Tate (Mountain Men 3)

I nod yes.

He curses under his breath, and I break into fresh tears. “He doesn’t know who she is. She’s never told him she’s Cowen Clan. They met a year or so ago, and I know she’s had a crush on him. They’ve been in touch regularly, and I know she has plans to go to see him.”

I bury my face in my hands and sob.

He rubs a reassuring hand down my back. “You did the right thing. She’s in so much danger, Fran.”

I shake my head. “I hate myself,” I sob. “I hate myself. I’ve done nothing but bring terrible things to the only people who’ve ever cared about me.”

He pulls me to him, cradling my face in his hands, the grip slippery through the tears.

“You did the right thing.”

I shake my head, determined not to forgive the betrayal, when his mouth meets mine, and my thoughts come to a screeching halt.

Lips and teeth and tongue, salty tears and sultry moans, my eyes flutter closed as he erases my mind with his kiss. There’s nothing in the world but my body in his hands, my very heartbeat at his command. I’m drowning in sudden need and want, as he lays me back on the sofa and braces himself above me.

I’ve wondered what it would be like to yield to his power and strength, but nothing, literally nothing, could’ve prepared me for this. I can’t think beyond the feel of his warmth against me. I can’t breathe beyond our shared breaths and mingled kisses. I can’t see beyond inked shoulders, a wall of muscle, and powerful thighs trapped in traitorous clothes I need off.

He unleashes a groan that’s so raw, so male I can only wrap my fingers at the back of his neck and pull his mouth to mine as his body lowers to mine. He cradles me, even as one knee forces mine apart with savage insistence.

He tears his mouth off mine as he reaches for my clothes. Silently, rapidly, my clothes are torn from me to lay in a heap, followed shortly by his. I shiver in anticipation, just before strong fingers grip my wrists and pin them above my head, giving him full, terrifying, delicious access to every inch of me. My head falls to the side as he licks his tongue along my neck, then suckles and nips along my collarbone.

“Oh, God,” I whisper, my body giving a tremulous shudder as he finds my nipple and sucks it between his lips. Delicious tendrils curl through my body, my back arching as he kisses lower still. I’ve spent a lifetime berating my body for its imperfections, yet somehow, under his ministrations I feel like a goddess.

My mind’s wiped clean in utter ecstasy when he presses a kiss lower, to the vee between my thighs, his rough hands spreading my legs.

He breathes hot air and presses a warm kiss where I ache. My eyes flutter closed, and he pulls me under. I’m drowning in ecstasy, washed in waves of bliss as he does perfect, delicious, sinful things with his tongue. My head falls back, my body writhes, and I fly into ecstasy.

I’ve barely come down from my high, still wrecked in the throes of pleasure, when he lines his cock up at my entrance.

Bracing himself on either side of me, he looks at me with pure, unadulterated hunger.

A world of choices and consequences hang in the decision, but my choice is clear: if he takes me like this, I’m utterly his. I nod yes to the question he’s silently asking, and then I’m pleading, moving from yes to begging.

“Take me, Tate. Please,” I say in a choked whisper.

His eyes heat, and I bask in the warmth of his adoration. “I’ve wanted you for so long,” he says in a low growl.

“Take me, then. Stop talking and fucking take me.”

His mouth slants in a smile fueled by triumph. And he takes me.

My eyes flutter closed as I succumb to the blissful fullness. My hands now free, I can’t help but wrap my arms around him, holding him to me as he thrusts. His lips on my forehead, our fingers find each other, laced together in a silent tryst. Again he thrusts and again I take him, yielding to him fully. My body. My mind. My heart and soul. Every thrust lays me bare, every heartbeat his, and when we come—two hearts beating as one, our breathing one, our shared ecstasy a testimony of mutual self-giving and surrender—I cry.

Still wracked in the spasms of pleasure, as aftershocks shudder through me, he pulls me on his chest and kisses my forehead so fiercely, my eyes flutter closed.

“Beautiful,” he grates. “Fucking beautiful.”

I don’t know if he means me, what we just did, or both, but I’ll take all of it.

We lay in the silence for long moments, and I feel a silly grin spread across my face. I try to stifle it, but I can’t help it.