Page 5 of Take Me, Tex (The Mountain Code #3)

Tex

She says don't.

Don't be a gentleman.

Don't hold back.

Don't walk away when everything in me has been screaming to claim her since the moment I found her stranded on the side of this mountain with ink on her cheek and vulnerability in her eyes.

So, I don't.

I close the space between us in one step and cup her face in both hands, my palms rough against her soft skin, tilting her head up to meet mine.

Her breath catches—a soft, sharp sound that goes straight to my blood—and those perfect lips part just slightly, like an invitation I've been waiting for all my life.

That's all I need.

I kiss her like I've earned it.

Like she's mine.

Like the mountain sent her here for this exact moment, and I'm not fool enough to question fate when it lands something this perfect in my lap.

She melts against me with a soft whimper that sends heat flashing through my bloodstream like lightning through a storm cloud. Her hands fist in the front of my shirt, the fabric bunching under her grip, and she yanks me closer like she can't bear even an inch of space between us.

I lift her right off the floor without breaking the kiss, her body light and warm in my arms, and she wraps her legs around my waist like it's the most natural thing in the world. She tastes so fucking sweet, and when she nips at my lower lip, I growl low in my throat.

She's perfect. Responsive. Made for me.

I carry her to the couch, my hands spanning her waist, lowering her onto the cushions as carefully as I can manage with blood roaring in my ears and need pulsing behind my zipper like a second heartbeat. The quilt is soft beneath her, and her hair spreads across the pillow.

Her thighs part instinctively, hips shifting in a way that makes my mouth go dry, and I fit between them like I was made to be there. Like every choice I've made, every path I've taken, has led me to this moment, this woman, this perfect fit.

"Nora," I growl against her neck, pressing kisses to the soft skin there, licking the salty sweat from her skin. Her pulse beats quick and strong against my lips, and I can feel the vibration of her soft moans in my chest. "You sure about this?"

"Yes." Her voice is breathless, desperate, and her hands are everywhere—my shoulders, my back, tangling in my hair. "Tex, please—don't stop."

Don’t. It’s quickly becoming my favorite word.

I slip my hands beneath that worn T-shirt— my T-shirt—and discover she's not wearing a bra.

The discovery hits me like a physical blow, and I have to close my eyes for a moment to steady myself.

Her skin is soft and warm, and when I run my thumbs over her nipples, she arches beneath me with a gasp that makes me want to do wicked things.

My mouth finds her breast, tongue circling one perfect peak while she writhes beneath me, her breath coming in short pants that sound like music. When she gasps my name like a prayer, I feel something primitive and possessive rise in my chest.

I want to take my time.

I also want to ruin her in the best possible way.

So, I do both.

I tease her until she's writhing under me, her body moving restlessly against mine, moaning and gasping and begging in words that get more fragmented with each pass of my tongue. My name on her lips turns to a whimper, then a curse, then a broken, needy cry that makes my blood sing.

I strip her slowly, worshiping every inch of skin I uncover with kisses and touches that make her shiver and arch. Her body is perfect, all soft curves and warm hollows, and I map every inch with my hands and mouth until she's trembling and desperate beneath me.

Then I strip myself, watching her eyes go wide when she sees me—like she didn't quite expect the full mountain man package—but she doesn't look away.

Instead, her gaze travels over me with an appreciation that makes my skin burn, and when she reaches for me, her touch is soft and sure and everything I've been craving without knowing it.

Her hand looks so tiny wrapped around my cock, and the sight nearly undoes me. Then she leans forward to take me in her mouth.

Oh. My. God. It feels too fucking good. I could let go… could come right now. But I force myself to take a deep breath before gently pushing her away.

She pouts, but only for a moment. And when I position myself at her entrance, she moans. “Tex…”

“Are you ready, sweetheart?”

She licks her lips. “Yes.”

When I finally sink into her, I swear I lose my damn mind.

She's soft and warm and perfect, her body welcoming me like she was made for this, made for me.

The feeling of being inside her is so intense it steals my breath, and I have to brace my hands on either side of her head and close my eyes to keep from losing control completely.

I thrust slow at first, savoring every inch, every breathy gasp she gives me, every flutter of her muscles around me.

The couch creaks softly beneath us, and outside the rain patters against the windows like nature's own percussion section.

But all I can focus on is her—the way she feels, the way she smells, the sounds of sweet pleasure on her lips.

But it doesn't stay slow. It can't.

She's grabbing at my back, her nails digging into my shoulders hard enough to leave marks, her cries getting louder and more desperate with every roll of my hips.

The sound of her voice, breathless and wanting, drives me higher until I'm moving faster, deeper, chasing something that feels bigger than both of us.

I brace a hand on the couch arm and tilt her hips just right—and that's it. She shatters.

I feel her break apart under me, her body clenching around me like she's trying to pull me deeper, and I hear her cry out my name as she pulses and trembles in my arms. The sight of her coming undone, the feel of her pleasure rippling through her body, pushes me over the edge with a growl and a promise I don't mean to say out loud.

"You're mine now."

The words hang in the air between us, rough and possessive and completely honest, and when she looks at me with those dark eyes still soft with pleasure, I know she heard every word.