Wifed By The Mountain Man: A Modern Mail-Order Bride Romance (3 page)

O
h
.... Oh, boy. His mouth is on mine, and it’s a kiss that could be in a movie. The scene where time seems to stop, and the girl gets the guy, and they melt into one another.

The kiss I’ve been waiting for my entire life.

His lips are soft, but the kiss is hard. Our lips part; his tongue slides in and chills run up my spine at the sensation of him devouring me this way. He knows exactly what he’s doing; his large hands are on my waist, as if he’s taking me as his.

I’ll let him take me anywhere he wants.

Reed is the opposite of Derrick. I never thought of it until now, but Derrick was all talk, and it got him nowhere. Reed’s words are few ... yet he is all man.
My
man.

I’ll climb up his mountain, that’s for sure.

He lifts my ass, squeezing it, then patting it nice and good, and I wrap my legs around his waist, feeling his hard cock against me. I let out a soft moan, right there on the Alaskan highway.

I wanted a husband, and I’ll make him glad that I’m his wife. It will be my mission, my drive. My purpose. Throw myself completely into this marriage, and show Reed that I’m the woman for him, even if he seems underwhelmed at the prospect of having a wife.

He carries me to the truck, opens the door, and drops me into the passenger seat. I scoot to the middle seat, and he sits next to me, closes the door. It only takes a second for me to climb back into his lap, and for his mouth to find mine.

Oh, sweet Lord, he’s getting me hot. I’m grinding in his lap, his cock against my pussy. My panties are soaked through and I tighten my entrance in anticipation. I want him so freaking bad.

“Fuck me, Reed,” I murmur, unbuckling his belt, unbuttoning his jeans. He smells like cedar and sage, and whiskey, neat. But he looks tired. His eyes are worn and I can tell that, deep down, he needs a woman to take care of him. Maybe he doesn’t even know it yet.

“Oh, yeah,” he breathes into my ear, and I pull down his pants, ready to show him exactly what kind of woman I am. His.

“When are we getting married?” I ask, as his hands snake around my waist. My skin prickles in delight at his touch. I’ve never been so freaking grateful for stretchy jeans; he’s able to tug them off easily. I let my heels drop to the floor mat, and I’m straddling him in only a tiny white thong and matching bra. His hands grab my ass tightly, before reaching for the hem of my top. I raise my hands, letting him slip it over my head, and watch as his eyes rake across my body.

I feel gorgeous. I feel wanted. I feel alive.

He breathes heavily, as his hands run across my skin, over my thighs; his thumb scouring across my thong-covered-pussy, his fingers running over my belly, up my ribcage, over my round breasts.

They linger there, his palms cupping me. My pussy is absolutely dripping now, because the tip of his cock is taunting me deliciously. I reach behind me and unhook my bra.

My breasts spill out, and the closest thing to a smile that Reed has yet given me crosses his lips. He likes what he sees.

But he still hasn’t answered my question.

His thumbs roll over my nipples, hardening them, before squeezing my breasts together. Any man who’s a boob guy would be happy with my full chest, but Reed seems especially drawn to them. He presses his mouth against them, then lets his tongue crosses one nipple, then the other.

I swear I can’t handle much more of this tease. I need to see that cock. I need to feel that cock. I need to take that cock inside me.

“We won’t be going to the courthouse for a few weeks,” he says.

“Oh.” I’d hoped it would be sooner. I’d hoped it was, like,
now
. I wanted complete certainty that I’d be his wife.

Not just because I’m stripped naked on the side of the Alaskan highway, but because I don’t want to be tossed aside for the second time within a month. I can’t handle more rejection. And what if Reed spends a few days with me and realizes he wants out?

Before I can ask anything more, Reed presses a finger to my pussy, sliding the thin fabric of my thong aside. He pulses against my opening, finding my clit with precision, as if he knows exactly what he’s doing.

And oh, sweet Jesus, he clearly does. Because I’m falling into his chest as he deepens his pressure, and within minutes I’m shuddering under his touch.

“Your pussy is so nice and wet for me.”

“I think that’s the longest string of words I’ve heard from you.”

“There are better things to do than talk.”

And I agree, because my pussy is throbbing, aching for more, aching for everything.

“I want you, Reed. I want to see your cock.”

That hint of a smile passes his mouth again, and I squirm slightly as he presses a second finger into my opening, fluttering against my folds. He must like it when I talk about his cock. Good. Because he seems like a boob-man, and I’m certainly a cock-girl. I love to look at them, suck them, and wrap my mouth around them.

