"I wasn't planning on this," she says, voice shaky but determined. Her hands come up to rest against my chest, palms flat over my heart. The touch burns through the thin cotton of my shirt, and I wonder if she can feel how hard it's beating.
"Neither was I," I answer, my own voice rough with desire. I reach out, brushing a strand of still-damp hair away from her face, my fingertips grazing the soft skin of her cheek. "But sometimes the mountain decides for you."
Her brow furrows. “What do you mean?”
“It’s just something the people around here talk about. They call it The Mountain Code. Legend is, men out here stay alone only until the mountain sends them the woman of their dreams.”
She lets out a breathy laugh, but her eyes are serious. "Are you a believer?"
Instead of answering with words, I cup her jaw in my hand, thumb tracing the delicate line of her cheekbone. Her skin is impossibly soft under my calloused fingers. "I didn't," I say quietly. "Until today."
Her lips part on a soft gasp, and I see the exact moment she stops thinking and starts feeling. Her body sways closer, drawn by the same magnetic pull that's been torturing me since I pulled her from the water.
I don't wait.
I don't second-guess.
I slide my hand into the silky mass of her hair and pull her into a kiss that's anything but gentle. It's years of solitude pouring into the space between us. Years of loneliness and hunger and need.
She gasps into my mouth, her hands fisting in the front of my shirt like she needs something solid to anchor herself to.The sound shoots straight through me, raw and desperate and perfect.
She kisses me back with a fervor that steals my breath, her tongue sliding against mine, teeth nipping at my bottom lip hard enough to sting. There's nothing tentative about it—she wants this as much as I do, and knowing that breaks the last of my restraint.
I walk her backward, one hand tangled in her hair, the other spanning her waist, until the backs of her legs hit the couch. The storm outside mirrors the one building between us—wild, electric, unstoppable.
Without breaking the kiss, I lift her into my arms—she fits against me like she was made for my hands—and settle her on my lap as I sit. The movement puts her exactly where I need her, straddling my thighs, the heat of her core pressing against the growing hardness behind my zipper.
She rocks against me, a small, involuntary movement that makes us both groan. The flannel shirt rides up, exposing the smooth expanse of her thighs, and I run my hands up the warm silk of her skin, mapping every curve, every sensitive spot that makes her breath hitch.
“That’s it, baby,” I murmur.
"You’re driving me wild,” she whispers against my mouth, voice husky with desire.
"You’re drivingmewild," I growl, nipping at her jaw.
"Really?” She rolls her hips again, deliberate this time, and I see stars behind my eyelids.
I groan against her throat, then suck hard enough to leave a mark that'll remind her of this tomorrow. "Really.”
She threads her fingers through my hair and pulls me up for another kiss, deeper this time, hungrier. I can taste the storm on her lips, feel the electric charge in the air settling into my bones.When she rocks against me again, the friction nearly undoes me completely.
My hands slide higher, under the hem of the flannel shirt, fingertips tracing the indent of her waist, the soft curve of her ribs. Her skin is feverishly warm and impossibly smooth, and when my hand settles on her pussy, I groan low in my throat.
"Tell me to stop," I say, even as my fingers slip inside, finding her already slick and ready for me. "Tell me this is crazy."
She shakes her head, hair falling around us like a curtain, blocking out everything except her dark eyes and kiss-swollen lips. "Don't youdarestop."
That's all the permission I need.
I stand with her still wrapped around me, her legs locking around my waist, and carry her toward the bedroom. She clings to me, pressing open-mouthed kisses to my neck, my jaw, whispering my name like it's the only word she remembers.
The bedroom is dim, lit only by the occasional flash of lightning and the warm glow spilling in from the main room. Rain drums harder against the windows now, creating a cocoon of sound that makes the world beyond these walls feel like a distant memory.
I set her down gently beside the bed, but there's nothing gentle in the way I grab the bottom of the flannel shirt and lift it over her head, tossing it aside without care. She's beautiful—curves and shadows and creamy skin.
"Christ," I whisper, drinking in the sight of her. "You're perfect."
She reaches for me then, fingers working at the buttons of my shirt with an urgency that matches my own. When the fabric proves stubborn, she tugs the whole thing over my head and tosses it aside, then runs her hands over my chest, nails scraping lightly through the hair there, mapping scars and muscle with a reverence that makes my throat tight.
