Page 10 of Stuck with my Mountain Daddies (Men of Medford #4)

CHAPTER EIGHT

Asher

I was bored.

Beckett was in the garage, elbows deep in whatever project he could pretend wasn’t just an excuse to avoid people. Garrett was probably reorganizing the emergency supplies for the third time.

And me? I was upstairs, lying on my back and staring at the ceiling fan like it might blink back.

Riveting.

My guitar was in the corner, calling to me like a needy ex, but I wasn’t in the mood to write another sad acoustic ballad about life and loss and metaphorical storms.

No thanks. I’d rather wander into an actual one.

Which, apparently, was happening right down the hall.

I heard movement in the guest room. Soft. Rhythmic. A faint click and rustle that didn’t sound like someone crying or sulking or rage-texting their manager.

Curiosity got the better of me.

I knocked once, didn’t wait for an answer (classic me), and nudged the door open enough to peek inside.

And stopped.

Hard.

Riley Brooks—disgraced darling of the algorithm, queen of curated chaos—was sitting in front of the mirror.

Glowy skin, perfectly tousled curls, lips glossy and kiss-me pink. She looked like she belonged under ring lights and on magazine covers, not trapped in a drafty mountain cabin with three bearded weirdos and zero Wi-Fi.

For a second, I just stood there. Then she noticed me in the mirror.

Her eyes flicked up. “How long have you been standing there like a creeper?”

I stepped inside with a grin. “Long enough to wonder if I walked into a beauty tutorial or a fever dream.”

She rolled her eyes, but I saw the flush creep up her neck.

“You look…” I let the word drag, mostly because I was enjoying her squirm. “Very influential .”

“Shut up,” she muttered, tossing a makeup brush at me. It hit my chest and dropped to the floor. “I was bored.”

“So you decided to transform into a walking perfume ad?”

“Some people knit,” she said. “Some people doomscroll. I contour.”

My eyes followed her movement unapologetically. “You’re dangerous, you know that?”

She lifted a brow. “Because I’m wearing highlighter?”

“Because you look like trouble,” I said, stepping closer. “And I have a tragic weakness for women who look like they might ruin my life.”

Her laugh was surprised and slightly scandalized. “Shit, you really are terrible.”

“Hmm, I know,” I murmured, close enough now to smell her perfume, soft and expensive, something that didn’t belong in a cabin full of sawdust and snow boots. “You’re like a champagne cocktail in a dive bar.”

She blinked, visibly fighting a smile. “That’s either the best or worst metaphor I’ve ever heard.”

“Depends on how much you like dive bars.”

Another beat. Another inch of space vanished between us.

She wasn’t backing away.

Neither was I.

I reached out, gently tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. It felt electric. Intimate. Way more personal than it should’ve.

Her breath caught. Mine did, too.

All I could think about was that night.

Medford Inn. Dim lights. Her lips on mine, her breathy laugh in the dark, the way her nails had dragged down my back like she was trying to memorize the shape of me.

I leaned in.

And when she didn’t move, didn’t blink, didn’t breathe, I kissed her.

Soft, at first. Testing. Waiting for the moment she’d flinch or slap me or push me away.

She didn’t. She kissed me back.

Her fingers curled in my shirt, anchoring me to her like she was afraid I’d disappear. I pressed in, deepening it, letting the moment stretch until my lungs burned and my head spun and none of it mattered because her mouth was on mine, and damn , she tasted like everything I’d forgotten I craved.

Want.

Not just the physical kind. The soul-level ache that crept in when I wasn’t looking.

I broke the kiss first. Barely.

Our foreheads touched. Her eyes were wide, lips parted, breath warm against my cheek.

“That wasn’t smart,” she whispered.

“Nope,” I agreed.

“We shouldn’t…”

“Probably not.”

Neither of us moved.

I let my fingers trace the curve of her jaw, slow and reverent. “But I’m not sorry.”

She swallowed, eyes locked on mine. “Me neither.”

For a second, everything in the world felt quiet. No snow. No scandal. Just her. Just me. Just this.

But I knew it couldn’t stay that way.

Riley Brooks was the definition of temporary. Of too bright and too much and not for keeps .

And still, I wanted more.

She kissed me again, like she wanted to punish me for every second we’d spent pretending we didn’t want this.

This wasn’t sweet. It wasn’t soft.

It was heat and hunger and teeth.

Her hands were already under my shirt, nails dragging up my stomach as she tugged it over my head, tossing it somewhere neither of us cared about.

I caught her wrists, pinning them gently to the wall behind her head as I pressed her against it.

Her breath hitched.

“You like that,” I murmured.

She didn’t answer, just leaned up and bit my lower lip, hard enough to make me groan.

I let her wrists go and gripped her waist, lifting her. She wrapped her legs around my hips without hesitation, grinding against the bulge in my jeans with shameless friction.

Fuck, she was already soaked through her leggings; I could feel the heat of her even through two layers.

