Mac (Mountain Men 2)

I want to see what he’ll do to me. I want to see where he’ll take me. I want to be pushed to my limits, taken beyond my safe little bubble.

I want to know the thrill of the chase and the dance of surrender.

Fire flickers in a sphere-shaped electric pit in the center of the patio, surrounded by chairs and cushions. I shiver when the wind picks up, and he reaches for a soft, furry blanket folded across one of the chairs.

“C’mere,” he murmurs, draping it around my shoulders. The night air is crisp and clean, and it feels so invigorating to be out here under the stars. When we draw closer to the fire, I’m no longer chilled.

“No hard limits?” I ask, as he sits in an armchair and tugs me onto his lap. I like sitting here. I want to lay my head on his shoulder, steady myself with my palm on his chest.

“Fine, then, that would be a lie,” he says soberly, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. He frowns before he answers. “A third would be a hard limit for me.”

“A third?” I ask curiously, like a damn innocent. What’s he talking about? I realize what he means half a second later, and my cheeks flush with color.

Jesus.

“Another partner,” he says with a trace of amusement in his eyes.

“Right.” I take this opportunity to tease him, because I love how he reacts when I tease like this. I think of another man or woman here with us, and I reject the idea as firmly as he did.

I don’t want to share.

He doesn’t either.

“You sure, Mac?” I trace my fingers along my neckline, gently fingering the swell of my cleavage. “Wouldn’t you like to watch another man take me? You could sit right there on the chaise, drink your glass of—”

But I’m quickly silenced with a punishing kiss, his lips bruising mine, as he lifts me up in his arms and stalks to said chaise nearer the fire.

I bounce a bit when he drops me unceremoniously on it.

“Don’t you ever fucking joke like that again,” he says with a growl, before he divests me of my blanket and flips me over onto my side. “I don’t watch,” he says, before he slams his palm across my arse so hard I gasp. “I don’t share,” he says, with another punishing smack. “Do you understand me?” Each word is bitten out and underscored with a crack of his palm. I’m gasping, my backside throbbing, as I look up at him, humbled and excited.

A little part of me feels like I should protest, but I feel far more drawn to… more.

“Oh, aye,” I say with a nod. “Quite clearly, handsome.”

I’m most definitely not cold now. I'm warmed through, as if I've been sitting in front of that roaring fire just inches away from me. My skin tingles, every inch of me on fire. His eyes burn with an intensity I hadn’t yet seen, but I'd walk across hot coals to see again. I’m the utter focus of his gaze, as if everything else in the world fades away except the two of us, under the light of the moon, heated only by the flame of fire beside us.

“On your back,” he growls, as he reaches for the clasp of the thick leather belt he wears about his waist. I flip over, not taking my eyes off of him, as he drops to his knees before me. He spreads my legs open and eyes me hungrily, and I watch as he swallows, like he’s a starving man who’s just stumbled upon a feast.

With a tug, his belt slithers through the loops. He fists his belt buckle, then wraps the leather around his fist to form a makeshift strap.

“You’ve never been spanked,” he says, the look on his face definitely telling me he has every plan of giving me the real deal. “So I’ll assume you’ve never been strapped either.”

I shake my head dumbly from side to side. The little spanking he gave me was surprisingly hot, but… I’m not exactly sure how I’d feel about anything more than that.

With my legs spread wide open, he lowers his mouth to my inner thighs.

“You teased me with these thighs earlier today, didn’t you?” I nod, still unable to speak. I’m acutely conscious of the leather that dangles from his fist.

“You shouldn’t tease a man, Bryn,” he says, shaking his head. He bends his mouth to my legs and kisses my thighs, running his lips along my curves, and my private, secret places throb with anticipation. “But I think you like teasing, don’t you?”

I don’t know how to respond, and it doesn’t look like he’s looking for a response anyway, because he’s suckling the damp flesh between my thighs. He lifts his head, shakes it from side to side, and keeps his eyes on me as he skates his hand along my thigh. He flicks his wrist, and the tip of leather bites at my clothed breast. I blink and gasp, but before I can recover, he strikes me again, and again, each one a fraction harder than the one before.