Page 92 of Grumpy on the Mountain

Like he's memorizing every curve and hollow of my body with his callused fingertips.

"Morning, beautiful," he murmurs against my throat, his voice surprisingly clear. Like he's been awake much longer than me.

I stretch languidly in his arms, completely content to stay wrapped in these sheets forever.

"Mmm, good morning to you too."

His hands find my breasts, but instead of his usual playful possession, he's touching me like I'm made of spun glass.

"You're so fucking perfect," he breathes, his thumb brushing over my nipple until it peaks against his palm. "You know that, baby?"

"Beau," I whisper, threading my fingers through his dark hair. It's getting gorgeously long since I moved here. "What's gotten into you this morning?"

Instead of answering with words, he shows me, sliding down my body to worship between my thighs with his talented tongue.

But even then, there's something different about the way he devours me—less playful conquest, more claiming.

More... permanent.

When he finally rises above me, positioning himself between my legs, his steel-gray eyes are dark with need and something that looks almost like fear.

"You're mine, Molly," he says as he slides inside me with one perfect thrust that makes us both groan. "Mine to love."

I wrap my legs around his narrow waist, pulling him deeper because I love when he gets possessive like this.

"Mine to protect," he growls, rotating his hips so he's grinding against my clit in a way that makes me arch beneath him.

"Yes," I gasp, my nails digging into the broad expanse of his shoulders where those sexy tattoos tell stories I'm still learning to read.

His pace picks up, his cock stretching me so perfectly, but there's still that desperate edge to his movements, like he's trying to pour every emotion he can't voice into the slide of his cock inside me.

Fuck.Each thrust is now harder than the last.

His hand slides from my breast to my throat, his fingers wrapping around with just enough pressure to make my pulse race beneath his palm.

What the hell is this? It's good, it's different, it's… it's…

"Look at me," he commands, and I do, locking eyes as he holds me in place.

The gentle lover from moments ago transforms into something primal. His hips snap against mine with bruising force, the slap of skin against skin filling the cabin.

"Take it," he growls.

God help me, I do. My body welcomes every punishing thrust, clenching around him as pleasure builds to an almost unbearable peak.

I've never felt so claimed. So wanted. So completely his.

"You're mine. Mine to—" He pauses, jaw clenching like he's fighting with himself, then his eyes go almost wild with need. "You're mine to breed, Molly."

Holy shit.

The words hit me like lightning, sending shock waves straight to my core.

Breed? Breed?!

"Beau," I try to question it, but he just shakes his head and pounds into me.

We've never talked about this—about futures and babies and forever in concrete terms—but hearing it now, in his rough voice while he's buried deep inside me, makes something unfamiliar unfurls in my chest.