Page 7 of My Bossy Mountain Man (Summer in the Pines #9)

Tulip

It’s almost ironic how many times I’ve deliberately dressed to catch this man’s attention only to falter now, standing in the quiet sanctuary of my bedroom, suddenly achingly aware of every flaw.

The clasps of my overalls resist my trembling fingers, the metal cool and unyielding. One buckle gives way, the click too loud in the charged silence between us. The next buckle, I struggle to undo with trembling fingers.

I fumble, my pulse hammering, not from inexperience but from the terrifying possibility that he might see me—not the carefully curated version in pretty clothes, but the reality beneath. Stretch marks, softness, imperfections laid bare.

I’m not afraid of the act itself. I’m afraid of the way his eyes might darken with disappointment, how his hands might hesitate instead of crave.

My insecurities have always gripped me, and tonight, they tighten around my throat, whispering the same thoughts that weigh heavily in the back of my mind.

What if he changes his mind?

Then Dallas pulls his shirt over his head, and every anxious thought evaporates. Sizzles up like water on a hot pan.

The fabric slides up, revealing shoulders that belong on a laborer, not a man who spends his days shelving books. His chest is broad, dusted with just enough dark hair to make my fingers itch to reach out and touch. The dim light catches the definition of his abdomen, and suddenly, my mouth is dry.

I gape at him, utterly still, like a fish tossed onto the riverbank.

His lips quirk. “You’re staring.”

Obviously. But all I manage is a strangled noise, halfway between a whimper and a laugh. His confidence is effortless, his body a quiet rebellion against every stereotype I’d pinned to him. The man who whispers sonnets in the library stacks also has this hidden under his T-shirts? It’s unfair.

“Hey.” A calloused thumb brushes my cheek, startling me. “You with me?”

I nod, but my breath hitches as his hand trails down to my half-undone overalls. His fingers replace mine, deftly working the last clasp.

“Tell me to stop,” he murmurs, “and I will.”

The problem is, I don’t want him to. With the way he takes his time to strip me of the denim-clad one-piece, it’s like he already knows I’ve got a mental battle going on.

“You’re just… really impressive, and I’m—”

My voice cracks as his expression shifts. Not the usual fleeting scowl, but something deeper—a frown carved into his features like a confession. It stills me.

“You’re gorgeous, Tulip.” His voice is rough, scraping against the quiet between us. “Every day I’ve spent with you, I’ve fought battles not to say it out loud. Not to reach for you. Do you have any idea what that does to a man?”

His hand closes around mine, pressing my palm flat against his chest. His skin is warm, the muscle taut beneath my fingers, and beneath that—

A heartbeat. Wild and relentless, matching the frantic rhythm of my own.

He’s just as wrecked as I am.

The realization steals my breath.

He’s not done.

As if I could possibly doubt the effect I have on him, he guides my hand lower with deliberate slowness, his grip firm but not demanding—an invitation, not a command.

My breath stutters as my fingers skim the cold metal of his belt buckle, then lower still, until the heat of him sears through the rough fabric of his jeans.

Even through the denim, he’s hard—so hard. Thick and straining, the outline of him unmistakable beneath my trembling touch. Only a few desperate layers separate my palm from his cock, and the thought sends a sharp, liquid ache between my own thighs.

“Can you feel what you’re doing to me? This is the result of just being near you.”

His voice is gravelly, low enough that I feel it in my bones before it even registers in my ears. Goosebumps erupt across my skin, a shiver chasing down my spine as his hips flex instinctively into my touch, betraying just how badly he wants this—wants me.

One little squeeze is all it takes to make him hiss under his breath.

“Does it hurt?” Chewing on my bottom lip, I ignore my curiosity to continue touching.

Shaking his head, he cracks a smile. “I’ve become a master at ignoring it.”

I shouldn’t laugh, but I do. The fleeting sound catches in the back of my throat as he continues.

His hands return to the straps of my overalls, his fingers brushing my sides as he pushes the denim down my hips. The fabric pools at my feet, and I step out of it, suddenly hyper-aware of the cool air against my skin. My shirt follows, fluttering to the floor like a surrender flag.

Now it’s just me—stripped down to cotton and vulnerability.

Dallas goes utterly still. His breath catches, ragged, as his gaze drags over me. For a heartbeat, I brace for hesitation, for the flicker of doubt I’ve imagined a thousand times.

Instead, he releases a rough curse through an exhale before giving me a single nod.. “Perfect. I knew it.”

Then his mouth crashes into mine, hot and insistent, swallowing my gasp as he walks me backward.

