Page 8 of Blazing Mountain Man

Outside, the storm hammers the rig—snow packing every window into solid white, the wind a low, constant roar. But inside, the cab is small and warm and sealed, heater ticking like a second heartbeat.

I break the kiss just enough to look at her. Dash light paints one side of her face gold, the rest shadow. Her lips are already swollen. Her eyes are dark and sure.

“I’ve never done this,” she says, quiet but steady. No apology in it. Just fact. “Any of it.”

Something in my chest pulls tight, then lets go. I slide both hands up into her hair, holding her still so she has to see me.

“You sure you want it to be here? With me?” My thumbs stroke the hinge of her jaw. “We can wait. The storm doesn’t get a vote on this.”

She shakes her head once. “I’m done playing it safe. I want adventure.” Her fingers curl into the front of my jacket. “I want you.”

That’s all I need.

I peel her jacket off first, then mine, both of them heavy with snowmelt and dropped to the floorboards. Her sweater follows, then the thin thermal underneath.

I take my time with every layer, watching the flush rise on her chest as the warm air of the cab touches new skin. When I get to her bra, I unhook it slowly, letting the straps slide down her arms.

The sight of her bare breasts in the low light of a stranded rig makes my mouth go dry. Outside, the world is freezing and white and closed. In here, she’s soft and pink and breathing harder already.

“Good girl,” I murmur against the hollow of her throat, and I feel the shiver that runs through her. “My girl. Just like that.”

“Not here,” I say against her throat. “The bench. More room.”

We move, clumsy and laughing and half undone, into the dark of the middle bench. I get her pants off next, lifting her enough to work them down her legs along with her underwear. Her boots thump to the floor.

Then she’s naked across my lap on the bench, knees bracketing my hips, the heat of her center pressed against the hard line of my cock still trapped behind my zipper. The contrast is filthy and perfect, her skin glowing warm while the windows are sealed in ice, the heater humming, the whole mountain shut down around us.

I ease her back just enough to get my mouth on her, one arm bracing her spine. One hand cups her breast, thumb brushing the tight peak of her nipple while I suck the other into my mouth. She gasps, hips jerking. I switch sides, slow and thorough, until she’s squirming.

I lay her back along the bench, one hand under her lower back, the other guiding her thighs open. The vinyl’s warm from the heater. I go to my knees on the floor between the seats. There’s just enough room, and the position puts me exactly where I want to be.

Her knees fall wide. One heel presses into the seat cushion, the other rests against my shoulder. The first long, slow drag of my tongue up the seam of her is pure heat. She’s already wet, slick against my mouth, and the small broken sound she makes goes straight to my cock.

I keep her open with my hands on the insides of her thighs, thumbs stroking the soft skin there while I work her with my mouth. Long, firm licks first, then tighter circles around her clit, then the soft suction of my lips closing over her while two fingers ease inside. She’s tight—so fucking tight—and the way she clenches around me makes my pulse pound in my ears. I curl my fingers, finding the spot that makes her thighs shake, and keep my tongue steady.

Her hands fist in my hair. The rig creaks under us. Snow hisses against the sealed windows. I look up the length of her body and watch her fall apart—head tipped back, mouth open, the prettiest flush spreading down her chest.

When she comes, it’s quiet but whole-body, pulsing hard around my fingers, a high soft cry that I swallow against her skin. I stay with her through it, gentling my mouth, working her down until the tremors ease.

Only then do I take my own clothes off. Boots, pants, everything. Naked in the cab of a snowed-in rig with the storm locked outside and her looking at me like I’m the only solid thing left in the world.

I pull her back into my lap, knees spread wide over my hips. The head of my cock notches against her entrance, slick and hot. I hold still.

“Last chance,” I say against her mouth. “You want this?”

“Yes.” No hesitation. “Please.”

I push in slowly, inch by careful inch. The stretch makes her breath catch. I feel every tight flutter of her body trying to take me. My hands grip her hips, steadying her, giving her time.

“Easy, baby. Breathe. You’re doing so good for me.”

I keep going, feeding her the rest inch by inch. She’s tight as fuck—hot, slick, gripping me so hard I have to grit my teeth just to keep from shoving the rest of the way in one go. Every bit deeper makes her walls flutter around me, wet and greedy, and the sound of it fills the quiet cab. She whimpers, a high little broken noise, fingers digging into my shoulders.

“Fuck—Cash⁠—“

“I’ve got you. Just take it.” I work the rest of the way in slowly until I’m finally seated all the way inside her, buried to the hilt in that perfect wet heat. I go still. The emotional weight of it hits harder than the physical—it’s the first time in four years I’ve let anyone’s weight onto my rope on purpose. She’s so tight around me, I can feel every pulse of her heartbeat. My cock throbs deep inside her, and I have to breathe through my teeth.

“You’re perfect,” I tell her, voice rough. “My girl. Look at you, taking every inch of me. Just stay with me.”