Page 7 of Falling for the Mountain Man

Ryder

A soft sigh escapes Zaria’s lips, and in that moment, I feel the word “no” dissolve from my world entirely.

She stares up at me, her eyes wide and luminous pools of trust, and any resistance I might have had melts away. How could I deny her anything? Especially when every fiber of my being has ached for her since the moment she offered herself to me, a gift I still can’t believe is mine.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” I murmur, my voice husky with a need I quickly leash. I would willingly bear any pain for her if such a thing were possible. “The only thing I want you to feel is pleasure. So, we’ll go slow. I’ll use my fingers first. But yeah, I will give you everything you want.”

The smile that dawns on her lips then is pure sunrise. It doesn’t just strike chords in my chest; it plucks a melody that resonates deep in my soul, making my heart beat a frantic, joyous rhythm meant for her ears only.

This moment—her wanting me, trusting me—this is the memory I will cling to in the quiet, lonely nights to come. Her words will be my mantra, her image etched behind my eyelids when I sleep.

I commit her to memory. The flush on her cheeks, the way her breath hitches, it’ll all be brought back in my head. But she is not a statue to be admired; she is a living, breathing dream, squirming with need, waiting for me to make it real.

I slip my hand between her thighs, and my breath lodges itself in my throat.

She is so warm, so wet, already aching from our shared anticipation.

Her eyes flutter shut as my fingers glide through her slick heat.

I deliberately bypass her throbbing clit—not to deny her, but to savor the exquisite tension coiling within us both.

I push one finger inside, and the world narrows to the breathtaking tightness that envelops me, a fragile barrier she has entrusted me to claim.

As I work a second finger into her yielding warmth, I watch, mesmerized, as her body stretches to accommodate me. Her breath hitches, a sharp little gasp, and the fluttering pulse of her inner walls answers the demanding throb of my own cock.

I curl my fingers, finding that perfect spot within her, and her breath shatters. A soft cry escapes her lips as her sex clenches around my hand, pulling me deeper into her heat.

“Ryder—” She moans my name like a curse, her thighs instinctively trying to close, a movement halted by the solid weight of my body between them.

“That’s it, let go,” I murmur, working her gently through the waves of her climax. A smirk tugs at my lips. “But that was just the beginning, sweetheart. You can take more. I know you can.”

She wanted my cock; now she will have all of it.

I withdraw my hand, eyes glued to my glistening fingers. With her essence clinging to my skin, I wrap a firm hand around my length, slicking myself with her arousal.

It’s nowhere close to the real thing, but I squeeze myself tighter nonetheless.

Normally, I am a master of control, able to cage this ravenous hunger. But with her laid bare beneath me, that control is a phantom. This need is a living thing, ready to devour me whole.

Dazed and exquisitely sensitive, she watches through heavy-lidded eyes as I guide myself to her entrance, a blunt, insistent pressure against her swollen, slick folds.

A nudge against her oversensitive clit makes her jolt, a sharp gasp catching in her throat as she bites down hard on her full lower lip to stifle a cry. The sight is pure, undiluted temptation.

“It won’t be painless,” I murmur, my voice a low gravel against the shell of her ear. “But you have to try to stay relaxed for me, alright?” Dragging my tip through her wet heat, I circle her opening, feeling her tremble. My jaw tightens with the effort of my own control. “You have to let me in.”

She nods, a frantic little motion, but her grip on the sheets is relentless. I push forward, a slow, inexorable invasion, and the way her breath hitches—a sharp, stolen lungful—tells me it’s more, so much more, than she ever imagined.

Leaning over her, I catch her by the chin, forcing her glazed eyes to meet mine before I crush our mouths together. I swallow her next whimper, tasting the faint metallic hint of where she’s bitten her lip.

With a groan, I thrust a little deeper, burying myself in her devastating tightness. So close to her limit, a ragged sound tears from my throat when her nails find my back, scoring lines of fire into my skin.

“You’re doing so well for me,” I grit out, the words anything but steady now. I tuck my face into the crook of her neck, inhaling the scent of her skin and our shared arousal so she can’t see the raw need contorting my features.

Every clench of her around me is a silken vise, a perfect, wet agony. Her pussy is going to suffocate me at this rate, and I can’t think of a better way to die.

I need inside.

Pulling back only slightly, I push her thighs further apart, making sure there’s plenty of room for me. Then, I plunge deep.

We groan in unison, but she silences her pain by sinking her teeth into my shoulder. It’s a pain I’m willing to bear as I feel her clench around me. Hell, I can feel the race of her pulse. Maybe it’s mine. I don’t even know at this point.

We groan in unison, but she silences her pain by sinking her teeth into my shoulder. It’s a pain I’m willing to bear as I feel her clench around me. Hell, I can feel the race of her pulse. Maybe it’s mine. I don’t even know at this point.

Then, something shifts. The world narrows to the space where we are joined.

My vision blurs at the edges, my focus tunneling on the exquisite sight of her body moving beneath me.

I watch, mesmerized, as her back arches off the bed with every slow, deliberate thrust, a perfect, strained bow.

The pale curve of her stomach tenses, her breasts sway with the rhythm I set, and I am lost in a daze, studying her like a piece of art I am desperate to memorize.

