Page 32 of Maple Kissed by the Mountain Man

The desperate, bruised kiss in the grove. The rough, possessive drag of his mouth over my breasts. The hot, frantic way he’d guided me over his massive cock, the searing, skin-to-skin friction as he buried himself inside me bare, and how he’d gripped my hips while I learned how to ride him. I could still feel the phantom ache between my legs, slick and swollen from where he’d filled me to the brim and poured his release deep inside me.

A fierce, delicious heat flooded my face.

“Morning,” he grunted.

His deep voice vibrated straight through his ribs and against my cheek.

I lifted my head, my dark curls tumbling over his collarbone. Ford looked unfairly, ridiculously good. His dark hair was wildly disheveled and pale red scratches marked his broad chest where my nails had dug in when he came inside me.

I put those there.

The thought made my pulse flutter.

“You’re awake,” I murmured, resting my chin on his sternum.

“Have been for a while.”

“How long?”

“Long enough.” I propped myself up on one elbow to study his face.

“Were you watching me sleep, Burke?”

“No.”

“That answer came way too fast.”

His broad thumb gave my ass a slow, firm squeeze under the sleeping bag, making my hips twitch.

“Were you waiting for me to wake up just so you could do that?” I teased softly.

“Yes.”

At least the mountain man was honest.

I smiled, sliding my body up his until my chest pressed flat against his. I leaned down and captured his mouth with mine.

Ford growled low in his throat, his hand tightening on my bottom to drag my hips against his. My bare nipples brushed over the dark hair of his chest, and I felt the thick, heavy ridge of his erection hardening directly against my inner thigh.

An aching, liquid throb pulsed deep in my core, reminding me of the way he’d taken me just hours ago.

If he rolled me onto my back right now, we wouldn’t leave this tent until noon. And I wouldn’t spend a single second complaining about it.

Before I could deepen the kiss, Ford broke it off, leaning his head back against the pad.

I chased his mouth, annoyed. “You keep stopping.”

“We need to get to the grove,” he rasped, his eyes dark with restrained hunger.

I blinked, clearing the haze from my head. “The grove...”

“The sky cleared before sunrise.”

I twisted around inside the cramped space, looking toward the small window flap of the tent. Brilliant morning light was peeking through the edges.

My photograph.

“Oh.” I scrambled up, instantly throwing off the down sleeping bag.