Page 35 of The Mountain Man's Mail-Order Wife
My hands are fisted in his shirt, pulling him closer with each swipe of his tongue on mine. We’re rushing, racing to a destination I don’t have a clue about.
It’s too much. Not enough.
I want his skin on mine, my fingers exploring his muscles, finding the places that make him groan, finding relief from this urgency tearing up my insides.
“Felix,” I moan into his mouth.
“I know.” His tongue licks across my bottom lip. “Iknow.”
I’m glad one of us does because in spite of all the books I’ve read, I’m clueless about sex. Nothing can explain or describe what it feels like to have Felix want me.
“Too many clothes on,” I say, my fingers pulling the shirt from his pants. “I need to feel you.”
Breaking our kiss, Felix rears up, yanks the sides of his shirt apart, scattering buttons around the room.
“Oh.” His chest is a work of art. Like one of those Greek statues we were made to study in art class. I’m reaching out, fingertips brushing lightly over the dusting of hair surrounding his nipples, trailing down toward his trousers. “You’re…gorgeous.”
“I’m not. The scars…”
My gaze meets his. “What scars?”
He frowns, a hand going to his left side. “These ones.”
I hadn’t noticed them. Like his face, they cut shallow and deep, criss-crossing from his waist to his armpit. Propping up onto my elbow, I lift my other hand but hover above his skin. “May I?”
“Of course, but?—”
He chokes back his words when my fingers touch him. It’s rougher than his face. The gouges deeper, longer, more. “I hate knowing you were hurt so badly,” I whisper.
“I’m fine now.”
Yes, he is; he is so very, very fine. Except I don’t think he believes that. “I stand by my word, Felix. You’re gorgeous. Your scars make you more so. They show your strength, your perseverance, your life.”
“I haven’t had much of a life.”
“You have. Same as me. Both of us isolated in our own worlds until they collided. Now we have a life together.”
He swallows, his gaze hot on mine. “Can I take your top off?”
“Oh, yes.” I try to sit up, but with him straddling my hips, it’s not happening. “Scoot back.”
He moves quickly, shuffling on his knees until his ass hits my feet. “Do you need help?”
Laughing, I do exactly what he did and rip my shirt open. I grin at him. “I think I got it.”
“Hell, yes, you definitely have it.”
His gaze is on my breasts. My bra is a basic one, nothing fancy or remotely sexy, but the fire in his eyes tells me he likes what he sees.
“Look at you.”
My breath is ragged, same as his, and the longer he looks, the more I feel. The more I want to feel. “Touch me.”
He’s reaching out before I finish speaking and when his hands meet the upper swell of my breasts, my breath disappears, sucked from my lungs as pleasure explodes across my skin. “So soft. So smooth,” he murmurs
Shivers follow his fingers as they trail over my breasts. My nipples ache, pulse with something close to pain except I want more. I want him to squeeze them, tug them. “Please.”
“We shouldn’t do this.” He takes his hands off me and glances around us. “Not here.”
