Heart of Gold: A Mountain Man's Valentine

by Frankie Love

He grins and picks me up—yes, literally lifting me off the ground with his ridiculous biceps. “Where’s the bedroom?”

  I smile, wrapping my legs around him, feeling weightless and beautiful and like a girl in a movie because no guy has ever attempted to pick me up like this — or would have been even capable of doing so— and yet here Samson is, all strong arms and persistence.

  Samson is my deepest fantasies come to life.

  I point to my room and he carries me there, I see a look of doubt cross his face as he enters my bright white and pale pink bedroom.

  “I don’t think I’ve ever set foot in a bedroom that makes me feel more out of place,” he says as he sets me down on the floor. He towers over me and I look up at him, smiling, teasing.

  I bite my bottom lip; wrap my hand around his hard cock. “Did you want to leave?” I ask, lowering myself to my knees.

  I wrap my mouth around his hardness, widening my lips and then I start to suck.

  “Hell,” he growls, “I’m not going anywhere.”

  I use one hand to cradle his balls, loving how deliciously hot and heavy they are, tight too. My head bobs up and down and I take as much of him as I can. There’s so much of him that I can’t take him all, but I try.

  Sucking him makes me feel so sexy, and he runs his hands through my hair making me feel like a freaking queen as I kneel before him, pressing my head closer to his cock.

  I love the way he commands; the way he takes what he wants.

  I love the way he wants to take me.

  So, I give him the blowjob that women’s magazines write articles about.

  I suck him, hard, fast. My fingers rubbing along the ridges of his length, my tongue circling around his soft tip. I suck him until he’s groaning above me, telling me he’s about to come.

  And I just keep going.

  Wanting so badly for him to explode in my mouth. I want to taste him, all his salty release. I want to swallow his come, and then I want to stand up and put his cock in my throbbing pussy.

  “Oh, you’re gonna make me come so hard,” he groans.

  And he does. I don’t stop sucking him as he explodes in my mouth, his milky cream coating my throat. I swallow, taking all of him.

  When he finishes, I wipe my lips, he shakes his head.

  I stand, feeling like I just accomplished a marathon. Except it was less exhausting and gave me more endorphins. Okay, it wasn’t a marathon at all. I sure as heck can’t run or jog. Power walk, yes. I can do that. Sort of.

  Okay. Once again, I’m off topic.

  The point is, Samson doesn’t hesitate; he pulls me to him, his hands on my neck at the base of my skull, my chin tilted toward him, his fingers in my hair and my breasts against his chest. He kisses me hard with abandon. Kisses me, and then he pulls me onto the bed.

  Chapter Five

  She’s on her back, in her bed, wavy blonde hair strewn out around her like a halo. She looks so fucking gorgeous with her breasts so full, her waist narrow, her eyes bright, and her pussy wet.

  “You better spread those legs and get ready.”

  “Oh, I’m ready for you, Sam. I’m ready for you to come in me, hard.” She smiles again, and so do I because this girl has got a mouth on her and I like it. I like the way she knows what her body needs as well as I know my own.

  “Good.” I stroke my shaft a few times, it’s still nice and hard, even after she got down on her knees and sucked me until I came like I’d died and gone to heaven.

  I still can’t believe this is the sister of that tight-ass Sophia who’s marrying my brother.

  Ava Grace is nothing prudish or boring or generic.

  Ave Grace is a fucking unicorn.

  I grab a condom from my jeans, slide it on quickly. Ava watches, smiling softly.

  “Thank you,” she says. Her eyes are locked on mine for a moment too long. A moment that tells me she can fall for me in ways I’m not prepared for.

  Tonight, is not about finding our happily ever after, it’s about having a little fun. It’s my brother and his girl who are riding off into the sunset, right? Not a guy like me. I’m not the kind of guy a girl like Ava Grace wants or deserves.

  I lean over her, my hands on either side of her narrow shoulders, and her hand reaches down to guide me inside her.

  Her pussy is so tight, so fucking tight. As my cock fills her up, she whimpers — not in pain, in pleasure. But also in surprise.

  “You’re so big, like, tremendous really.”

  I smile. I may be a mountain man, but I’m still a man. A girl telling me she likes my cock is gonna give me an ego boost.

  “Good. I’m glad you like them big.”

  “I’ve never had one as big as this. Clearly, I’ve been doing it wrong all these years.”

  Her hands slide down to my ass, holding me tightly, and I rock inside her, filling her up in ways she’s never been filled before.

  “All these years? How old are you, Ava Grace?”

  “I’m twenty-four. How old are you?”

  Our bodies are as connected as they can possibly be. My fingers lace through hers as I thrust deeper.

  “I’m thirty-two.”

  “Never been married?” she asks, between moans. Her pussy is pulsing around me, her breath is bated. She’s fucking loving this.

  I sigh, not wanting to start talking about marriage and commitment. Not when I am so close to coming.

  Her eyes search mine, though, and I feel compelled to answer.

  “Never been married,” I tell her. “And I never intend to.”

  “I thought as much,” she says, sighing, and I can’t tell if it’s because of what I said or if it’s because her body is reacting to the orgasm rushing over her.

  Her pussy is so slick, so fucking wet and ready, and I move in and out of her nice and hard.

  She whimpers, and I keep her arms pinned as I fill her up, as I come. She comes too, liking it when I am in control. With me guiding her, we come together.

  Fuck, this woman has worked my body over like no woman ever has before.

  I kiss her — I can’t help it. I know this hook-up means nothing, but there is a part of me — a tender part that I never think about or talk about — that has come alive. That is awakened as I hold Ava Grace in my arms, as I kiss her sweet, luscious lips.

