Page 51 of Mountain Daddy (Mountain Men #2)

Kendra

Turning off my bedroom light, I crawl into bed.

Settled on my back, I grab my phone off my nightstand.

Me: Thanks again for lunch today. It was a nice surprise.

It really was. Even if it didn’t go as he’d planned.

Papi: Your dad sucks.

A loud laugh pops out of my chest.

I’m still grinning when my phone notifies me of a video call.

I only hesitate a moment before answering.

With the lights off, my image is a black rectangle.

But Luther…

Mounted to the wall behind him is a beautiful piece of wood, with a bark-covered live edge along the top. It’s stunning. And it looks like a headboard.

Which means he’s sitting in bed.

Shirtless.

With fucking glasses on.

I can’t with this man.

I hang up.

My phone rings again.

I let him hear my groan while I accept the call.

“Did you hang up on me?”

“Yes,” I tell him. “Because I can’t with you.”

He narrows his eyes. Behind his glasses . “I’m literally just sitting here.”

“Exactly.”

“I can’t see you. Turn a light on.”

“No.” I answer like the brat he accuses me of being.

“Baby, I might be down to my tighty-whities, but if you deny me this, I will get in my truck, drive over there, and break in.”

“Break in?” I have a lot to learn about Luther Rockford, but I can’t picture him busting a window on his bestie’s house.

He lifts his chin. “Fine, I’d use my spare key. But same thing.”

Heat that I’ve come to associate with Luther’s nearness swirls in my belly.

Knowing he has a key to the house.

Knowing he could just walk in at any moment…

“Turn a light on, Kendra.” His voice is gruffer. More serious.

I sigh loud enough for him to hear it, then shuffle around until I’m also sitting up against my headboard. Mine is a classic shaker style, matching my dressers and made by my dad.

I hold the phone out, hoping it’s at a flattering angle, while I reach over and turn on my bedside lamp.

It’s not a bright light, and I’m still mostly in shadows, but it’s enough.

“There’s my pretty girl.”

His words are a purr, and they settle over my skin like a fuzzy blanket.

He’s not the first man to call me pretty, but his compliments feel so much more genuine than anything I’ve heard before. It doesn’t feel like he’s saying them to get laid. I feel like he’s saying them because he can’t stop himself.

“How was your evening?” His question is soft.

I blink, bringing myself back to the moment. “It was nice. Read a book on the deck with a glass of wine.”

“Sounds relaxing.”

I bite my cheek as I look at him.

His shoulders are broad and rounded with muscle. His mostly white beard and graying hair do nothing to diminish his appeal.

And his chest hair…

Also graying, in the absolute best way.

I’m seriously tempted to take a screenshot of him like this. I’d save it to my favorites so whenever I was feeling down or bored, I could pull it up. Because no matter how long this thing between us lasts, right now, at this point in time, this man, this specimen of masculinity, is mine.

Just mine.

I swallow.

And remind myself he’s more than a hot body.

He’s a goofball.

“Are you really wearing tighty-whities?” I ask, causing the side of his mouth to pull up.

“I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.”

I press my lips together. Goofball.

“Fine.” I agree. “But I’m not getting up to turn more lights on.”

I didn’t get dressed for bed thinking I’d see Luther tonight. But it just so happens that I am wearing the skimpiest pajamas I own.

My shorts are short . And the ribbed fabric is formfitting, hugging my hips and ass. It’s technically full coverage, but the thin fabric hides nothing.

And the top… Well, the top is more of a bralette than an actual shirt.

It’s not modest.

And it’s not padded. Meaning my nipples are right there , saying hello with a perky salute.

There’s a matching cardigan that makes the top half family friendly, but I’d still have to pull sweatpants on over these shorts before I wore them around anyone.

Anyone other than Luther.

Using my free hand, I push the blankets off my lap.

Usually, I’d be self-conscious of showing so much of myself. But as the thought flitters into my mind, Luther pulls the phone closer to his face. A reminder that he likes everything about my body.

