Page 3 of Overtime with Orion (Mountain Men Fall Harder #1)

LARKIN

Iarrived at Osprey Lake with my heart hammering against my ribs. The drive out had given me too much time to think and second-guess myself, wondering what exactly I was doing meeting a man I’d known for less than twelve hours at a secluded lake in the dark.

But when I saw his truck already parked in the gravel lot, relief washed over me. He’d come. He’d actually come.

The lake lay still under the moon, the maples dark against the shoreline. It was quiet and peaceful, the rest of the world fading away. Moonlight lit the way, and all that could be heard was the soft lap of the water and a distant bird call.

I grabbed the football I’d borrowed from the library’s lost-and-found box and climbed out of my SUV. Orion was walking toward me, and the sight of him made my mouth go dry. Jeans that fit him perfectly, a dark shirt that showed off those incredible shoulders, and a smile that made my knees weak.

“Wow,” I said, trying to sound normal while my pulse raced. “This is beautiful. And so quiet.”

“Most people don’t know about it.” He took the football from me, and when our fingers brushed, heat shot up my arm. “Ready for your first lesson?”

“Absolutely.” I grinned up at him, probably too enthusiastically. “Where do we start?”

“Grip.” He held up the ball, his hands sure and confident. “Fingers on the laces, thumb underneath. Like this.”

I nodded seriously, trying to memorize every detail. When he passed me the ball, I fumbled it completely, and suddenly he was right behind me, his chest brushing my back as he guided my hands into position.

“Like this?” I managed to ask, hyperaware of his warmth surrounding me.

“Perfect.” His voice was rougher than before, and I felt something flutter low in my stomach. He smelled incredible—something woodsy and warm and completely masculine. “Now when you throw, step into it—left foot first.”

He demonstrated with fluid grace, making it look effortless. I tried to copy him. The ball wobbled pathetically through the air and landed with a thud about ten feet away.

“That was awful,” I laughed, embarrassed.

“That was your first throw. It’s fine.” He jogged to retrieve it, and I couldn’t help watching the way he moved. “Try again.”

For the next twenty minutes, he patiently taught me the basics.

I was terrible at it, but I was also determined—a combination that led to a lot of frustration and eventual small victories.

Every time I managed a decent throw, Orion’s face lit up with genuine pride, and that look made me want to master every sport ever invented.

“Okay,” he said after I’d finally managed three good throws in a row. “Defense.”

“Defense?” I repeated.

“I’m going to try to get to that tree.” He pointed to a maple about twenty yards away. “Your job is to stop me.”

Challenge accepted. My eyes narrowed.

“Bring it on,” I said.

He started jogging toward me, not at full speed, and I stepped directly into his path with my arms spread wide. I knew he could easily get around me, but instead, he let me wrap my arms around his waist, and we both tumbled to the grass.

I found myself laughing, breathless, pinned beneath him with my hair spread out around me. Then our eyes met, and the laughter died in my throat. The air between us suddenly felt electric, charged with something that made my skin tingle.

“That’s not how you tackle in real football,” he said, his voice low and rough.

“Oh yeah?” I whispered, my heart pounding so hard, I was sure he could feel it. “How do you tackle in real football?”

Instead of answering, he rolled us over so I was straddling his hips, my hands braced against his chest. I could feel his heart racing beneath my palms, matching the frantic rhythm of my own.

“Larkin…” he started.

I had to tell him. I had to be honest.

“I have a confession.”

“Yeah?”

“I didn’t come out here for football.” The words tumbled out in a rush, my cheeks burning. “I just wanted an excuse to be alone with you.”

His hands found my hips, steadying me, and the contact sent heat shooting through my entire body. “I was hoping you’d say that.”

“There’s more.” I bit my lip, gathering courage for what I was about to admit. “I’ve never…I mean, I haven’t…”

Understanding flickered in his eyes, followed by something that looked like awe. “Larkin.”

“I’m twenty-three,” I said quickly, before I could lose my nerve. “And I’ve never even come close. I’ve been waiting for the right person, the right moment. I know we just met, but I’ve never felt anything like this.”

The way he looked at me then—like I was the only woman in the world that mattered—made my chest tighten with emotion.

“Are you sure?” He sat up, bringing us face to face, his hands still on my hips as I settled more fully into his lap. “Because once we cross this line—“

“I’m sure.” I leaned forward until my forehead rested against his, breathing in his scent, feeling the warmth of his skin. “I’ve never been more sure of anything. I want you to be my first, Orion. I want you to teach me.”

Something shifted in his expression—restraint finally snapping—and then his hands were cupping my face and he was kissing me. Really kissing me. It was nothing like the awkward kisses I’d had before. This was heat and need and months of loneliness poured into one perfect moment of connection.

I kissed him back with everything I had, my hands fisting in his shirt, trying to pull him closer even though there was no space left between us. When we finally broke apart, we were both breathing hard.

“Not here,” he said against my lips, and I could hear the strain in his voice. “You deserve better than grass stains for your first time.”

“Where?” I asked, not caring about anything except the fact that we were going to keep touching, keep kissing, keep exploring this incredible thing between us.

He glanced toward the old boathouse, then back at me. “I’ve got a blanket in my truck. And there’s a spot by the water…”

“Show me.”

