Mountain Man Bad Boy Read Online Natasha L. Black

Categories Genre: Alpha Male Tags Authors: Natasha L. Black Advertisement1

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He saw me standing there on the opposite side of the lobby and nodded. There was no warmth or humor in his eyes. Respect maybe, disappointment definitely. I had ruined our last moment together with my cowardice, and I felt the guilt like a stab in the gut. I watched as he crossed to the lobby doors, pushed them open, and stepped outside into the rain.

Cindy found me a moment later as I stood nailed to the spot. She draped an arm over my shoulder, whispering gently, “Let’s go. People can see you.”

I nodded, urging my feet into motion. The rest of the day was a blur. I tried to focus on my work and be present for the rest of my clients, but my heart wasn’t in it. Every med check seemed more difficult than the last, every conversation bleaker. I stapled a smile on my face and did everything I could to maintain the standards the hospital set. At the end of the day, I drove home in the rain, letting it wash over me in its depressive shield.

I wondered what Porter was doing now. He must have arrived home hours ago. Maybe he had cleaned his room, as he had planned. Maybe he was visiting with that friend of his, Mike, who had come to see him during treatment. I didn’t bother stepping over puddles in the parking lot, and every inch of me was dripping wet when I finally reached my building.

Evil took one look at me and scampered behind the couch. I slogged out of my shoes, leaving them in a puddle by the door. Like a swamp monster, I dragged myself to the bathroom, leaving a trail of water in my wake. Closing the bathroom door, I finally broke down. I slid to the floor in all my wet gear and sighed.

Slowly, I uncurled myself, peeling layers of damp fabric from my body. When I was finally free, it felt like a weight had been lifted. I looked in the mirror to see a haunted woman, hair hanging in thick ropes, shoulders bare. I reached up to cup my own breasts, feeling the softness of the curves as a lover would. Leaving my clothes in a heap on the floor, I turned on the shower. When the water was just right, I stepped inside.

I lathered up my hair, rinsing out all the chemicals in the rainwater. I drizzled soap onto a loofah and scrubbed up one arm and down the next. Delicately, I circled one breast and then the next, pausing to scrape the loofah over each nipple. A jolt of electricity coursed from the contact down into my core.

Holding the image of Porter as he had emerged from the bathroom in my mind, I soaped up I imagined Porter’s hand coming down over my own, stroking, teasing. He would slide a finger between the slit to find my pleasure bud. I would arch against him, feeling the solid muscle of his chest against my back, his swollen manhood between my legs.

I moaned, dipping my own fingers deep inside. With my thumb, I drew slick circles around my clit, arousing an animal need. I spread my legs wider, feeling the water beat against the back of my skull, sluicing down to cup my buttocks. It should be Porter doing this to me, instead of my own hand.

I imagined him fitting his cock inside me, the pleasure I would gain from that first mighty thrust. He would slide all the way home, locking his hips to mine. He would fill my canal, stretching every inch of me as wide as I could go. It was devilish. It was forbidden. To have a patient’s organ between my thighs, heaving in and out of me, slick with the juice of my own passion, was the greatest of sins. In my mind he plundered me, gripping my hips and rocking me toward my climax. I closed my eyes, my fingers doing a poor imitation of his attention. Suddenly I was there, at the peak of the mountain; my body tensed as I felt the completion wash over me.

One hand against the shower wall, I slid free of my inner core, my breath coming in dizzying gasps. I wasn’t sure if what I had done had helped or not. I felt better, more relaxed, but the activity had solidified Porter’s place in my heart. I couldn’t let him go, not now. I had to heal the wound I had caused and find some relief for my aching loins. I washed myself off and stepped out of the shower, a plan beginning to form.

13

PORTER

Iwas angry. I thought she cared about me in the same way I cared about her; that she had fantasies about a more intimate relationship just like I had. The entire drive back to Singer’s Ridge, I played the last three weeks out in my mind, looking for my mistake. She had never made any advances, never said anything to encourage me. But her eyes. Her eyes had told a different story, and the way she leaned into every conversation. She had sought me out whenever her shift was over and made sure to say good night. I had a hard time believing she went through the entire ward saying good night to everyone.


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