Page 15 of The Mountain Man’s Untamed Bride (Mountain Man Sanctuary #4)

“Mountain Man Tamed”

Bodhi

I woke to the unfamiliar but oddly right weight of another human using my chest as a pillow.

Scarlett's hair was spread across me like a wildfire, her breath warm against my skin.

In the early morning light filtering through the window, I could see a small damp spot where she'd been drooling slightly in her sleep.

Something about that tiny imperfection made my chest tighten.

She wasn't performing now, wasn't trying to seduce me—just sleeping, vulnerable and real.

My instinct for years had been to wake before dawn, to check the perimeter, to start the day with silent vigilance.

But for the first time since Afghanistan, I felt no urgency to move.

The cabin was secure. Colonel would sound the alarm if anyone approached.

And the woman in my arms needed rest after last night's. .. activities.

Last night. The memory sent heat coursing through me again.

I'd been with women before, but never like that—never with someone who looked at me like I was her entire world while I was inside her.

Never with someone whose pleasure became more important than my own.

Never with someone I wanted to wake up beside.

She stirred, nestling closer, one leg sliding between mine in her sleep. The movement brought her thigh against me, and I stifled a groan. No need to wake her just because my body had ideas.

Too late. Her eyes fluttered open, momentary confusion giving way to a slow, sleepy smile that made something in my chest crack open like spring ice on the lake.

"Morning," she mumbled, voice rough with sleep. Then her eyes widened as she realized the dampness on my chest. "Oh god, I drooled on you. Smooth, Scarlett."

I laughed, the sound rusty but genuine. "I've survived worse. At least yours smells better than Colonel's."

She pushed herself up, looking adorably disheveled. Her hair was a tangled mess, her lips still slightly swollen from our kisses, a small bruise forming where I'd gotten carried away on her collarbone. She was the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen.

"How do you feel?" I asked, suddenly concerned about potential soreness after her first time.

She stretched like a cat, seemingly cataloging sensations. "Like I've discovered muscles I didn't know existed." A mischievous smile spread across her face. "And like I want to use them again."

Before I could respond, she leaned down to kiss me, morning breath be damned. The hesitancy from last night was gone, replaced by a confidence that was intoxicating. She straddled me fully, her body golden in the morning light, all inhibition vanished.

"Someone's feeling bold," I managed, my hands settling on her hips.

"Consider it practical application of last night's lessons," she replied, grinding against me in a way that made rational thought impossible. "I'm a quick study."

"Scarlett," I warned, my control already fraying. "You might be sore—"

"Then we'll go slow," she whispered, rising up slightly to position herself. "Or you'll just have to let me set the pace."

She sank down on me with deliberate slowness, her eyes never leaving mine as she took me inside her. The sensation of her tight heat engulfing me again almost ended things embarrassingly quickly. I gripped the sheets to keep from grabbing her hips and driving upward.

"Still okay?" I asked through gritted teeth once she'd taken all of me.

Her answer was to begin moving, finding a rhythm that had both of us panting within moments. She planted her hands on my chest for balance, her confidence growing with each roll of her hips. The sight of her above me, taking her pleasure so openly, was the most erotic thing I'd ever witnessed.

"You're incredible," I told her, unable to keep the reverence from my voice.

She laughed breathlessly. "Far from it. But this—" she rotated her hips in a way that made us both gasp, "—this feels right."

I reached up to cup her breasts, thumbs circling her nipples until they hardened to tight peaks. Her movements became more urgent, less coordinated. When I slid a hand between us to circle her clit, she threw her head back with a cry that probably startled Colonel halfway across the property.

Her enthusiasm increased as she chased her pleasure, rocking against me with abandon. In her exuberance, she shifted backward, knocking into the bedside table. The lamp wobbled precariously before crashing to the floor with a sound that would have had me reaching for my rifle any other morning.

Neither of us paused. If anything, the minor destruction spurred her on. I sat up to meet her, changing the angle and drawing a string of curses from her that would make even Mabel blush. With newfound leverage, I drove upward, meeting her thrust for thrust.

