Flame (Fire on the Mountain #2) Read Online Free Page B

bed on my stomach then positions himself on his knees between my spread thighs. Eight weeks is a long fucking time to go without sex, and I’m willing to bet it’s been just as long for him.
    Grabbing my hips, he pulls my ass up into the air so that it’s perfectly aligned with his steeled shaft. As I watch him roll a condom on from over my shoulder, I prepare myself for a rough, demanding fucking. Exactly like I like it.
    No words are exchanged as he enters me, nor is eye contact made. Burying my face in the mattress, I grip the sheets and brace myself as he thrusts into me over and over again, his hips beating a staccato rhythm against my ass. I close my eyes and focus on the overwhelming pleasure building fast and furiously in my core; however, the only image that appears behind my tightly shut lids involves the cocky-mouthed, drop-dead gorgeous guy from Ember earlier this evening. The more I think about him, the clearer the indecent vision becomes, the closer I get to my release, until I’m soaring in my orgasmic high thinking only of faded Levi jeans and thick chestnut hair I’d like to bury my fingers in.
    Rory finds his climax with a muffled yell, and once we’ve both recuperated, round two ensues, followed by three and four, each time feeling more and more impersonal. The bed, the Jacuzzi tub, and the chaise lounge all see plenty of action until physical exhaustion takes over. The last thing I remember as I struggle to keep my eyelids open is Rory’s phone ringing and his muffled voice as he accepts the call.

    I’m not sure if it’s the knock at the door or the sound of a male voice calling out, “Room service” that disturbs my exceptionally peaceful sleep, but either way, the first thing I realize when I wake up stark naked, tangled in the luxurious Egyptian cotton sheets, is that I’m alone. Strangely, Rory and all his stuff are gone. He’s never been one to bolt in the middle of the night, usually sticking around for a morning shower romp prior to going our separate ways, but before I can replay the events of last night in my mind to figure out what happened, the rapping on the door returns.
    “Miss Shavell, room service, ma’am,” the hotel attendant repeats, a bit louder this time.
    “One minute,” I call back as I scramble out of bed and snag my dress from yesterday off the floor then slip it over my head.
    Hurrying to let him in, the amused expression that flashes across his face when he sees me says everything—I look like a girl who was fucked six ways from Sunday. Glancing down, I notice the dress I just threw on is indeed inside out, and I’m sure my out-of-control bed head and smudged mascara only helps to complete the look.
    Refusing to allow him to fluster me, I smile brightly and motion him into the suite. “I wasn’t aware I ordered room service,” I remark as he carries the tray in and sets it on the dinette table next to the bed.
    “No, ma’am. Mr. Tanner ordered it for you before he left early this morning. There’s also a note from him on the tray. He wanted me to express his apologies for leaving you alone,” the middle-aged, balding man explains, his gaze lingering on my braless tits that are barely concealed by the thin yellow fabric.
    Never one to back away from an opportunity to tease, I gather my hair in one hand and twist it up into a knot on top of my head, revealing even more of my cleavage to him. In my sweetest, most demure voice, I reply, “Awww, well, thank you so much for delivering the message.” Then, lifting the silver dome covering the food with my other hand, I pick up a piece of sausage and raise it to my mouth. “And for the meat,” I add before sinking my teeth into the juicy link.
    His Adam’s apple bobs wildly as he swallows hard, unsure of what to say or do next. Shuffling his feet backward toward the door, his nervous gaze drops to the ground and he begins to stutter, “Y-y-yes, ma’am, Miss Shavell. P-please stay as long, um . . . as