Page 7 of Snug with the Mountain Man (Fall for a Mountain Man #12)

Chapter seven

Maisie

It starts with thunder.

A low rumble in the distance that barely registers over the sound of the crackling fire. I’m curled on the couch, blanket over my lap, fingers toying with the edges, trying not to glance at the clock again.

Ford said he’d come back tonight to make sure everything was holding up. He hadn’t.

It’s fine. I don’t need him.

I tell myself that again as lightning splits the sky and the lights flicker once… twice… and then go out.

Silence falls, except for the wind and the sharp crack of a branch outside. I swallow hard.

I should be used to this by now. The mountain storms. The isolation. The dark. But there’s something about tonight, maybe it’s the tension still lingering from this morning, from that kiss, from the way his hands roamed my body like he couldn’t stop himself.

I’m still flushed from it. Still aching.

I move to the fire, add another log, and try to breathe.

The knock on the door is heavy, purposeful. I yank it open without thinking, and there he is, soaked to the bone.

His flannel shirt clings to every line of his chest. Hair dripping onto his forehead. His eyes lock on mine like he’s already made a decision.

And just like that, I stop pretending.

“Storm knocked out the whole ridge,” he says, stepping in. His voice is low and gritty. “Figured I’d check on you.”

“I’m fine,” I say, though my voice is breathy and my pulse has picked up.

He shrugs out of his jacket and shakes the water from it. “Yeah, I can tell.”

I move back toward the fire, giving him room. He drops his coat and boots by the door, then follows, his steps heavy on the hardwood floor.

The air crackles, not from the static or the storm, but from us.

I grab a bottle of wine and pour two glasses without asking. His hand brushes mine as I hand him one. It’s warm despite the cold.

We sit. Close. Too close. I sip. He doesn’t. His eyes are on me.

“Why are you really here, Ford?”

“I told you. I can’t stay away.”

The wine tastes sweeter suddenly. Or maybe that’s just the heat crawling across my skin.

“You never could before either,” I whisper, emboldened.

His jaw tightens. “Maisie—”

“No.” I set the glass down and turn to face him. “Don’t say it. Don’t pull back again. You kissed me. You touched me. You looked at me like you wanted to devour me.”

He growls low in his throat, the glass in his hand forgotten.

“Say it,” I whisper. “Tell me you want me.”

“I’ve always wanted you.”

I can’t breathe. Not when he says it like that. Like it’s ripped out of him. Like it’s the most honest thing he’s ever said.

I reach for him, and the moment I do, he snaps.

His mouth crashes to mine, teeth and tongue and heat. His hands are everywhere, gripping my waist, fisting in my hair, pulling me flush against him like he’s starved.

I moan, wrapping my arms around his neck, letting him take whatever he needs.

Then we’re stumbling. My back hits the wall near the hearth. His thigh presses against my legs, and he groans against my neck.

“Been losing my mind thinking about you,” he growls. “The way you look at me. The way you say my name.”

I gasp. He grins wickedly, then bites my earlobe.

“Say it again,” he murmurs. “Say it while I make you mine.”

“Ford,” I whisper.

His breath stutters, and then he’s stripping me. He’s not gentle or careful with me. He’s needy.

He pulls my shirt over my head and unhooks my bra. His mouth latches onto the swell of my breast, and I cry out, my hands scrambling at his belt.

“You think I don’t remember that little pink swimsuit?” he mutters. “You, dripping wet and looking at me like you didn’t know what you were doing? You knew. You always knew.”

I moan as his hands slide down my sides, gripping my hips, hauling me against him.

“You’re gorgeous, Maisie. Fucking irresistible.”

We fall onto the rug, the fire roaring behind him. I climb into his lap, straddling his thighs, kissing him like I’ll never get another chance.

“I dreamed about this,” I whisper. “About you.”

He grabs my ass, pulls me tighter. “Keep talking, baby. Tell me what you dreamed.”

“Your hands on me. Your mouth. You inside me.”

His eyes flash, wild and hungry. “You’re killing me.”

I grind against him, gasping at the pressure, the friction, the way his head drops back with a groan.

“Fuck, you feel good,” he mutters. “So soft. So warm. You want it rough or slow?”

“Yes,” I whisper, dizzy from the tension in his voice.

He flips me suddenly, pinning me to the rug. My legs wrap around his waist, and he ruts against me, both of us still half-dressed, the ache building fast.

His voice drops to a filthy rasp. “I’m gonna take my time with you, baby girl. Going to make you scream. Gonna make you mine.”

“You already have me,” I whisper.

That breaks him.

Clothes are ripped the rest of the way off. My thighs are parted, my wrists pinned. He leans in, biting my lower lip.

“I’m going to fuck you right here, in front of the fire, where no one else gets to see you like this. Just me. Just us.”

“Yes, sir,” I breathe.

His eyes roll back. “Goddamn.”

And then he does what he said he would. Hard, deep, perfect. He moves like a man who’s been waiting years for this moment. Who’s finally been handed the thing he never thought he could have.

He doesn’t hold back. He repeats the same words over and over—so tight, so sweet, so good for me. He tells me I’m his. He worships my body as if it were sacred.

I come apart first, gasping and crying out. He follows with a guttural moan, spilling inside me, holding me so tight I don’t think he’ll ever let go.

After, we collapse together, tangled and breathless. The storm rages outside. But in here? Everything’s finally calm.