Page 9 of Snug with the Mountain Man (Fall for a Mountain Man #12)

Chapter nine

Ford

I wake up with Maisie curled against me, her hand flat on my chest like it always belongs there. The cabin’s quiet, except for the soft patter of rain on the roof and the faint creak of the stove settling. The fire’s gone out, but she’s warm.

I should get up.

I should leave.

Instead, I stay, staring at the ceiling, feeling her breath against my skin. My body’s already reacting to hers, and I curse under my breath, shifting slightly so she won’t notice.

“Are you already awake?” she murmurs, voice still rough from sleep.

“Yeah.”

Her fingers slide lower on my stomach. “Good.”

I turn my head. She’s smiling at me, eyes still heavy-lidded.

“You’re trouble,” I growl.

She smirks. “You keep saying that, but you never sound mad about it.”

I roll onto my side, one arm braced above her head, pinning her in the blankets. “Maybe I’m not.”

“Then show me,” she whispers.

I groan and kiss her, tasting her mouth until she sighs. My hand slides under the blanket, over her hip, up to the small of her back. She arches into me, soft and warm.

It would be so easy to lose myself right here.

But I force myself to pull back, breathing hard. “Coffee,” I mutter. “We need coffee.”

She laughs and sits up, the blanket falling to her waist. “You’re the one making this complicated.”

“Trying to be decent,” I grumble, getting to my feet.

“Don’t hurt yourself,” she teases, following me into the kitchen, wrapped in the blanket like a makeshift dress.

I busy myself at the counter, measuring coffee grounds, anything to not look at the curve of her bare shoulder, the edge of her thigh peeking out.

“Ford?” she says, sweet as sin.

I glance up. “Yeah?”

She’s leaning against the counter, watching me with a small, knowing smile. “You’re grumpy when you’re trying not to touch me.”

“I’m grumpy because you’re impossible,” I mutter.

She crosses the kitchen slowly, every step deliberate. “Impossible, how?”

“You know how.”

She reaches past me for the sugar jar, her chest brushing my arm. “You’re imagining things.”

I grab her wrist before she can pull away. “Maisie.”

Her eyes sparkle. “Yes?”

“Stop,” I rasp.

“Make me,” she whispers.

And just like that, I’m done. I pull her closer, my hand sliding under the blanket to her bare back. She gasps softly, but doesn’t move away.

“You keep pushing,” I growl, lowering my head to her neck. “You really want to know what happens?”

“Yes.”

I kiss her throat. Just a taste. She tilts her head back, giving me more. My tongue traces her skin. Her hands slide up my chest, nails grazing lightly.

“Ford, you’re coffee’s ready,” she murmurs, breath hitching.

“Don’t care.”

I push the blanket off her shoulders, exposing her completely. Her nipples pebble under my gaze, and I swear softly, dragging my thumb over one while I kiss the other. She trembles, grabbing the counter edge behind her.

I press her back against the counter, my mouth on hers again, filthy, claiming. Her fingers tangle in my hair, pulling me deeper.

“You’re mine,” I mutter against her lips.

“Then take me,” she whispers.

I lift her onto the counter, step between her thighs, and push inside her with a groan. She wraps her legs around me, nails digging into my shoulders.

This isn’t frantic. It’s slow at first, a steady grind that has her gasping and rolling her hips against mine.

I kiss her neck, her shoulder, her mouth, whispering all the things I’ve been holding back: how good she feels, how long I’ve wanted this, how she’s been driving me crazy since she came back.

She moans and tips her head back. “Harder,” she breathes.

I obey. My hands grip her hips, guiding her, thrusting faster, deeper, until she’s clinging to me, her breath coming in sharp cries.

“You’re so damn beautiful,” I growl. “You’re mine, Maisie. Say it.”

“Yours,” she gasps, arching into me. “Always yours.”

She comes hard, clenching around me, her cry muffled against my shoulder. I follow with a low groan, holding her tight as we fall apart together.

For a long moment, neither of us speaks. Just the sound of rain, the fire popping softly in the stove, our ragged breathing.

She smiles up at me, cheeks flushed. “Now I really want coffee.”

I chuckle, still inside her. “Smartass.”

She strokes my jaw with her thumb. “You’re different when you’re not pretending to dislike me.”

“Yeah,” I murmur, kissing her again, softer this time. “I am.”

I finally ease out of her, setting her gently back on her feet. “Go start the shower,” I tell her. “I’ll pour the coffee.”

She smirks over her shoulder as she walks away, naked, unbothered. “Only if you join me.”

I groan, already hardening again.

Hell.

Coffee can wait.