Page 8 of Sparked By the Mountain Man Hotshot

I stand. She’s still catching her breath when I shed the rest of my clothes. My shirt hits the ground first, then my jeans and everything underneath. Cool night air touches skin that’s already overheated.

She watches the whole time—open, flushed, lips parted—and the look on her face is pure hunger. Not shy. Not second-guessing. Just raw, greedy want, like she’s decided she’s allowed to take what she wants and she’s taking me.

When I step back into her, she reaches for me without hesitation. I lift her easily, and her legs wrap around my waist, heels digging into the small of my back. I brace her against the wall, the brick cool and rough against my hand.

The head of my cock slides through the slick heat between her thighs, finds her entrance, and that’s where I pause. We’re both breathing hard. I can feel how wet she still is from my mouth, how ready.

“Still sure?” My voice comes out rougher than I mean it to. “Because once I’m inside you, I’m not going to be gentle for long. You’re going to feel every inch.”

She nods, that same grin edged with something softer now, but her eyes are dark and hungry. “I’ve been second my whole life on purpose. Tonight, I want to be first. Fuck me, Reid. I want it.”

I nudge inside, taking it as slow as possible.

She’s tight—first-time tight, so snug the pressure steals my breath. Heat grips me in a perfect, wet clutch, inch by inch, and the sound she makes is half pain, half wonder—a broken little gasp that goes straight to my cock.

I force myself to hold still once I’m fully seated, buried deep, every nerve ending lit up by how she squeezes around me. She pulses, a fine tremor running through her thighs. I kiss the corner of her mouth, the hinge of her jaw, breathing against her skin while I wait for her body to adjust.

“Christ, look at you,” I murmur. “Taking me so well. You’re so fucking tight. Feel that? That’s all of me. That’s yours.”

Her fingers dig into my shoulders. She rolls her hips experimentally, testing, and the small wet sound of it nearly undoes me. When the tension in her eases, I start to move—slow, deep strokes that drag every inch of me through her. The wet, filthy slide of it fills the quiet patio—skin meeting skin, the soft, rhythmic sound of me fucking into her, her breath hitching every time I fill her.

“That’s it,” I tell her, voice low and rough against her ear. “Let me hear you. You’re so wet, I can hear how much you want this. Listen to that. Listen to how your cunt is taking me.”

She moans, unguarded, and the careful woman who’s spent years choosing second loses herself in the moment. I keep one hand under her thigh, spreading her wider, the other braced on the brick beside her head. I watch her face the whole time—the flutter of her lashes, the way her mouth falls open, the hungry, dazed look that says she’s never felt anything like this and she doesn’t want it to stop.

Every thrust punches a soft, shocked sound out of her. Every time I grind deep, she clenches around me like she’s trying to keep me there.

“You feel so fucking good,” I growl. “Hot and tight and mine tonight. No one’s ever been inside you before. No one’s ever made you this wet. Look at you—out here where anyone could walk by, taking my cock like you were made for it.”

The street is still empty. Dawn is still hours off. The only audience is the dark and the distant sound of the town asleep.

I fuck her deeper, a little harder, angling until I find the spot that makes her eyes roll and her nails bite into my skin. The wet slap of our bodies grows louder. Her breasts brush my chest with every thrust. She’s panting now, little desperate sounds she can’t swallow, and I can feel her starting to tighten around me again—rippling, clenching, chasing it.

“That’s my girl,” I say, breathless. “Come for me. Come on my cock like you came on my tongue. Let me feel it. Let the whole empty street hear how good I’m making you feel.”

She comes again.

It hits her sudden and hard—her whole body locking up, cunt pulsing in strong, rhythmic squeezes that milk me. The sound she makes is pure, unguarded delight, loud enough to startle the quiet, and the sight of her falling apart with my name on her lips finishes me.

I follow her over the edge with a broken groan, burying my face in her neck as I thrust deep and stay there, cock kicking hard as I spill inside her in thick pulses. I can feel every spurt, feel her still fluttering around me, feel the heat of it between us. For a few long seconds, there’s nothing but the two of us breathing, the brick at her back, the dark, the wet mess of where we’re joined, and the quiet knowledge that we both just unclenched a brace we’d been holding our whole lives.

I stay inside her until the last aftershock fades and her legs start to tremble. Then I ease her down carefully, steadying her when her knees threaten to give, and wrap my jacket around her shoulders before either of us can remember the clock.

“You’re thinking again,” I say. “I can feel it.”

“I’m calculating how efficiently this hurts tomorrow.” Her fingers trace the old scar on my forearm. “You roll out, two weeks becomes three, and by the time you’re back I’m gone. A nice thing that happened once.”

I turn her chin up. Even in the dark I feel her waiting for me to agree, because agreeing is what everyone does.

“I spent eleven years sure I’d already had my one shot and burned it.” My thumb moves along her jaw. “Then a woman put the whole gold town in her butter, and I found out I never had a shot at all. Not until her.”

She goes still. It’s the truest thing I own, handed over the night before I lose the right to prove it. Brave or stupid, I won’t know which until Thursday.

5

REAGAN

The crew stages on Prospect at first light—three trucks nose to tail—and I stand across the street in yesterday’s clothes pretending I came for coffee.