"Bodhi," she gasped, her inner walls beginning to tighten around me. "I'm going to—"

"Come for me baby," I urged, echoing my words from last night. "Come all over my hard cock."

She shattered with a cry of my name, her entire body trembling.

The sight of her coming undone pushed me over the edge, my release hitting with an intensity that left me seeing stars.

We clung to each other through the aftershocks, her forehead pressed against mine, our breathing gradually slowing in tandem.

"I think I broke your lamp," she finally murmured, glancing at the wreckage beside the bed.

"Worth it," I replied without hesitation.

She laughed, sliding off me and stretching luxuriously. As she stood, her foot caught the corner of an old wooden chair, sending it toppling to join the lamp on the floor.

"Are you trying to destroy my cabin from the inside out?" I asked, propping myself up on my elbows to watch her move through the morning light.

She flashed me a wicked grin over her shoulder. "Consider it renovation by motivation. Fix this table, get rewarded with what happens on top of it." She paused in the doorway. "I'm going to shower. Join me if you want... or I can leave you some hot water for once."

She disappeared down the hall, and a moment later I heard the water start. I stared at the ceiling, a ridiculous smile spreading across my face. This woman was going to be the death of me, and I couldn't bring myself to care.

By the time we finally emerged from a shower that had involved significantly more activity than just getting clean, the morning was well advanced.

I walked into the kitchen to find Scarlett already there, wearing a silky emerald camisole and matching shorts from one of her designer suitcases—the expensive loungewear looking amusingly out of place against my rustic kitchen backdrop.

"I want to help with breakfast," she announced, eyeing the kitchen with determination. "Nothing complicated. I'm not trying to burn down your cabin twice."

"What did you have in mind?" I asked, pulling out a cast iron skillet for the venison sausage I'd been saving.

She spotted the loaf of bread on the counter and brightened. "I can make cinnamon toast. My grandmother used to make it for me when I was little—it's the only thing I've ever been able to replicate without disaster. Even I can't mess up butter, cinnamon, and sugar on bread."

I smiled at her enthusiasm. "Toast it is. The toaster's temperamental, though. You have to press the lever down twice to get it to stay."

While I browned the sausage and fried some eggs from yesterday's collection, Scarlett battled with the ancient toaster, cursing under her breath when it rejected her first two attempts. Her look of triumph when she finally managed to get it working was worth every bit of the struggle.

She buttered the toast with intense concentration, then carefully sprinkled the cinnamon-sugar mixture she'd found in my spice cabinet.

"My grandmother used to say cinnamon toast could cure anything from a cold to a broken heart," she explained, arranging the slices on plates with surprising care.

"It was our special breakfast whenever I stayed with her.

She said every woman should know how to make at least one thing that brings comfort.

" She smiled, a softer expression than her usual confident grin. "It's my one culinary achievement."

The simple breakfast was perfect—the sweet cinnamon toast balancing the savory sausage and eggs. We sat on the porch steps to eat, watching the morning sun climb over the mountains.

"So," she said between bites, "what happens now?"

The question settled between us. Last night had been about need, about connection that couldn't be denied. This morning was about choice.

"Honestly? I don't know," I admitted, setting my plate aside. "I've never done this before."

"Sex? Because evidence suggests otherwise," she teased, but I could see the vulnerability behind her smile.

"No," I said, taking her hand. "This. Wanting someone to stay."

Her expression softened. "What are you afraid of?"

I sighed, meeting her gaze directly. "That you'll get bored. That you'll wake up one day and realize mountain life isn't what you signed up for. That you'll miss civilization."

"You mean boutique shopping and valet parking?" She traced my jawline with her finger. "I've spent twenty-four years being who everyone else wanted me to be. Do you know how freeing it is to be who I want? Even if that person apparently enjoys outhouses and a judgmental rooster?"

I couldn't help smiling at that, but uncertainty still gnawed at me. "What about work? Family? Friends? A real life?"

