Page 18 of Mountain Mechanic
The need in his voice sent a fresh wave of heat through me. I nodded, pulling back and quickly slipping off my shoes. I shimmied out of my leggings and panties in the confined space, the practical motions a stark contrast to the fever burning under my skin. But when I moved to straddle him, he stopped me not with his hands, but with his mouth.
He kissed me—a kiss that tasted of promise and us. While his tongue explored my mouth, his hand slid up my bare thigh, his fingers a rough caress against my sensitive skin. He didn’t have to search far. He found me wet and ready, a soft, desperate sound escaping me as his fingers brushed my clit.
“So ready for me,” he murmured against my lips, his thumb moving over that swollen nub in a slow, perfect circle.
The sensation was so intense, so immediate, that my head fell back. Needing more, I slid my hand under my sweater, pushing the lace of my bra cup aside to pinch and roll my nipple.
The dual stimulation—his expert touch below and mine above—sent me spiraling fast. My body tightened like a coiled spring, then released, and I came against his hand with a broken cry, my inner muscles fluttering around nothing.
Before the last tremor had even subsided, I was moving, shifting to straddle his hips. His hands slid up my sweater, his palms warm and rough against my waist as I maneuvered him—slick and thick—right where I needed him. A shared gasp echoed between us as I sank down, taking him in completely.
His hands found my breasts, his thumbs stroking my nipples through the soft wool of my sweater as he kissed me, deep and languid. I rode him slowly at first, a gentle, rocking rhythm that made us both shudder. But the need for release began to build again, a low thrum in my core.
I settled one hand between us, my fingers finding that swollen, sensitive nub once more. I massaged in time with my movements, my breath coming in ragged pants against his neck. The pressure built, glorious and unbearable, until I came again, my body clenching around him as I cried out his name.
He held me tight through the aftershocks, his own control snapping. With a final, deep thrust, he groaned my name into my hair, his release flooding me with warmth.
For a long while, we just held each other, our breathing slowly returning to normal in the quiet cocoon of the car. He nuzzled my neck, his laughter a soft puff of air against my damp skin.
“If we keep that up,” he whispered, his voice husky with spent passion, “we might just end up making another baby.”
I laughed, a breathy, contented sound, and pressed a kiss to his jaw. “We have our perfect three,” I said, my heart so full I thought it might burst. “And this…this is a perfect life. Exactly as it is.”
He nodded, his arms tightening around me in agreement. Reluctantly, I shifted, returning to my seat and pulling my clothes back on. We didn’t speak, just sat there in the comfortable silence, our hands linked over the center console as we watched the stars brighten above the snow-dusted peaks.
This was my favorite part of Christmas Day. This man, this peace, this love that felt brand new and eternal all at once.
Finally, with a soft sigh, I started the car, the powerful engine purring to life, and turned us toward home.
She’s helping with a preschool Christmas show…he’s a single dad in the audience.