Page 6 of Found by the Mountain Man (Darkmore Mountain Search and Rescue #4)

"Beg me for it," he demands, positioning the thick head at my entrance. "Tell me how badly you need to be fucked."

"Please fuck me," I moan, past caring how desperate I sound. "I need your cock so bad. I need you to fill me up and make me come."

The first press of him inside me is exquisite, a burning stretch that borders on too much but feels absolutely right. His cock is so thick that my pussy has to stretch to accommodate him, and we both groan at the sensation.

"Fuck, you're tight," he grits out, his face a mask of concentration and restraint. "Your pussy feels like heaven wrapped around my cock."

"More," I breathe, wrapping my legs around his waist. "Give me all of it. I can take it."

He slides deeper with careful control, his thick length stretching me open until he's fully seated inside me. The sensation of being completely filled by him, completely claimed, is overwhelming in the best possible way.

"Christ, Mavis," he groans, his forehead pressed to mine. "You feel incredible. So tight and wet around my cock."

We stay still for a moment, savoring the connection, the perfect fit of our bodies. Then slowly, carefully, he begins to move, his thick cock sliding in and out of my slick heat.

The rhythm he sets is steady and deep, each thrust calculated to drive me higher. His hands are everywhere, tangled in my hair, cupping my face, gripping my hips—as if he can't get enough of touching me.

"Look at me," he commands when my eyes drift closed. "I want to see your face when I'm fucking you. I want to watch you take my cock."

I meet his gaze, and the intensity there steals my breath. He's watching me like I'm the most fascinating thing he's ever seen, like he's memorizing every expression that crosses my face as he claims me.

"You like that?" he growls, angling his hips to hit that perfect spot inside me. "You like having my big cock stretching that tight pussy?"

"Yes," I gasp, my nails digging into his shoulders. "Fuck me harder. Please."

He complies, his pace increasing, driving into me with controlled power that makes me see stars. The sound of our bodies coming together fills the cabin—wet and primal and perfect.

"I'm close," I gasp, my body coiling tighter with each thrust.

"Then come for me," he growls, reaching between us to circle my clit with his thumb. "Come on my cock. I want to feel your pussy squeeze me when you come."

I cry out as the orgasm tears through me, more intense than the first, my pussy clenching rhythmically around his cock.

"Fuck, yes," he groans, his rhythm faltering as my walls milk him. "That's it, baby. Come all over my cock."

The sensation of me coming undone beneath him breaks his control. With a hoarse groan, he buries his face in my neck and follows me over, his cock pulsing as he fills me with his hot cum.

"Take it all," he growls against my throat. "Take every drop of my cum."

We lie there afterward, breathing hard, still intimately connected. Connor's weight is a comfort rather than a burden, and I run my hands over his sweat-dampened back, not wanting this moment to end.

Eventually, he shifts slightly, starting to pull away, but I tighten my legs around him.

"Not yet," I whisper. "Please."

He settles back down, pressing a soft kiss to my temple. "I'm too heavy for you."

"You're perfect," I correct, and feel his smile against my skin.

For a few precious minutes, we just hold each other, the only sounds the crackling fire and our gradually slowing breathing. Outside, the storm continues to rage around Connor's cabin, sealing us away from the world. I feel utterly content, completely satisfied in a way I never have before.

But gradually, I become aware of a subtle shift in Connor's energy. A tension creeping back into his muscles, a careful distance being inserted into what moments before had been complete intimacy.

He pulls back to look at me, and I see the exact moment the doubts crash back in. The professional mask sliding back into place.

"We should..." he starts, then clears his throat. "I should check your temperature. Make sure the exertion didn't cause any complications from the hypothermia."

The clinical words hit me like a bucket of cold water. Just like that, I'm no longer his lover but his patient again.

I watch him retreat—physically and emotionally—with a growing sense of hurt and confusion. The man who just made love to me with such tenderness and passion has been replaced by the efficient EMT who pulled me from the creek.

"What just happened?" I ask, sitting up and pulling the blanket around myself.

He pauses in pulling on his shirt, his back still to me. "You've been through a traumatic experience. Sometimes the body's response to near-death situations can include heightened emotional and physical reactions. It's completely normal."

His words feel like a slap. "So you think this was just some kind of trauma response? That I only wanted you because you saved my life?"

"I think," he says carefully, finally turning to face me but keeping his distance, "that we should both get some rest. Things will look different in the morning."

The dismissal in his tone cuts deep. Minutes ago, he was inside me, whispering that I was perfect, looking at me like I was the most important thing in his world. Now he's treating me like a confused patient who needs to be managed.

"You're wrong," I say quietly, but with absolute conviction. "This wasn't trauma or gratitude or some kind of rebound reaction. This was real."

"Get some rest, Mavis," he says, then retreats to the kitchen, putting as much physical space between us as the small cabin allows.

I pull his t-shirt back on, the fabric carrying his scent, and lie back down on the couch. But sleep is the furthest thing from my mind.

Because whatever Connor wants to believe about what just happened between us, I know the truth.

In his arms, under his touch, I felt something I'd never experienced before.

Not just physical pleasure, though that had been incredible, but a sense of being completely seen and utterly safe at the same time.

For those precious minutes, I wasn't Mavis the photographer, or Mavis the granddaughter trying to live up to an impossible legacy, or Mavis the woman who'd nearly died pursuing the perfect shot.

I was just Mavis. And somehow, that had been enough. More than enough.

Connor can retreat behind his professional boundaries all he wants, but I know what I felt. And more importantly, I know what he felt too, no matter how hard he's trying to deny it now.

Connor Hayes saved my life today. But somehow, in the process, I think I might have saved his too.

Now I just have to convince him to let me.