Around his.

He pulls down his boxers, and his cock—so big that I know it will stretch my pussy into submission—springs to life.

“Why did you keep this hidden for so long?” I tease.

“I’ve known you under an hour, honey. I don’t think I’m the one jumping the gun here.”

“As your wife, Reed, I’m telling you it isn’t fair to keep your cock out of sight for so long.”

“You think you can handle this?” he asks, taking my hand and guiding it to his shaft. As I stroke him, he presses a finger back into my pussy.

“I’ve only been with one guy before,” I admit. “And he was not like you.”

“We really talking about exes already?”

“Sorry.” I shrug, laughing. “But Reed, you’ve gotta know I’ve never seen a cock like yours. Yours is....” I sigh, at a loss for words. I don’t really want to admit to this man that the only place I’ve seen cocks this big is porn sites, when I was desperate for release and Derrick couldn’t manage to get me off.

“Mine is as big as a porn star’s.”

“It’s like you read my mind.”

Now it’s his turn to shrug. “Your pussy is so nice and tight. Fuck, Amelia, you sure you’ve been with a man before?”

“I’m not a virgin.” I lick my palm, then I run my hand up and down his length. He gets even harder as I wrap my fingers around his tight, warm balls, and all I want is to fill my mouth with all of him. But my pussy has other needs.

“You’re not a virgin, but somehow have the tightest pussy I’ve ever touched?” He raises an eyebrow.

“My ex was a shitty lover. He literally never got me to orgasm in four years.”

“Oh, honey,” Reed says, his head resting on the back of the seat. “You. Are. Due.”

He lifts my ass cheeks, and guides me over his rock hard cock. My hands rest on his chest as I slowly lower myself on him.

He likes me sinking down on him, and we both groan as we absorb the delicious shock of our bodies coming together.

He smiles wider, looking straight at me, “Welcome home, honey. Welcome home.”

S
he swivels
her hips over my cock, sitting in my lap, her perfect tits bouncing as she comes. Her pussy really is the tightest pussy I’ve ever taken, and she may have a mouth on her, be high maintenance as hell, say she never orgasmed with a man … but damn, she knows how to fuck.

“Oh, Reed,” she moans, throwing back her head as her juice pours onto her thighs. I run my hands over her ass, around her curvy hips, thrusting into her. She turns up the volume, gripping my shoulders tight as she lets her release wash over her.

After she’s stilled, catching her breath, I give it to her—coming in her, letting my warm seed fill her folds. She loves it, and her mouth crashes into mine as I finish. Her teeth catch my bottom lip and I lean into her, pulling her to my chest, wrapping my arms around her.

“It’s weird not using a condom,” she says in my shoulder. “I’d never have done that with Derrick.”

“Didn’t trust him?” I ask, grateful that Monique required blood tests of both partners, and birth control for the women. We both needed clean bills of health to use her agency, and then when we’re married we can do what we like.

But God knows I don’t want another kid; one unplanned baby is more than enough.

“I didn’t. And I was with him for four years.”

I give a low whistle. “When did you end things with this guy?” I have to ask; she’s brought him up enough, and fuck, we’ve just met.

She pulls away from me, and my eyes lower to her tits. They’re just so damn perky and cute. My cock is still inside of her and I don’t know why we’re talking about another man, but nothing about this meet and greet has been conventional.

Nothing about bringing her to my house, and having her meet my baby, is conventional either.

She bites her lip, shrugs. “About two weeks ago.”

“Shit, woman.”

She looks wounded, her eyes lowered, her mouth turned down in a frown.

“Talk about being on the fucking rebound,” I say. I don’t care about her past relationships, but I need to be sure this woman is in it for the long haul. I can’t have some woman coming in and out Hope’s life. That’s one of the main reasons I wanted a mail-order bride in the first place: Hope needs stability.

But I’m glad I went with my gut and planned our court date for two weeks from now. I need to be sure that this woman can be Hope’s mother.

She moves off of me and reaches for her bra, as if suddenly vulnerable and needing to cover up the pieces of herself she’s revealed.

After clasping her bra, she grabs a tissue from her bag and wipes herself. Her jaw is tight, and the mood is entirely killed. I pull up my pants and get out of the truck, adjusting my junk, then go around the driver’s seat.

