Page 4 of My Forbidden Mountain Man (Summer in the Pines #1)

Logan

My body won’t listen to me.

I tell myself don’t touch her—then my hand is under her shirt, palming her breast through the lace of her bra, thumb dragging over a nipple already stiff for me.

I tell myself let her breathe—then I’m swallowing her moan, my other hand gripping the curve of her ass, hauling her tighter against me. She arches into it, and fuck, the way her body fits mine—like every inch of her was designed to ruin me.

That soft little kiss of hers? A match to gasoline.

Now I’ve got her backed into the nearest tree, giving her something to rest against as my hands explore without restraint. Never mind the way the bark bites into her skin, she’s begging for more, her soft moans nothing but music to my ears.

Years of watching her through a screen, of biting my tongue raw to keep from telling her how fucking pretty she looks in the mornings, how bad I wanted to pin her against the nearest surface…

Now she’s here. Warm. Willing. Whimpering against my mouth like she’s been waiting just as long. We’ve both hit our limit, and now, I’m not sure a few kisses will be enough. I’ll want more.

I always want more.

My cock aches, hard enough to throb against her hip. I should stop. There are hikers on these trails—hell, I wanted to stop them from looking at her, and now I’m the one who can’t keep my hands to myself.

But her fingers are in my hair, tugging, and her tongue is sliding against mine, and—

“Logan.” My name is a gasp, a plea, a demand for more.

I break just to drag my lips down her throat, teeth scraping where her pulse jumps. I growl, but my hands are already moving, already taking—hiking her leg up around my waist, grinding her against me until she shudders.

I’m out of control. I need to reel it back before I do something I can’t take back.

“Please, touch me.” Her next moan leaves her breathless as my erection nudges her just right.

“Someone will see,” I argue, trying to convince myself while I’m at it. “You’re somebody now. I don’t want a hiker to recognize you and—”

She’s shameless, pulling my hand away from her chest before she’s dragging it down to the button of her khakis. With one hand, she abandons my hand long enough to pop the button. Through half-lidded eyes, her smile is mischievous.

“You want to touch me, Logan. Just do it already.”

Saying the words so confidently, they make my head spin.

She knows how I feel, and yet, she still wants my touch. Wants me.

As badly as I don’t want to risk ruining her reputation, this sort of hunger is impossible to ignore.

Releasing her thigh, I’m dragging my fingertips toward the metal teeth keeping the flaps open. Just the simple drag of her zipper is enough to feel the heat radiating from her pussy.

Her breath hitches as I graze my fingertips along the front of her underwear, and a growl escapes me at the discovery of the way the damp fabric is already clinging to her skin. The heat is staggering—an almost sinful promise of how wet she is.

Not from our short-lived hike. This is all arousal.

“Fuck,” I grit out, palming her through the lace, and her hips jerk against my hand. A whimper escapes her, her fingers digging into my shoulders as if she’s already losing her grip.

I don’t tease, already knowing my patience is running thin, and I push past the soaked barrier, groaning at the slickness that greets me.

Her folds are swollen, aching, and the second my thumb grazes her clit, her entire body tenses.

“Oh!” Her voice is a shattered thing, her forehead dropping against my chest as I circle that sensitive bundle of nerves, slow and relentless. Every stroke pulls another broken sound from her, her thighs trembling as her legs barely hold her up.

If this had happened while we were home, I could have had her flattened on my bed. Instead of tucking my hand between her thighs, I could’ve spread her wide open and had my tongue buried deep.

Next time. There has to be a next time.

I can feel her tightening, her breath coming in ragged gasps, and I press deeper, curling two fingers inside her just to hear her sob.

“That’s it,” I murmur against her ear, my own control fraying. As my breath comes out heavy, I feel the pricking of goosebumps forming along the crook of her neck. “That’s my good girl. You like my fingers, don’t you?”

As her breathing catches, her pussy flutters around my invading fingers. Add in the addition of my thumb pressing against her sensitive nub, and I can’t blame her answer coming out as nothing but a whimper.

God, how many times have I fantasized this? I’ve imagined her juices pruning up my fingers more times than I can count. Pretended I knew what she’d sound like when she moans, but didn’t come close.

This is a wet dream come to life, one I never want to end. However, Violet is too worked up. She doesn’t stand a chance against my onslaught.

