Page 66 of The CEO and the Mountain Man

“See you this evening,” he said, palming my cock through my jeans.

“I can’t wait.”

This was gonna hurt when it ended, but I couldn’t help myself.

I never stood a chance.

Chapter 19

Clark

Iwalked into the kitchen, not entirely proud of myself. I probably should’ve stopped touching Beau when my son came home.

I couldn’t, though.

I needed his orgasm more than I needed my own. I was greedy for it, my ego massive at the thought that I could make that gorgeous mountain man shiver and fall apart under me.

The thing I’ll remember most about last night was how much he gave himself over to me. Let me play him like a fiddle, let me extend his orgasm again and again and again. I felt powerful, both in the giving and then in the receiving.

I was proud of myself for asking for what I wanted. Even though I was half joking at times, Beau took me seriously every single time. I was grateful I’d been prepared for ass play, and just as grateful that we were able to move on from the toy. The second he was inside me, I knew I was meant to be with him in that way.

Which sucked because I was never going to find someone like Beau in Chicago.

“Dad? Why are you staring at the coffeemaker?”

“No reason.”

He snorted, and I turned to find him shaking his head at me.

“We really are going to get our hearts broken, aren’t we?” he said, sighing.

“Probably.” Not wanting to think about it, I grinned and gestured at his face. “Are you wearing mascara?”

He rubbed his eyelashes with a sheepish quirk of his lips. “I forgot to take that off last night.”

“It’s like that ‘90s smudgy heroin chic.” I tilted my hand. “Except you’re not starving yourself.”

“Or shooting heroin,” he said, rolling his eyes.

“I like it. And the sparkle stuff on your cheeks. I miss you wearing that.”

He touched his face. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” I lifted a shoulder. “You can wear whatever the hell you want to. You’re an adult, and I’m glad you feel like you can express yourself. But yeah. I like seeing you get your sparkle back.”

He went quiet for a moment, sliding me a furtive glance.

I gave him our go-ahead gesture, meaning he could say what he needed to without judgment.

“Is it okay if I don’t get all of my sparkle back?”

I pictured a chunk of ice shearing off into blue arctic waters. I couldn’t prevent a process I hadn’t engineered, and it hurt like hell. But that wasn’t what he asked.

What would either of our therapists say to that?

“I think it’s perfectly okay to integrate the before and after.” I lay my head on his shoulder so that he wouldn’t see the tear slide down my nose. “The day your mom died will always be a dividing line. It will always be the before and after. And I think it’s important to honor both who you have always been, and how her death has changed you.”

That sounded good, right?