Page 21 of Saved By the Mountain Man
His touch amplifies every sensation, pushing me higher as I ride him with increasing confidence. I brace my hands on his chest, changing the angle slightly, and cry out at the new sensations the shift creates.
"There?" he asks, reading my reaction.
"Yes," I manage, voice breathy and unfamiliar. "Right there."
His hands guide my hips now, helping me maintain the angle that sends pleasure spiraling through me with each movement. The sizzling combination of his thumb circling my sensitive bud while his thickness presses against that perfect spot inside me quickly pushes me toward the edge.
"Alex," I gasp, movements becoming less coordinated as pleasure builds. "I'm close."
"Let go," he urges, his own voice rough with need. "Come on me while you ride me like a good girl."
His words, combined with a particularly perfect thrust, send me over the edge. Pleasure crashes through me in waves, my inner muscles clenching around him as I cry out his name. My entire body freezes then melts as the sensation crests and breaks.
Before I can fully recover, Alex sits up, wrapping one arm around my waist to hold me steady while the other hand tangles in my hair. The new position drives him even deeper, wringing a gasp from my overstimulated body.
"I need to be closer," he growls against my neck, his hips beginning to thrust upward to meet my downward movements.
The feeling of his chest pressed against mine, his mouth hot on my throat, the new angle hitting sensitive places that have me building toward another peak surprisingly quickly.
"You feel so good," I moan, clinging to his shoulders as he takes control of our rhythm. "So deep like this."
His only response is a feral groan against my skin, his movements becoming more urgent, more primal. I can feel thetension in his muscles, and the restraint he's still exercising despite his growing need.
"Alex," I whisper in his ear, echoing his earlier words. "I want to feel you lose control."
Something breaks in him at my permission. His movements become more powerful, more insistent, driving up into me with a passion that borders on desperation. Each thrust sends shockwaves of pleasure through my already sensitive body, building impossibly toward another release. He cries out with every thrust.
"Sheryl," he groans, his face buried in my neck. "I'm close." His rhythm falters, his arms tightening around me as he drives deep one final time. I feel the pulse of his release inside me, each hot spurt of his seed flooding into me.
In the aftermath, we remain connected, neither willing to break the intimacy of the moment. His forehead rests against mine, our breath mingling in the small space between us. I feel boneless, liquid, utterly sated in a way I never imagined possible. I kiss the top of his head before finally moving back to his side.
"So," he says after our breathing has returned to normal. "I take it research was successful?"
I laugh, poking his ribs gently. "Very. Though I might need multiple trials to ensure accuracy. For the book, of course."
"Of course," he agrees solemnly, though I can hear the smile in his voice. "Anything for literature."
We lie in comfortable silence for a while, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on my shoulder, my hand resting over his heart.
"I should get up," I sigh eventually. "I've got three chapters to finish today if I'm going to meet my deadline."
"Motivated now?" he asks, a hint of masculine pride in his tone.
"Incredibly," I confirm. "Nothing like practical experience to fuel the creative process."
He chuckles, pressing a kiss to my forehead. "Glad to be of service."
I make no move to leave, however, too comfortable in his embrace. "Five more minutes."
"Take all the time you need," he says softly. "I'm not going anywhere."
The simple statement carries more weight than its surface meaning. For a man who has spent five years holding everyone at arm's length, it's a declaration of sorts.
I prop myself up on one elbow to look at him properly. "Neither am I, you know. Going anywhere."
His expression softens. "Even when the book is finished?"
"Especially then," I assure him. "I've already talked to my agent about staying here. The publishers love what I've sent so far. Apparently nearly dying in a fire did wonders for my writing, and now they're offering a three-book deal."