Slowly, I tilt my phone.

Inch by inch, I show him more.

My cleavage.

My tits.

And I revel in the sound he makes, knowing he can see through my shirt . And knowing he likes it.

I keep my legs pressed together but lift my knees, pressing my feet into the mattress. And then I tilt the phone farther. So Luther can see.

He sucks in a breath.

And I know he can see it. The outline of my…

The proof I’m not wearing anything under my shorts.

I let the view linger.

And even through the phone, even though he doesn’t say anything, my body reacts to his gaze.

Heat pools between my thighs.

I pull in a deep breath.

Then I tilt the phone back up, showing my flushed face.

Luther closes his eyes and tips his head back, his skull thudding against the beautiful headboard.

“You okay, Old Man?” I sort of laugh. Sort of whisper.

“I should’ve gone first,” he groans.

“Why’s that?” I tease, dying to see for myself.

Luther’s eyes open, catching mine through the screen. “You know exactly what you do to me, Doll.”

My lips part, ready to reply, but then my throat dries up because Luther is tilting his phone.

The lights in his room are on, illuminating every part of him.

The hand not holding his phone settles on his chest, between his pecs.

And what wonderful pecs they are.

I’ve laid my head there twice, and both times, I fell asleep within moments.

His hand, and my view, move lower. To his abs.

Freaking abs .

Lower still. To that trail of hair.

And whoever named it was right. It does cause me happiness.

Lower.

My breath hitches.

They aren’t white undies like Luther claimed. They’re gray boxer briefs.

And there’s something inside them trying to get out.

Luther palms his cock through the cotton. Squeezing.

I feel the flex of his fingers in my core.

And when I notice the dark spot, the wet spot, where the tip of his dick is, I think I whimper.

“You can’t make those sounds.” Luther grunts as he rubs his palm down his dick.

“You can’t possibly expect me to see you like this and stay quiet.” There’s no point in playing it cool.

“Kendra—”

“Show me.” I reach up and palm my breast, angling the phone so Luther can see.

Luther’s abs flex. “Ask nicely.”

“Please,” I beg quietly. “Please, Daddy. Show me your cock.”

I swear my phone rattles with Luther’s growl.

His hand releases his length, then slips under the band of his boxer briefs.

My breaths are coming out as pants as I watch him grip his dick, skin on skin this time.

The cotton blocks my view, but with the next stroke, the head of his dick peeks out from the top of his waistband.

My lips part.

His fist moves under the fabric.

I pinch my nipple.

Then Luther curses. And not the sexy kind.

His hand pulls free of his underwear.

“What are you doing?” I practically gasp at his audacity.

“Sorry.” He lifts his hand to his phone. “Let me send this to voicemail.”

“Who’s calling?” I glance at the time.

It’s just after ten. Not that late. But late enough that no one should be calling my man.

“My mother.” Luther sounds so disgusted; I have to laugh.

I also have to let go of my boob. “Is it an emergency? Or does she always call this late?”

He shakes his head. “Not an emergency. Now, where were—” Luther drops his head back again. “God dammit. Hold on, now my sister is calling.”

While he rejects the second call, I lean over and reach into the top drawer of my nightstand.

“Sorry, these impatient fools are asking questions about next weekend,” Luther grumbles as he types out a text.

“What’s next weekend.”

“Ashley’s college graduation party. It’s not until next Saturday, and they have all the details on their fucking invite.

They’re just too lazy to look. Not to mention, I’m usually asleep by now, so why they’re even trying to call this late, I have no idea.

” He shakes his head, meeting my eyes again when he’s done typing. “Tell me you’ll come.”

I know he’s asking me as me , his Kendra.

I also know I’ll be there as Joe’s kid. But it doesn’t matter, I’ll be there.

“I’ll come,” I tell him. “Go deal with your family. And don’t worry about me. I’ll come tonight too.” Grinning, I lift my hot pink vibrator into view. “Night, Luther.”

His mouth opens.

I hang up the call.