No Gentle Giant (A Small Town Romance)

Holy hell.

Just a minute ago, he’d been so gentle, holding me like I was precious blown glass that could shatter to dust with nothing more than a whisper.

Now, he holds me like his own kept hostage—like he knows I can take it—and that iron grip just makes me want more.

I’ve felt fragile and delicate my entire life.

So small, hidden, and easily breakable.

Fragile definitely isn’t what I want right now.

Not when this desire inside me comes on so strong it rips the breath from my lungs.

It’s incandescent, this force that feels like it could move mountains—and it definitely moves the mountain of Alaska’s body as I throw myself against him, pushing him back against the sofa and climbing into his lap.

I love his startled oof just a little too much.

But I love, love, love straddling his iron hips more, his bulk so large he spreads me open.

It’s almost an act of pure eroticism just to have my legs spread this wide, when his size forces my thighs to ache. The position pushes my panties up against me until I’m pulsing like a time bomb.

There’s only a second for his hands to dig into my ass—breaking the teasing spell—and then we’re kissing like wildfire, two crazed things chasing the dynamite that was always waiting just beneath the surface from that first messy day in the coffee shop.

The fuse was always lit, burning down to the magnificent explosion of our first kiss, first stolen touch, first searing look at each other naked.

His mouth flipping attacks mine, fighting moans out of me, but I give back as good as I get.

I’m breathless, biting and letting his beard leave my lips deliciously raw.

I kiss him with all the nuclear fire and fury and frustration built up inside me, years of repressed emotion and weeks of this forbidden crush and tension so thick it could be hauled in for attempted murder.

All combusting into this unadulterated animal need.

I’m not sure who rips at whose clothing first—but next thing I know the front of my dress catches, dragging down around my ribs, about to shear in half.

His shirt flies across the room, and I’ve got my fingers buried in the thick pelt on his chest, caressing the huge inked muscle expanse under it.

He’d asked if I wanted to pet him once.

God, yes.

I just vibe in that heady feeling, rubbing my entire body against his powerful width like a cat, moaning against the firm, dominating heat of his mouth as I writhe and stroke myself up and down on the vastness of Alaska.

Manly curls of hair tease my flesh.

Taut muscle that could shame a bison slides against me until my nipples ache through my bra, my bare stomach shuddering and tightening, and I want nothing more than to feel that hard, heavy bulk moving over me, pinning me down, taking me so deep I scream.

“Felicity, fuck,” he rasps, fingers sinking harder into my ass, making me twist my hips and grind down into him—and something grinds back, pushing against me, wonderfully molten and hard through his jeans.

Holy shit.

Of course he’s huge.

Not exactly a shocking revelation when he’s the walking stereotype of big hands, big feet, big everything, but to feel his punishing size through barely-there fabric...

I’m actually a little scared.

Frightened that if I’m even able to take him, I’ll be ruined for anyone and everything else, even those oversized plastic toys in my secret drawer. I don’t think I’ve ever had a toy anywhere close to as big and thick as him.

I venture a glance down and instantly bite my lip so hard I almost taste blood.

His mocha-dark eyes look dazed, drugged.

Totally drunk on me.

Holy shit again.

No man’s ever looked at me like this.

And just seeing his desire makes me ravenous for more.

I pull back for a second, overloaded, panting, falling into those hot, yearning eyes. Gawking at him feels like needing to come up for air after diving and having your breath yanked away by some glittery, beautiful other world underwater.

“Alaska,” I whimper his name, shifting my legs apart wider.

Then, determined, I arch myself against him and twist my hips, dragging my soaked panties against the thick ridge of his cock, slinking my body against him, catching his lower lip between my teeth.

The sound that spills out of him seems more bear than human.

Especially when I slowly bite down harder, harder, urging him on, until he lets out this hungry snarl that brands my ears.

Then I stop—appalling tease that I am—licking the redness I just left behind.

He’s always so gentle.

But there’s nothing—and I mean nothing—gentle about the volcanic tension building between us. Or about the way his hard slab of a body trembles like a beast held on a ratty tether.

Definitely nothing gentle about what happens when a few more seconds stretch between us, my gut knotting as I move against him again, catching little gasps in my throat as our sweet friction teases me wetter, shoving me to the brink.