"I have a marketing degree gathering dust and an impressive portfolio of social media management for my father's church," she said, surprising me. "With that satellite internet you installed, I could easily work remotely. I've already started looking at opportunities."

"You have?"

She nodded. "And as for family... I need time with mine, but not proximity. Maybe in the fall we could visit? You can come exactly as you are. They'd be absolutely terrified of a man who can survive without a personal assistant."

The image of me sitting in Reverend Montgomery's living room, looking like Bigfoot’s slightly better groomed cousin, among their polished marble and designer furniture, made me snort. "Your father would have a heart attack."

"He's tougher than he looks," she said, suddenly serious. "And he owes me the courtesy of accepting my choices after everything that happened with Langley."

I kissed her then, unable to believe this incredible woman wanted to build a life here, with me.

"We'll figure it out," I promised. "One day at a time."

After breakfast, Scarlett insisted on showing me something she'd discovered yesterday while I was working on the deck. She led me down a small path behind the cabin, her hand in mine, excitement radiating from her.

"There," she said, pointing proudly to a wild raspberry patch I'd forgotten existed. "I found them yesterday when I was collecting eggs. The hens kept trying to follow me here."

The bushes were laden with ripe berries, deep red and ready for picking. She'd already collected a small basketful, and showed me where she'd carefully marked the boundaries with sticks.

"For preserves," she explained. "Or maybe just eating straight. I've never picked wild berries before."

The simple joy in her voice over something I'd taken for granted for years made me see my own property through new eyes. What else had I missed or forgotten while focused on mere survival?

By late afternoon, I'd returned to the deck project—fixing the final posts that would complete the expansion I'd been working on for months.

Scarlett sat nearby with her laptop, occasionally reading me job descriptions that made us both laugh at their corporate buzzwords.

Every so often, she'd wander over to the chicken coop, where she'd somehow managed to befriend even the most skittish hen in my small flock.

"I think I'm going to name this one Prudence," she called, gently stroking a speckled brown hen. "She reminds me of my mother—constantly fussing but secretly affectionate."

As the sun began its descent behind the mountains, I drove in the final nail and stepped back to survey my work.

"Finished," I announced, wiping sweat from my brow.

Scarlett set aside her computer and came to stand beside me, her arm slipping around my waist. "It's beautiful, Bodhi. You built this entirely yourself?"

Pride swelled in my chest—not just for the deck, but for the whole life I'd carved out of this mountain. A life that now seemed less like a fortress and more like a home.

"Come on," I said, taking her hand and leading her up the new steps to stand on the deck. "Best view on the property."

We stood together as the setting sun painted the mountains in fiery gold and deep purple, the sky ablaze with colors no city skyline could match. Colonel strutted importantly across the yard below us, his feathers catching the dying light.

"I don't know where this is going," I said quietly, my arm around her shoulders. "I'm not good at planning beyond the next season. But I know I want you here, Scarlett. Not as a mail-order bride or a temporary escape, but as yourself. However long that lasts."

She turned in my arms, her eyes reflecting the sunset. "I came here looking for freedom from my past. I didn't expect to find a future I actually wanted." She rose on tiptoes to kiss me softly. "I'm staying, Bodhi. For as long as you'll have me."

"Might be a while," I warned, tightening my arms around her. "I'm stubborn that way."

"Good thing I'm equally stubborn," she replied with a smile that made my heart stutter. "We'll figure out the rest as we go."

As the first stars appeared overhead, I held this unexpected gift of a woman and felt something I hadn't experienced in years—peace. Not the empty silence of isolation, but the quiet certainty of having found exactly where, and with whom, I belonged.

Colonel crowed from somewhere near the chicken coop, as if offering his reluctant approval.

"See?" Scarlett laughed against my chest. "Even your rooster agrees we're a match."

"He's always had good taste," I said, surprising myself with how easily the words came. "But he's still sleeping outside."

The mountain air cooled around us as darkness fell, but neither of us moved to go inside. Some moments deserve to be lived fully, memorized perfectly. This was one of them—the night we both stopped running and started building something real, one day at a time.