My knees hit the edge of the bed, and I sink into the mattress, his body following—a delicious weight pressing me into the sheets.

His jeans are gone somewhere in the tangle, kicked off in a hurry, and now there’s nothing between us but the pesky thinness of our undergarments.

My hands roam, learning the planes of him—the dip of his spine, the flex of his thighs—until my fingers reach the band of his briefs. Before I can pull them down to see what he’s hiding beneath, he’s already moving on.

His lips and teeth nip at my throat, following the dip in my collarbones. Hardly smooth, he buries a hand behind me to unclasp my bra. Once it’s gone, I expect him to take in my breasts with the same adoration he’d given the rest of my body.

The hunger behind his gaze is intense enough to swallow up anything he’d given me in the past.

His gaze drops, heavy and deliberate, and suddenly the air between us is thick enough to choke on. I should feel exposed, trembling under that look—but the hunger in his eyes pins me in place, burning away every doubt.

“ Tulip. ” His voice is wrecked already, rough as his hands skim up my ribs, thumbs brushing the undersides of my breasts like he’s memorizing the shape. “You’re even prettier than I imagined.”

Then his mouth is on me, hot and insistent, and I gasp. He doesn’t tease—not at first. He devours. His tongue swirls around one nipple, then the other, swapping sides with a groan that vibrates against my skin. When his teeth graze the peak, sharp and sweet, my back arches off the bed.

“Dallas—!”

His palm presses my hip into the mattress, holding me down as he licks a slow, tortuous path down my stomach. Every inch of skin he passes trembles in his wake. The scruff of his jaw rasps against me, marking what his mouth hasn’t yet claimed.

He noses the lace edge of my panties, breathing me in. “I’ve been dying to know how you taste.”

The confession spills against my skin, searing. I’m panting now, fingers tangled in his hair—not guiding, just anchoring, because the world tilts when his tongue dips lower, just once, just to tease.

“Lift your hips for me,” he orders as he sinks his fingers into my underwear. When I do, he wastes no time pulling the fabric down my thighs.

Cool air hits my flushed skin in a rush and another shiver wracks through me.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, voice thick. “So fucking pretty.”

And then—he looks. Really looks. Like I’m something sacred. He cradles my knees with his palms before he pushes them apart, giving himself a new sight for his hungry eyes to drink in.

My skin flushes everywhere, but there most of all, where I’m exposed and throbbing.

“You’re dripping. ” His breath hitches as his calloused thumb swipes through my folds, and I jerk at the contact, oversensitive. “To think all of this is for me…”

Listening to him mumble like he’s talking to himself, I shiver as he moves back, making enough room so his shoulders can brush my thighs.

Before I can ask him what he’s doing, I feel the first hot lick of his tongue against my clit—slow, deliberate, like he’s savoring the first taste of something forbidden.

My back arches off the bed, a gasp tearing from my throat as his hands clamp down on my thighs, holding me open.

Startled by the foreign sensation, I whimper his name. Despite my efforts being futile, my hips try to jerk, but get nowhere.

Licking a long, torturous stripe up my slit, he circles my clit with the tip of his tongue, using just enough pressure to make my fingers twist in the sheets, and he groans against me—the vibration sending a shockwave of pleasure straight to my core.

“Please,” I choke out, already trembling. Not used to how sensitive I can be when it’s someone else getting me off, it’s no wonder I’m so responsive.

He pulls back just enough to smirk up at me, his lips glistening. “Please, what?”

I can’t think, can’t breathe, not when he’s watching me like that—eyes dark while he’s memorizing every twitch of my body. His tongue flicks over me again, teasing, maddening, and I sob.

“I need—” The words catch in my throat as I struggle to speak. I don’t even know what it is that I want, but I know I need something now.

Much to my dismay, he chuckles as he teases me with the brush of his breath. Amused by my desperation, he’s happy to make it worse.

His fingers prod at my entrance, and he’s the one to groan as he works one in at a time. By his second finger, I’m feeling the stretch.

“Relax for me.” Giving me the order through a low-throated groan, his eyes flick up to mine. “I don’t want to hurt you down the line.”

He’s got a point. Two fingers in, and after feeling his erection earlier, I’m not sure how he intends on putting that thing in me without splitting me in half.

I try to imagine it, to brace myself for the future, but with the curl of his fingers, I’m distracted.

“ Relax, ” he repeats, this time more of a demand.

He sucks my clit between his lips, and my vision whites out. I’m close, so close, but before I can tip over the edge, he pulls away completely, leaving me empty, throbbing.

This man is terrible. By the looks of it, he’s nowhere close to being done with me, even if he is taking his sweet time.