The sounds are a symphony I conduct. Her high, breathy whimpers meet my own guttural groans, each one a little less pained, a little more pleading.

The wet, slick sound of our joining fills the quiet room, a beautiful tune that drives me on.

The air is thick with our heavy, mingled breathing, each exhale a hot puff against damp skin.

I fall into the rhythm, into her. The sharp sting of her nails, the dull throb of her teeth in my shoulder—they are just anchors, tethering me to a reality that is otherwise melting away.

There is nothing but the glide and the clutch, the gasp and the groan, the sight of her taking every inch of me, over and over again.

Moving on instinct alone, a creature of pure sensation, drowning in the feel of her and fighting the inevitable tide that threatens to pull us both under.

Sweat collects against my brow, and my lungs burn, but I can’t stop. I can’t.

I need to go deeper. I want tonight’s evidence to reach the core of her body.

Zaria groans, a sound of pure frustration, as I pull out. Left confused and empty, her body rolls with ease as I push her onto her side. Keeping my eyes locked on hers, I capture her ankle. My thumb presses into the delicate arch of her foot, and I watch, mesmerized, as her toes curl.

Her brow is furrowed in beautiful confusion as I use her leg to spread her open, dragging her ankle up to my shoulder. I hold her there, bent and exposed, a perfect offering. It takes no effort to slide back into her, this new angle allowing me to delve into a devastating, untouched depth.

A sharp, choked cry is ripped from her throat. Her eyes fly wide, and her hand claps over her mouth, fingers pressing hard against her lips in a desperate attempt to silence herself.

Her body is a traitor, spilling secrets with no effort, with the way her cries slip through the cracks. The rhythmic protest of the bed begins beneath us, a steady creaking that punctuates every one of my deep, measured thrusts.

Her heavy breathing is a ragged counterpoint to mine, hot puffs of air against her own knuckles.

With every inward stroke, a broken whimper escapes her failed prison of fingers, each one a little louder, a little more desperate than the last. She is trying to hold onto the last shred of her composure, but I won’t allow it.

I lean over her, not breaking my rhythm, and gently pull her hand away from her mouth, pinning it to the pillow beside her head. “Let me hear you,” I growl, my own breath hot in her ear. “I want every part of you to remember this.”

Freed, her cries pour out—a beautiful, agonized melody of pleasure that fills the room, harmonizing with the symphony of our skin, our ragged breaths, and the relentless, creaking bed. I drive into her, again and again, each thrust a promise, each gasp from her lips a confession.

The pressure is coiling tight in my gut, a spring wound to its breaking point. Every ragged, shared breath, every one of her shattered cries, every creak of the old bed—it all funnels into that single, straining point of sensation.

I can feel her tightening around me, her body fluttering in frantic, helpless waves, and I know she’s right there with me, teetering on the edge.

I bury my face in the curve of her neck, my voice a raw, guttural command against her skin. “Now, Zaria. Let me feel you.”

I don’t have to tell her twice.

Her climax hits her like a crashing wave. A sharp, broken scream tears from her throat, utterly unrestrained, as her entire body arches and convulses around me. That final, clenching pull is all it takes.

The spring snaps.

My world whites out. A deep, primal groan is ripped from my chest as I drive into her one last, final time, holding myself there, buried to the hilt.

My release is a torrent, a scalding flood that pours into her, and I feel every pulse, every shockwave, as I spill myself deep inside.

It’s a claiming, a branding, and for a few endless seconds, I am nothing but pure, shuddering sensation.

I collapse over her, my body spent and heavy, our sweat-slicked skin sealing us together.

The only sounds left are the frantic hammering of our hearts against each other’s ribs and the ragged, gasping breaths we struggle to draw into our burning lungs.

I stay inside her, not moving, not wanting to break the connection, letting the last few aftershocks tremble through us both until we are still.

Once I’m pulling out, my hands are massaging her hips while my apologies of being rough are muffled against her skin.

Zaria groans with every movement of her limbs, but she reassures me that she enjoyed every second. Slowly, she curls against my chest, tickling my skin with each loose strand of hair.

“Tomorrow is going to be…rough…” She sighs and looks up at me. “You aren’t going to change your mind, are you?”

It takes me too long to figure out what outlandish question she’s asking me. Just the thought of her thinking I could makes me frown. Bringing her mouth to mine, she sighs against my lips.

“I’ve loved you for two years. Suffered every day you were away.

You think now that I’ve finally gotten what I’ve always wanted, I’m going to be satisfied suddenly?

” My next chuckle comes out dry. “No, I’m not going to change my mind.

I’m going to fight every impulsive thought that comes my way not to come visit you while you’re gone. ”

A wet, half-amused snort escapes her, and she hides her face, tucking her nose into the hollow of my throat. Her breath is a warm, shaky ghost on my skin. “Two years was a long time to want. Two more to wait feels…”

My hand finds its way into her hair, stroking through the silken strands. I press a firm, lingering kiss to the crown of her head, breathing her in. “I’ll wait a lifetime if that’s what it takes,” I whisper into her scent. “If it means I get to call you mine at the end of it.”

I can’t see it, but I feel it—the slow, beautiful curve of her smile against my pulse point. It’s a silent promise, a reflected truth.

I mean every single word. I will happily, desperately, do whatever it takes to prove it to her.