When I get into the car, she’s reassembled herself. She smooths down her hair, looking out the window, not meeting my gaze.

I start the ignition and head down the highway, not knowing what more to say.

She just needs to get to my place and see for herself whether or not this life is one she can hack.

* * *

W
hen I pull
up to my place, I hear a sharp intake of breath from Amelia. When I look at her, it’s clear she likes what she sees. I promised Monique that my bride would have a millionaire’s lifestyle, and I deliver.

The accommodations won’t be the problem—I have a custom, two-story hand-crafted log cabin in the middle of a thick forest, perched on the edge of a private lake. It’s state of the art everything, and if you can handle not having a shopping mall or restaurants, don’t mind the lack of neighbors, and can do without having friends to hang out whenever you want, it’s paradise.

It’s what’s inside that might prove problematic.

“Your house is beautiful,” she says, as I park in the driveway in front of the house. “I knew Monique’s clients were affluent, but damn, Reed. This place is amazing.”

I nod. “I sold my company a year ago, built this place, and have everything I could ever need.”

“Except your wife.” She flashes me a smile. Apparently now that she’s seen my house, she forgives my
rebound
comment from earlier.

“Right.” I jump out of the truck, not liking the way she keeps mentioning that word,
wife
. Yeah, I know we’re getting married, but I really don’t see this partnership as a husband-and-wife relationship. I want a mom for Hope—and maybe an occasional fuck-buddy—but I don’t need a wife telling me what to do or how to be, or asking anything of me.

I’m my own man, living on my own terms, and I’m smart enough to see that a real wife would fuck that up.

She follows me, in those ridiculous heels, and I smile to myself, knowing Lottie is going to look this girl up and down and predict she’ll be gone by the end of the week.

I grab Amelia’s suitcases from the back and walk to the front steps. From inside, I can hear Hope wailing like a banshee, and I take a deep breath, debating whether I should say something before I open the door.

“What is that? Is it ... crying?” Amelia asks, her face showing concern. Okay, I can work with that; maybe she’ll be the sympathetic type.

But before I can explain my daughter, Lottie opens the door, with a crying Hope in her arms.

Hope’s in a diaper, she has teething biscuit slobber all across her face and belly, and her cheeks are streaked in tears.

“Shit, Lottie, what happened?” I ask, dropping the suitcases and grabbing Hope.

I step inside and the women follow me as Lottie begins to explain. “She was napping like you said she’d be, but when she woke up she just got so upset, and I thought she was hungry, but I didn’t know how to use your microwave so I couldn’t heat up a bottle. And then I saw these crackers, but what a mess that turned into. And she hates the high chair, so then I carried her and....”

“It’s fine, Lottie—but just so you know, the bottle doesn’t need to be warmed,” I tell her. “Sorry we’re late. Thanks for everything, honest. It was real good of you.”

“And you must be the mail order bride?” Lottie asks Amelia, looking her up and down appraisingly. I try to see Amelia the way a seventy-year-old woman, born and raised in the woods, would see her. “I’ll be darned, just look at you.”

“I’m Amelia.” She reaches to shake Lottie’s hand. “Good to meet you.”

“Well, lah-tee-dah, sugar.” Lottie takes the proffered hand, shaking her head. “You ever stepped out of a city? Even own a pair of boots?”

Amelia frowns, looking down at herself.

“We’ve got it from here, Lottie. Amelia’s had a long day.”

Lottie doesn’t ease up, “Well, she’ll be up all night, with that baby in the house.”

Amelia’s eyes widen, realizing what’s going on. Her eyes dart around the great room, taking in the Pack ’n Play, the swing, and Jumperoo. There’s a car seat in the corner of the foyer, and bottles drying next to the sink.

Lottie, sensing that Amelia isn’t quite clued in, laughs, patting her back.

“You’ll be fine—and if not, you can go back to where you came from.”

“Lottie,” I warn, “play nice.”

“I’m not the one playing house,” she says smartly. “But okay, okay, I’ll be nice.” She leans over and kisses Hope’s cheeks, which only makes Hope cry louder.

“You okay driving home?” I ask her.

“I’m perfectly fine driving home. And don’t worry, I’ll get out of your hair for the week, and let your little family acclimate, Reed.” She pauses at the front door, as if contemplating another dig. Thankfully, instead she just waves good-bye to a dazed Amelia, a hysterical Hope, and me.

And here I am, left in a house with two more females than I ever planned on living with.