Mountain Man Bad Boy Read Online Natasha L. Black

Categories Genre: Alpha Male Tags Authors: Natasha L. Black Advertisement

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I had to pee, and I wanted to take a look at myself in the mirror. I realized I had marched into his bedroom with tears streaming down my face, and I was aghast. It was too early in our relationship to show up looking disheveled. I didn’t know exactly what we were to each other, except that we were definitely lovers, definitely friends, and closer than I had ever been to anyone else in my life.

I inched off the mattress, trying to be quiet. Crossing the room in a few spare steps, I slipped out the door onto the landing. There was no hallway, just a carpeted area with a kitchenette and five closed doors. Which one was the bathroom? I couldn’t tell. I examined each of them, picking the one that looked the most used. It was right next to the refrigerator, which made sense. The toilet probably shared piping with the kitchen sink.

I held my breath and knocked. When no one answered, I twisted the knob. The door opened and let me in to a medium-sized bathroom with blue tile. There was a shower stall in one corner and a potty in the other. I locked the door, used the facilities, and washed my hands. In the mirror above the sink, I saw a gruesome face. My eyes were puffy and red from the tears. My hair, so lovingly combed and styled earlier in the day, lay flat, except for some rebellious strands that poked haphazardly from the nest.

Without my makeup or any products of any kind, I splashed water on my face. I found some apricot scrub that one of Porter’s housemates had left on a shelf beside the sink. I knew it was wrong, but I stole a pea-sized amount. Afterward, I felt better, and the woman in the mirror looked slightly less objectionable.

I straightened my hair and snuck back across the landing to Porter’s room. I thought he was asleep, so I opened the door gently. Closing it behind myself, I could barely see. It was dark outside. He didn’t have any curtains on the windows, and the blinds were still up. Outside was a blue-black sea devoid of stars or trees.

As my eyes adjusted, I maneuvered toward the bed. Luckily there wasn’t anything in my way, so I didn’t have to worry about tripping. I reached the mattress, hands out to provide tactile information. I came face-to-face with Porter, who was awake and sitting up in bed. I stifled a gasp, feeling laughter bubble up in my gut.

“I thought you were asleep,” I whispered.

“Nope,” he said.

He pulled his shirt off, throwing it basketball-style into the laundry bin. I eyed his chest, faintly visible in the brushstrokes of streetlight that filtered through the window. I put a hand against him, urging him down on the bed.

“When I first saw you, you looked like this,” I said reverently. “You had taken your shirt off and were lying on the bed.”

“And you wanted to kiss me then,” he guessed, sliding a hand between my knees.

“I did,” I admitted.

“You can kiss me now if you want.” I smirked. He defied my attempt to position him and rose up on his elbow.

I leaned forward, meeting him halfway. His lips were firm and insistent, the kiss slow. I basked in the attention, losing my balance and toppling into him. He wrapped an arm around my back to stabilize me, never breaking the kiss. I could feel heat beginning to rise in all parts of my body, from my shoulders down to my toes.

He reached a hand up to cup my scalp, running his fingers through my hair just as I had hoped he would. I felt the last traces of despair melt away under the intensity of our embrace. I forgot all about my problems as the solid wall of his chest contracted and lengthened with his movements.

As the kiss deepened, the rest of my figure began to itch for some of the same love that my lips were receiving. I slid my feet up onto the bed, straddling him, though we both still wore our jeans. I sat up, letting my hair flow naturally past my shoulders, arching my chest to build the excitement. He looked up at me with longing in his eyes. Even in the dim light, I could see his expression. It was equal parts disbelief and hunger, everything a girl wants in a man she’s about to share her body with.

He slid his palms from my thighs to my buttocks, squeezing me through the denim. Continuing the journey, he fit his thumbs under the hem of my shirt and slid it up, uncovering my bra. I ducked beneath the fabric, aiding him in his quest to remove it. He cupped both breasts in his palms, rubbing gentle thumbs across the curves. I moaned when his exploration reached my nipples, already sensitive and pebbled beneath their casing.

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