Rough Hands on the Prairie (The Original Mountain Man #1) Read Online Frankie Love

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Contemporary, Novella Tags Authors: Series: The Original Mountain Man Series by Frankie Love
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Total pages in book: 15
Estimated words: 13933 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 70(@200wpm)___ 56(@250wpm)___ 46(@300wpm)
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I’ve never let a man this close.

Never wanted to.

But this isn’t just want.

This is a claiming.

Maybe this new version of me—the one who fell through time—is exactly the kind of woman who would crave this. Who would need it.

I don’t know who moves first.

But our lips crash together, and then he’s on the bed, over me, on me.

His hands tangle in my hair. His weight presses me into the mattress. I feel the hard ridge of him against my hip, even through the dress.

And God, I want more.

He unbuttons me slowly. One by one. Until the fabric falls open around my waist. His breath catches as the dress slips from my shoulders.

His low growl is all man.

He kisses me again—deep, tongue claiming mine—as his bare chest meets mine. The heat of his skin makes me arch up, aching.

His hand slides between my thighs.

And I open for him.

He touches me like he knows I’m already his. No hesitation. No rush. Just possession. His fingers slide inside me, filling me, stretching me. Learning me.

My body clenches.

"Tell me, girl," he breathes against my lips, "You ever given yourself to a man before?"

I kiss him in reply.

I don’t want to ruin this moment with words. I don’t want to explain. I just want him.

He doesn’t push. He just grunts and presses me back, parting my thighs with his knee. He shoves off his pants—lets them fall—and when his cock springs free…

Holy. Hell.

Even in the faint glow from the snow-lit window, I can see enough to know…

He’s big. Thick. Beautiful.

My lips part. No sound. Just heat.

"You think you can take me?" he rasps, fist stroking the length of himself.

I don’t answer. I just grab the back of his neck and pull him down—into me.

And then…

He slides in.

My body stretches, opens, clenches around him like it’s never known anything else. I gasp—a sound between pain and bliss—and he freezes, forehead to mine.

The look in his eyes? It guts me.

Like I’m the only woman he’s ever seen. Like he knows I’m his.

And then we move.

A rhythm. A rhythm born of bodies and breath and instinct. He moves slow. Deep. Then faster. Until I can’t think.

I claw at his back. I bite my lip. I cry out into his mouth.

And he never stops looking at me.

This isn’t how I pictured losing my virginity—not by a fire, not with a man from another century—but nothing has ever felt more right.

He wraps an arm around my back and holds me tight as he drives deeper, grunting with every thrust. His hips flex, his muscles trembling.

I feel him starting to lose control.

I want him to.

I need him to.

A low growl in my ear. One final thrust. His heat spills inside me, pulsing, marking, claiming.

And, as our mouths come together again, he sinks himself deeper inside of me. I let out something between a gasp and a whimper against his lips. The feeling of my body being opened like this, it’s a shock, but not a bad one.

I had been prepared for it to hurt, just like I had often been told it would, but instead, something seems to welcome him in as though we have been made for each other.

He draws his face back from mine just long enough that he can look into my eyes, and the passionate need on his face sends another throb of pleasure through my already-overstimulated body.

I grasp for him again, and, at last, we fall into a pace that suits both of us, our bodies coming together over and over again.

In that dim light, I drink in the look on his face, committing it all to memory. It feels...right. As though the universe has come together to put us in the same place at the same time so I can experience what it’s like to be close to someone like this... He wraps his arms around me and pulls me close to his chest, his hips flexing as he continues to move deep inside me.

I can feel his body starting to stiffen, his thighs clenching, and I can tell from the sound of his breath in my ear that he is close. I want nothing more than to push him over the edge, than to know that I’m enough for him – this wild man from another century, this man who wants me, even though he must believe I’m utterly insane.

I want him to lose it inside me. For me.

My pleasure builds. Fast. Ferocious. I’ve made myself come before, sure—but this?

This is like lightning.

It starts at my core and rips through me like wildfire. My body clamps down around him and I shatter, moaning into his mouth, gasping his name like a prayer.

He follows.

We stay like that, tangled and trembling.

His lips on mine, tongues lazy and slow, like we’ve found a language all our own.

And in that moment—our bodies spent, our breaths shared—I realize:



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