lips against my ear. “Come for me, sweetheart. I want to feel you fall apart.”

And I do.

I shatter around his fingers, crying out his name, trembling so hard I have to clutch the sheets to keep from floating off the bed.

Before I can catch my breath, he’s standing, stripping off his shirt, then his jeans, revealing a body built from labor and survival—scarred, powerful, fucking perfect . My eyes widen as I take him in, thick and hard and already leaking.

I reach for him, and he lets me wrap my hand around his cock, stroking slowly while he watches with hungry eyes.

“Condom?” I ask, breath still shaky.

“In the drawer,” he says, and I’m already reaching for it.

He rolls it on with shaking hands, then kneels over me again, kissing me softer this time. Slower. Like we have all night and the world outside has stopped turning.

And then he presses into me.

I gasp at the stretch, the perfect fullness of him. He groans low in his throat, like the feel of me around him is almost too much.

He starts to move—long, slow thrusts that build and build until I’m panting, clawing at his back, begging him not to stop.

“Harder,” I beg.

“Yeah?” His voice is wrecked. “You can take it?”

“ Yes. ”

He gives it to me. Hard and deep and perfect, each stroke driving me closer to the edge again. His hand finds my clit, and when he presses, I break all over again—louder this time, raw and shameless and free .

He follows a second later with a curse and a growl, burying himself deep one last time as he comes with a shudder that rocks the whole bed.

When it’s over, he doesn’t move away. He stays inside me, forehead resting against mine, both of us gasping for air.

“Thank you,” I whisper.

He rolls onto his side, pulling me with him, and holding me tight. “No, sweetheart. Thank you.”