Page 77 of Grumpy on the Mountain

The second we step through my front door after the BBQ, I lose what's left of my fucking mind.

She's staying. Molly Jennings is staying in Stone River Mountain. With me. Building a life here, taking a job here, choosingmeover whatever safe, sensible future she could build somewhere else.

And she said those words.

I love you.

The realization hits me like a freight train loaded with pure need, and before she can even kick off those ridiculous boots, I pounce on her as I slam the door shut.

"Beau—" she starts, but the word dissolves into a gasp as I spin her around and press her back against the door, my mouth crashing down on hers with an entire afternoon's worth of pent-up hunger.

She tastes like sunshine and cherry pie from Betty's dessert table, and underneath it all, she's everything I've been craving since I was seventeen years old and too stupid to know what I wanted.

"Mine," I growl against her lips, my hands already working at the button of her jeans. "I'm so fucking happy you're staying. You're mine now. Forever."

"Yes," she breathes, her fingers clawing at my shirt. "God, yes. I'm yours."

The words shatter the last of my control. I lift her, carrying her the few steps to the kitchen island.

I set her on the edge of the counter, yanking her jeans and panties down her legs in one desperate motion. She's already wet, already ready for me, and the sight makes my cock throb so hard I'm seeing stars.

"Turn around," I command, my voice rough with need. "Bend over. Hands on the counter."

She obeys without hesitation, spinning and bracing her palms against the smooth wood. The sight of her bent over my handiwork—ass in the air, that perfect pussy glistening between her thighs—makes something primal roar to life in my chest.

I don't bother with finesse.

Can't right now.

Not when she's here, in my space, choosing to stay here with me forever.

My jeans hit the floor, and I have to grip the edge of the counter to keep from coming at just the sight of her laid out for me like this.

Jesus Christ.

Molly's bent over my kitchen island, her perfectly plump ass in the air, the smooth curve of her spine leading down to those gorgeous hips that were made for my hands.

Her skin is flushed pink from arousal, and I can see how wet she is, how ready for me.

I wrap my hand around my cock, stroking slowly as I drink in the view. The contrast of her soft curves against the dark wood I carved with my own hands. The way she's positioned herself perfectly for me, trusting and open andmine.

"You're so fucking beautiful," I growl, running my free hand over the curve of her ass, feeling her shiver under my touch. "Look at you, spread out on my counter like a feast."

She whimpers, pushing back toward me, and I can't resist sliding the head of my cock through her slick folds, coating myself in her slick arousal.

"Please," she gasps, and that single word shatters the last of my control.

"Tell me again," I demand, gripping her hips hard enough to bruise. "Tell me you're staying."

"I'm staying," she gasps, pushing back against me. "I'm staying, Beau. Forever."

Forever.

I slam into her with one brutal thrust, burying myself to the hilt in her tight heat. She screams my name, her back arching as she takes all of me, and I lose whatever was left of my sanity.

She's staying. She's staying. She's mine.

The mantra pounds through my head with every thrust, every stroke driving deeper into her perfect body.