I carried her to the bed, dropping her onto the mattress like I owned her, and she stared up at me with that look, the one that dared me to take it further.

Challenge accepted.

I stripped her shirt slowly, just to watch her squirm. The bra underneath was black lace, delicate and sheer, barely covering anything.

My cock twitched hard against my zipper.

“You wore this up here?” I asked, eyes raking over her.

“It’s called hope,” she said, smirking.

I bent down and sucked one nipple through the lace until she gasped, fingers in my hair, legs parting automatically. I dragged my teeth over the peak, then slipped the strap off her shoulder with my mouth.

Every sound she made went straight to my dick.

“Off,” she said, already reaching for my belt. “Now.”

“You first,” I growled, hooking my fingers in the waistband of her leggings and yanking them down her thighs. No teasing now. No restraint.

She was bare underneath, nothing between me and the slick, aching heat of her pussy.

And fuck, she was dripping.

I pushed her knees apart and dropped to the floor like I was worshiping her, because maybe I was. Her thighs trembled when I kissed the crease between her hip and groin, then lower, letting my tongue trace the wet seam of her until she bucked.

“Asher. Fuck.”

I devoured her.

Tongue deep, lips wrapped around her clit, fingers curling inside her until her back left the bed. She grabbed the headboard for something to hold onto while I licked her like it was the only thing I’d ever wanted.

And when she came, loud and shaking, thighs clenched tight around my head, I didn’t stop.

I kept sucking, kept stroking, kept her right on the edge until she was begging.

“Asher. Please… please , I can’t.”

I stood up, letting her see what she did to me, my jeans tented hard, straining.

“You sure?” I asked, unzipping slowly.

Her eyes locked on my hand. “Get. Inside. Me.”

Jeans hit the floor. Condoms were somewhere, drawer, bag, didn’t matter. I found one, tore it open with my teeth, and rolled it on.

Then I grabbed her hips, dragged her to the edge of the bed, and thrust in hard enough to knock the air out of both of us.

“Shit,” I groaned, head dropping to her shoulder. “You feel, fuck , Riley.”

She was so tight, so hot, taking all of me like she’d been made to fit.

Her legs wrapped around my back, urging me deeper. Faster.

And I gave her everything.

Flesh slapping, sweat slicked, moans and curses tangled between us. I gripped her throat—not hard, but enough to feel her pulse—and she arched into me like she wanted to be ruined.

“You like it rough?” I whispered, fucking her harder.

She bit her lip, nodding. “Yes. Hell, yes.”

So I gave her rough.

Pinned her wrists. Drove in so deep she screamed. Fucked her into the mattress, every thrust shaking the frame.

She came again, violently, whole body seizing beneath me, and I wasn’t far behind. Her name left my mouth in a ragged growl as I buried myself to the hilt, stars exploding behind my eyes.

After, I collapsed beside her, chest heaving, skin slick.

Neither of us said anything.

She rolled over, hair wild, face flushed, eyes glassy.

“I’m still bored,” she whispered.

I laughed, breathless, and pulled her close. “Liar.”

We hadn’t moved much. Still tangled, still flushed, still coming down from the kind of high that made the world feel hazy and slow.

But the thing about Riley Brooks? She was addictive.

One taste wasn’t enough.

She climbed on top of me, straddling my hips, hair a wild halo, fingers dragging down my chest like she owned every inch of me. Her body slid against mine, skin on skin, wet and wanting.

“How's your stamina?” she asked, voice husky, lips brushing mine.

I groaned, hands gripping her thighs. “It’s good. I’m so not done with you.”

She reached between us, teasing me back to life with maddening slowness. I watched her through half-lidded eyes, completely at her mercy, my breath already catching again.

“You ready for me?” she whispered, grinding down enough to make me curse.

“Fuck, yes?—”

Click.

Creaaaak.

“Oh hey, do either of you know where… holy… oh my fucking god…”

The door opened.

Riley screamed, diving forward and knocking her forehead into mine.

I flailed like I’d been caught committing a federal crime, grabbing at the edge of the blanket just in time to cover some things… though not nearly fast enough.

“Garrett, get out!” I barked.

“I didn’t see anything!” he yelled, spinning around so fast he dropped whatever he was carrying. “Why was the door unlocked?”

The door was still open. I lunged and kicked it shut with a satisfying bang.

Silence.

I climbed back onto the bed as Riley collapsed against me, red from forehead to chest, face buried against my shoulder, shaking with laughter and horror. “I was literally about to ride you into next week.”

I groaned, covering my face with one hand. “And now he’s going to organize a family meeting about safe house etiquette.”

“Worst. Threesome. Ever,” she deadpanned.

I cracked a grin despite myself, tugging her under the blanket with me. “So you still up for round two?”

She made a face. “With the ghost of Garrett still lingering? You’re lucky I don’t throw myself off the balcony.”

“Noted. Lock the door next time.”

“No, you lock the door next time, Asher.”

“Deal.”

Did that mean there was going to be a next time?