Page 5 of Found by the Mountain Man (Darkmore Mountain Search and Rescue #4)

five

Mavis

The way Connor says my name sends heat racing through my veins. There's something in his voice I've never heard before, something that makes my breath catch and my pulse quicken.

"Connor," I whisper back, and I watch his pupils dilate in the firelight.

We're staring at each other across the small space between couch and chair, the air crackling with tension that has nothing to do with the storm outside. I should be thinking about professional boundaries, about the fact that he saved my life, about the very obvious age difference between us.

Instead, all I can think about is how badly I want him to close that distance.

"I should let you rest," he says, but he doesn't move. His hands are gripping the arms of his chair like he's fighting not to reach for me.

"I'm not tired." It's mostly true. The adrenaline of our charged moment has burned away any lingering drowsiness.

"Mavis." My name again, this time almost pained. "You've been through trauma. Your body needs rest."

"My body needs a lot of things right now," I interrupt, and watch his breathing change. "Sleep isn't one of them."

The admission hangs between us, bold and unmistakable. Connor's jaw tightens, and I see the exact moment his control starts to fracture.

"You don't know what you're saying."

"I'm twenty-six years old, Connor. I know exactly what I'm saying." I sit up straighter, letting the blanket slip slightly. "The question is whether you're going to keep pretending you don't want the same thing."

His eyes drop to where the blanket has shifted, revealing more of my collarbone, the edge of his borrowed t-shirt. When he looks back at my face, there's fire in his gaze.

"This is a bad idea," he says, but he's already rising from his chair.

"Probably." I shift slightly, making room on the couch. "Do you care?"

Instead of answering, he crosses to me in two long strides. For a moment, he just stands there, looking down at me with an expression that's part desire, part reverence, part disbelief.

"Mavis," he breathes, and then he's sinking onto the couch beside me, his hand coming up to cup my face.

"Finally," I whisper, and rise to meet him.

The first kiss is tentative, questioning. His lips are warm and surprisingly soft, moving against mine with careful restraint. Like he's afraid I might break, or disappear, or change my mind.

I deepen the kiss, threading my fingers through his hair and pulling him closer. He tastes like coffee and something uniquely him, and I want more. I need more.

Connor pulls back slightly, searching my face. "Are you sure about this?"

Instead of answering with words, I slide my hands under his flannel shirt, feeling the solid warmth of his chest, the steady beat of his heart. His intake of breath is sharp, hungry.

"Christ, Mavis." His control is hanging by a thread now. "I've been trying not to think about this since I pulled you out of that creek."

"Then stop trying," I murmur against his mouth. "Stop thinking. Just feel."

That breaks something loose in him. His mouth crashes back to mine, no longer tentative but demanding, consuming. His hands frame my face, then slide into my hair, tilting my head to deepen the kiss.

I melt into him, every nerve ending coming alive under his touch. His beard scrapes against my skin in the most delicious way, and I can't help the small moan that escapes me.

The sound seems to drive him wild. His hands move to my waist, spanning it easily with his large palms, pulling me closer until I'm almost in his lap. I can feel the heat of him through the thin fabric of his t-shirt I'm wearing, and I can feel the evidence of his desire pressing against my hip.

"You're so beautiful," he murmurs against my neck, his voice rough with want. "When I saw you lying there by the creek, so still and cold... I thought I was too late." There's something raw in his voice, something that speaks to how deeply my near-death affected him.

"I'm okay," I whisper, trailing my hands over his shoulders, memorizing the feel of solid muscle under warm skin. "I'm here. I'm alive."

"Because of you," I add, pulling back to look at him. "You saved me."

Something fierce and possessive flickers in his eyes. "I almost lost you before I even found you."

"You didn't lose me," I tell him, then lean in to press a soft kiss to his jaw. "I'm right here."

Connor's hands tighten on my waist, and I feel him tremble slightly. The idea that I can affect this strong, capable man so deeply is intoxicating.

I shift closer, swinging one leg over his lap until I'm straddling him. The position brings us flush together, and we both gasp at the contact. He's hard against me, and the knowledge sends liquid heat pooling low in my belly.

His response is to capture my mouth again, his kiss hungry and desperate. His hands roam my body with increasing boldness—skimming my ribs, tracing the curve of my spine, finally settling on my hips to guide my movements against him.

