Page 26 of Mountain Grump Protector

Still, he doesn’t resume his kisses. He cups my face in both hands instead, and stares at me intently. “I need to be sure you understand, darling. Because as much as it’ll kill me, I will walk away right now if you don’t want this the way I do.” I open my mouth, but he stops me. "And let me be clear, Willow, I want you.” His pupils darken. His expression is one of pure hunger. “It’s been killing me to watch you walk around here in these ridiculous shorts that show off every inch of your legs, wearing my old shirts that do nothing to hide your gorgeous fucking tits.” His eyes rake up and down my body, and without even touching me, I feel every sensation of his gaze. But he’s not done yet. “I lay awake at night imagining just how sweet you’ll taste when I spread you out in front of me and bury my face between your legs.” A flood of moisture soaks my panties, and a sigh slips from my lips.

“Do you want that, too, Willow? Do you want me to fuck you with my mouth until you’re screaming my name, soaking my beard with your sweet juices?”

I nod, rendered momentarily speechless.

“I need to hear it, Willow,” he says. “I need to hear you say that you want me to drive my cock into your pussy until you can’t think straight. Tell me you’ve been thinking about me the same way I’ve been thinking about you every damn night since you got here.”

“I want you.” The words are little more than a breath. He’s painted such a picture with his words that I already can’t think straight. But I know he needs to hear it, so I take a breath and try again. “I’ve never wanted a man the way I want you, Cal. Every night, I lie in your bed, under your blankets, and think about what it would be like to have your hands touching me instead of my own. I fall asleep thinking about having you between my legs, about⁠—”

He lets out a rough breath against my mouth. “Darling, if I finally get you underneath me, I’m not wasting a second of it sleeping.”

Chapter Nine

Willow

There’s no more talking after that.

His mouth comes back to mine, harder this time, every thread of that careful restraint finally snapped.

I drop my head back as he kisses and sucks my neck, pulling groans out of me, stoking the fire inside me that’s been building since he threw that dart at the Rusty Nail and saved me.

But that’s not what this is about.

Because I meant what I said. This has nothing to do with what I owe him and everything to do with how much I want him.

Another groan slips from my mouth as his fingers hook beneath the hem of my shirt.

He moves slowly this time, giving me every chance to stop him, despite the fact that I made it very clear I wouldn’t be stopping anytime soon. And that tenderness nearly undoes me more than the dirty words ever could.

No one has ever touched me like this before.

Like I mattered.

Like I was more than a warm body that they could get something from, but instead, something worth being carefully unwrapped.

His gaze never leaves mine as he pulls the shirt over my head and tosses it to the ground somewhere behind him. The hunger in his expression darkens the second he takes in the fact that I’m not wearing a bra.

“Jesus Christ.”

Heat floods my cheeks, but it has nothing to do with embarrassment and everything to do with the way he’s looking at me, making me want to show him more.

His hands slide down my arms, leaving trails of fire where his fingertips brush my skin. He stops at my wrists, lacing our fingers together as he walks me backward until I bump up against the rough bark of one of the large pines in his yard.

He lifts my arms and gently pins them up over my head against the tree. The scrape of wood against my palms grounds me even as his huge body presses flush against mine, hot, hard, and overwhelming in the best possible way.

I can feel every ridge of his abs through his shirt, the throbbing length of him trapped in his jeans, pressed between my thighs.

“You’re beautiful,” he murmurs, resting his forehead against mine. His breath is coming in rough, uneven pants, as if the effort of holding himself back is all-consuming.

He kisses me then, deeper and slower than before. When he pulls back, there’s a whole new look in his eyes. I don’t have time to make sense of it before he lowers himself to his knees before me.

Cal never breaks eye contact as his hands glide down my sides, over my hips, to the waistband of my shorts. He hesitates, and I lift my hips so he can tug the fabric down my thighs in one smooth motion.

The fresh air hits my soaked center, and I whimper with need.

He takes a moment to look at me, shaking his head with silent admiration before his hands are once more on me. His palms slide up my calves, pulling my legs apart. Reflexively, I squeeze my eyes shut and suck in a breath in anticipation.

“Look at me,” he orders, his voice thick.