We walked to the small dock hand in hand, and I marveled at how right it felt. Natural. Like we’d been doing this for years instead of hours. The moon was nearly full, casting everything in silver light that turned the water into liquid mercury.

He spread a blanket on the wooden dock. When he turned back to me, I saw my own desire reflected in his eyes even in the dim light.

“Second thoughts?” he asked softly.

“None.” My hands went to the hem of my sweater, and I felt a thrill of power at the way his eyes darkened. “But I should probably warn you—I have no idea what I’m doing.”

“We’ll figure it out.” He caught my hands, stilling them, and the gentleness of the gesture made my heart skip. “But first you need to know—this isn’t just tonight for me. I know I’m supposed to be in town temporarily, I know it’s complicated, but you’re not a hookup.”

Relief flooded through me so intensely that it was almost dizzying. “Good. Because you’re not a hookup to me either.”

I pulled my sweater over my head before I could second-guess myself. His appreciative stare as I bared my body made me feel powerful and desirable and completely fearless.

“Your turn,” I said, surprised by the bold edge in my own voice.

He stripped off his shirt, and I couldn’t help staring.

He was magnificent—all hard muscle and golden skin, with a few scars that told stories I wanted to learn.

When I reached out and ran my hands over his chest, feeling the way his muscles jumped under my touch, he closed his eyes and made a sound that sent heat pooling low in my belly.

The air was cool on my bare skin, but the heat in Orion’s gaze kept me warm. My fingers trembled slightly as I reached for the button of his jeans. He watched me, his breath a visible cloud in the moonlight, his hands resting lightly on my hips as if to anchor us both.

I popped the button, the sound unnaturally loud in the quiet night. The zipper came down with a slow, rasping sigh. He kicked off his boots, and then, holding my gaze, he pushed the denim and the soft-looking boxers down his hips in one fluid motion.

My breath caught. He was…more than I could have imagined.

Thick and erect, standing proudly against the dark thatch of hair at his groin.

In the pale light, he looked both powerful and beautiful, a statue of a god come to life.

A faint, musky scent, uniquely his, reached me, and it was the most intoxicating thing I’d ever smelled.

The wave of pure, primal want that washed over me made my head spin.

This was real. He was real. And he was waiting for me.

“Can I…” My voice was a hoarse whisper. “Can I touch you?”

A slow, devastating smile spread across his face. “As long as I’m free to touch too.”

I nodded, unable to form words. My hand was tentative as I reached out, my fingers brushing against the velvety heat of him.

He let out a sharp, hissed breath, and the sound gave me courage. I wrapped my fingers around him, my grip unsure at first, then firmer as I felt the solid, silken weight of him in my palm. I stroked him, a clumsy, exploratory movement.

A low groan rumbled in his chest. “That’s it, Larkin.”

As I moved my hand, his own hands began their exploration. They slid up my sides, his thumbs brushing the sensitive undersides of my breasts, making me gasp. He cupped their full weight, his calloused palms abrading my nipples, sending jolts of pleasure straight to my core.

Then his hands drifted lower, over the curve of my hips, my waist, my stomach, mapping my body with a reverence that left me trembling.

When his fingers finally slid between my legs, a broken sound escaped my throat.

He found me slick and ready, and one finger, then two, slid inside me with an aching fullness that threatened to buckle my knees.

We stood there for minutes that felt like an eternity, caught in a mutual discovery.

My awkward strokes on him, his expert, gentle thrusts inside me.

The world narrowed to this dock, to the sounds of our ragged breathing and the soft, wet sounds of our touching.

Pleasure built inside me, a tight, coiling spring, but just as I felt myself nearing some unknown edge, he stilled my hand.

“Wait,” he breathed, his voice strained. “Lie down on the blanket.”

For a moment, I considered it. But a new, shocking boldness took hold of me. I shook my head, my heart hammering. I couldn’t believe what I was about to do, but the desire to taste him, to please him as he was pleasing me, was overwhelming. I sank to my knees.

“I’ve…I’d always wanted to try this,” I admitted, the confession a shaky whisper.

His eyes widened with surprise, then darkened with an intensity that stole my breath.

I leaned forward before I could lose my nerve, parting my lips and taking him into my mouth.

The taste of him was salty, masculine, utterly foreign and completely thrilling.

My movements were clumsy, uncertain, but he didn’t seem to mind.

His hand came to rest gently on the back of my head, not pushing, just holding.

“God, Larkin,” he moaned, his hips giving a tiny, involuntary thrust. “Your mouth…it’s so hot.”

Emboldened, I slid one hand beneath him, my fingers tentatively exploring the soft, heavy weight of his balls. He groaned, a deep, guttural sound that vibrated through me.

“Just like that,” he rasped, his fingers tangling in my hair. “You have no idea what you’re doing to me. No idea.”

I lost myself in the rhythm, in the sounds he was making, in the feel of him on my tongue. I was someone else, a braver, wilder version of myself, and it was the most liberating feeling I’d ever known. But again, he stopped me, his hands firm on my shoulders, gently pulling me away.

His eyes were blazing. “Now,” he said, his voice raw with need. “On the blanket.”

He helped me to my feet, his own legs seeming a little unsteady. As I lowered myself onto the soft wool, he looked down at me, his expression a mixture of awe and fierce possession.

“I’m going to show you,” he promised, his voice a low vow that echoed across the water, “exactly what you’d been missing.”