The friction is perfect, maddening. I can feel myself getting wet, my body responding to his with an intensity that surprises me. I've had relationships before, but nothing that felt like this—like every touch is lighting me on fire from the inside out.

His hands find the hem of the t-shirt, pausing one more time to meet my eyes. When I nod, he lifts it slowly, reverently, as if unwrapping something precious.

The cool air hits my skin, but Connor's gaze is like a physical caress, warming me from the inside out.

I'm not wearing a bra—it was soaked and he'd removed it during my rescue—and I watch his face as he takes in my bare breasts.

His hands come up to cup me, his thumbs brushing over my nipples until they're hard peaks begging for more attention.

"Do you like that?" he asks, pinching them gently. "Do you like having your nipples played with?"

"Yes," I gasp, arching into his touch. "God, yes."

"I want to suck these beautiful tits," he growls, his voice dropping to a husky whisper. "Want to make you come just from playing with your nipples."

He leans forward to take one into his mouth, and I nearly scream at the sensation. His tongue swirls around the sensitive peak while his hand works the other, pinching and rolling until I'm writhing beneath him.

"Connor, please," I moan, my pussy already throbbing with need.

"Please what?" he asks against my breast, his beard scraping deliciously against my skin. "Tell me what you want, baby."

"Connor," I gasp, my hips moving restlessly against him. "I need—"

"Tell me," he demands, pulling back to look at me. "Tell me what you need."

"You," I whisper. "Just you."

Something raw and primitive crosses his features. With careful strength, he lifts me and lays me back on the couch, his body covering mine. The weight of him, the solid reality of his presence, makes me feel safer than I ever have in my life.

"I want to worship every inch of you," he says, his hands skimming my sides. "Want to taste that sweet pussy until you're screaming my name.”

His fingers trace patterns on my skin that make me shiver and arch beneath him. When he finally slips his hand between my thighs, I'm already soaking wet and aching for him.

"Fuck, Mavis," he groans against my mouth as his fingers find me slick and swollen. "Your pussy is dripping for me. I can feel how much you want this."

"Please, Connor," I gasp as he begins to stroke my clit with maddening precision. "I need your mouth on me. I need you to taste me."

"Christ, yes," he growls, kissing his way down my body. "I've been thinking about eating this sweet cunt since I saw you naked."

When his mouth finally reaches my pussy, I cry out at the first swipe of his tongue. He licks me like I'm the most delicious thing he's ever tasted, his tongue working my clit while his fingers slide inside me.

"You taste so fucking good," he murmurs against my wet flesh. "I could eat this pussy for hours."

The combination of his skilled mouth and the filthy words he's growling against me builds the pressure to unbearable levels. When he sucks my clit between his lips, I shatter completely.

"Connor!" I scream his name as the orgasm tears through me, my pussy clenching around his fingers as wave after wave of pleasure crashes over me.

He works me through it, his tongue gentling as the spasms subside, pressing soft kisses to my inner thighs as I come back to earth.

"Beautiful," he whispers, moving back up my body. "So damn beautiful when you come."

Then, I work his shirt off, and I spend long minutes exploring the broad expanse of his chest, the ridges of muscle, the fascinating contrast of smooth skin and coarse hair. He's beautiful in a rugged, masculine way that makes my mouth water.

When I finally free him from his jeans, he's hard and heavy in my hands. His cock is impressively thick and long, with a swollen head that's already leaking precum. The size of him makes my pussy clench with anticipation.

"Fuck, Connor," I breathe, stroking him slowly. "Your cock is huge. I want to suck it."

His eyes roll back at my words and touch. "Christ, Mavis. Your hands feel so good."

I lean down and take him into my mouth, loving the way he groans and his hips jerk involuntarily. He tastes clean and masculine, and I moan around him as I take him deeper.

"That's it, baby," he pants, his hand tangling in my hair. "Suck my cock. Take as much as you can."

I work him with my mouth and hands, hollowing my cheeks and using my tongue to drive him wild. When I look up at him through my lashes, his face is a mask of pure lust.

"Stop," he gasps suddenly, pulling me off him. "I need to be inside you. I need to feel that tight pussy around my cock." He settles between my thighs, breathing hard. "Look at you," he growls, running his fingers through my wetness. "So fucking wet and ready for my cock. Tell me you want it."

"I want it," I gasp, my hips lifting toward him. "I want your big cock inside me. Please, Connor."