Each hitch of her breath tells a story. She’s getting closer and closer to her climax. It’s the way she reaches down for my wrist, her paint-covered nails digging into my skin as her hips roll against my palm that paints an ending.

“Come for me. Let me feel it.” I don’t recognize my voice or the desperation dripping from my lips.

Her climax hits like an ocean wave during a storm, crashing in violently. Her back arches, her nails scoring my skin, and she muffles a cry against my shoulder as she pulses around my fingers.

I don’t let up, drawing out every last shudder until she’s boneless against me, her chest heaving, her lips parted in a dazed, satiated haze.

For a long moment, all she can do is cling to me, her breath warm against my neck. And despite the guilt gnawing at me—the knowledge that I’m playing with fire—the possessive thrill of wrecking her like this drowns out everything else.

My cock continues to throb against my jeans, begging to join my fingers, but when I pull back, I don’t go to free myself. Instead, I carefully button her bottom.

She leans back against the tree, and confusion slips around in her gaze. Her cheeks are flushed red, growing deeper in color as she watches me bring my fingers up to my lips.

Not wanting to waste such a perfect opportunity to discover her flavor, I taste each finger individually, groaning in the process.

She’s salty and sweet, the perfect combination to get addicted to.

Once she’s caught her breath, Violet’s eyes lower, and I can see the question already forming.

“Not here.” Even if it risks leaking a patch in my jeans, I won’t fuck her. My body might ache, but I’ve already risked too much.

That, and Violet deserves so much more than getting roughly fucked in a patch of trees.

From what I’ve noticed so far since her arrival, it seems like life has already kicked her around enough as it is.

At my dismissal, she sinks her teeth into her bottom lip and nods. What I’m sure is disappointment in her eyes, the wobble of her legs will have to be enough to satisfy her for now.

Once I have her to myself, I won’t just want to relieve the stiffness in my jeans. Just getting a taste of her like this is dangerous. Her flavor is enough to get addicted to.

If I get addicted, I won’t want to let her go.

With the way she came back into my life, she made it clear. This stay of hers is momentary. Just a place for her to crash until she can get on her feet again. It could be a couple of days, or a few weeks. Or, if I’m lucky, a few months.

She’s not aware just how tightly she has me wrapped around her finger, how badly I want her. I’ve spent too much time beating myself over these feelings I’ve manifested over my monitor.

Right now, this doesn’t feel wrong. Touching her like this, making her feel good, that’s been the most right thing I’ve ever felt. It’s something I want to chase.

“Are you able to walk back?” My hands curl at my sides in anticipation, and the hope she’ll tell me no swirls around my head. Any excuse to touch her, even if it’s simply carrying her back to my cabin, sounds like a good idea.

Unfortunately, she nods her head and already starts walking back along the trail like she can find her way back without me. The expression on her face isn’t one of relief from her earlier pleasure. No, she looks as frustrated as I do.

Something so little shouldn’t claw at my chest, but it does. Fuck, it’s enough to claw at a man’s concious, and now, I’m wondering if I should’ve had more control over myself. More constraint.

I’ll figure out what to do. Even if I’m going in completely blind, I’ll figure it out.

One way or another, Violet will be mine.

* * *

It’s a miracle I don’t have her pressed against the nearest wall the second we make it back. We’ve only finished half my usual hike, but we’re both flushed and gasping like we ran the whole way.

That time spent together has left us in wild disarray, flushed and aching.

Violet makes it hard to ignore the voice snarling in my head, the one begging me to chase the high she’s left me chasing. However, I don’t get the chance to act on it.

She’s already slipping away the moment we step inside, her hurried footsteps echoing down the hall before the bathroom door clicks shut. The shower hisses to life, steam seeping under the doorframe, carrying the faintest trace of her soap—something sweet and sharp, like citrus and possible regret.

Now alone, I drag a hand down my face and groan. Her scent clings to my skin, a taunt woven into salt and sweat. Shit, I’m a mess. There’s no coming back from this. No pretending my hands don’t still ache with the memory of her.

With the ache of my erection constantly throbbing, constantly wanting to finish what we started, I force my way past the hiss of the shower and escape into my room.

As the door shuts, I jerk my fly open to get everything out of my system.

If she’s run away so quickly, I need to give her a little space. Right now, it’s the best thing I can offer her if I don’t want to spook her.

Not good at this whole thing, I don’t want to fuck up again. I’ll do Violet right, one way or another. If it means waiting for her to come back to me, I’ll do it.