  I kiss her, my cock still in her, her hands still held. I kiss her, and for a split second, I think I could stay like this. In this cotton candy house with the woman who is the opposite of me.

  Because it feels so good and so right.

  “I don’t want to kill the mood but I’ve gotta pee,” Ava says, before rolling out from under me, scooting out of bed, her bare ass so fucking cute as she walks away.

  When she leaves, I sit up, look at her room. I see her stack of books—all romance novels—with a Kindle on top, and a handwritten list, titled, TBR: WILDER, Mother Trucker, HUCK, Love Is Crazy.

  Not having any idea what any of that means, I prop myself back up on the pillows on her bed and notice a DVD collection on a shelf next to her wall-mounted TV. Every fucking romantic comedy I swore I’d never watch.

  She has a framed photo on her wall that reads She Loved with All Her Heart. And the piece de resistance is the dried flowers hanging from a corkboard.

  This woman is gorgeous, funny, sexy, and knows how to give one hell of a blowjob... but she also clearly wants to fall. Hard and fast and forever.

  I can’t be that for her.

  All I can offer is one night.

  After all, I left town three years ago, and never came back. I’m a loner, a recluse, a man who has never been in love.

  I’m not perfect; hell, of course, I know that.

  But Ava Grace is looking for perfect.

  She’s looking for someone that is not me.

  Chapter Six

  The truth is we slept together four more times. But who’s counting? Okay, clearly, I am counting. And those four times don’t even include the blow job. Or the hand job. Or the time
I sat on his face.

  Okay, I already said I wasn’t a lush, but I also want the record to show that I am not a hussy.

  But I do like to have fun. And I did. All night long, I had so much fun. All the fun.

  The next morning, Samson is still asleep, which I think is kind of cute, considering he claims to be some rough-and-tumble mountain man. I picture a man like him getting up at the crack of dawn, but here it is, 8:30 in the morning, and he’s snoring.

  I slip out of bed, pull on a pair of panties and a tank top. Then I tie on a robe that barely covers my ass. I pull my hair up in a messy bun and look in my bathroom mirror.

  Blinking, I try to remember how much champagne I had at the engagement dinner. Maybe not so much after all. There’s no headache. My eyes aren’t red. And my skin is actually glowing.

  Apparently, my body responds well to mountain man sex.

  In my fluffy pink slippers, I pad to the kitchen, where I heat a kettle of water and measure out grounds for my French press.

  It’s Friday morning and I have a day of work ahead, but I also don’t want to kick my houseguest out earlier than necessary. In fact, I’m thinking that a post-breakfast shower sounds like the perfect way to add a few hours to this rendezvous.

  I pop two English muffins in the toaster and pull out a jar of strawberry jam. The whole time, I’m thinking about ways my sister could come to terms with me and her fiancé’s brother becoming a couple.

  I’m not trying to get ahead of myself, but as I pull a butter knife from the drawer, my mind is imagining picking out new silverware for a wedding registry.

  Just as I’m grabbing the half-and-half from the fridge, I hear Samson getting out of bed.

  He comes in the kitchen just as I’m pouring the coffee. “Coffee?” I ask.

  He grunts out a yes, and when I move to add cream he shakes his head fiercely.

  “Just black.”

  I hand him a mug of steaming java and watch as he examines it as if it might be poison.

  “Is there a problem?”

  “The mug?” He turns it toward me, the words printed on the ceramic read You’re a hot mess.

  I smile, take the mug from him and hand him mine. “That better?”

  He reads the words on the new mug, Make today your bitch.

  That gets a tiny smile from him.

  “Not a morning person?” I ask.

  He sighs, and then takes a long sip of coffee. I turn from him and butter the English muffins, add jam, then hand one to him on a cloth napkin. We carry our breakfast to the living room and I sit cross-legged on the couch, eying him and his naked body, save for the plaid boxers he pulled on before emerging from my bedroom.

  His chest is just as chiseled and ripped as I remember.

  “It’s not the morning I’m having a hard time with.”

  For a moment, my breath catches and I think that maybe he’s going to say something like, I’m having a hard time because I don’t want to leave you. Or, I’m having a hard time trying to figure out how we can explain to Taylor and Sophia that we are starting a relationship.

  “I’ve got to fly back home today, turnarounds like this are rough. I flew in yesterday afternoon and haven’t even been here twenty-four hours. I was just thinking maybe I should’ve allowed for more time here.”

  “More time for...” My heart thumps. More time for me...?

  “More time to catch up with Taylor. I haven’t seen him in three years, a lot has changed since then. But I gotta get home. I have a meeting tomorrow I can’t miss.”

  My eyes narrow, seeing through his flimsy excuse to get away from me. What kind of meeting does a mountain man need to attend? What, does he sit around with the bears and wolves discussing last quarter’s financial statement?

  My heart falls, as naïvely and ridiculous as it is, I had—in the space of the night—thought that maybe this time things would be different. That maybe Samson would break all the rules and turn out to be more than an unavailable and uninterested man. The kind of man I always fall for.

  But he’s not.

  He may make my lady parts melt; my heart beat fast — he may be funny in an I-know-I’m-an-asshole kind of way and may seem like the sort of man who could keep my crazy in check.

  But he’s not going to be that for me.

  I’m trying to be this mature and put-together grown up, but still... I can’t help but wonder when it will be my turn. When will it be my chance for a happily ever after?

  “Well,” I say, trying to be an adult. “It’s still early, maybe you still have time to meet up with Taylor before you leave. When’s your flight?”

  “12:30.”

  “Then you should go, you should go to your brother.”

  He looks at me and nods.

  “Call him. If you don’t, will you even see him before the wedding in February?”

  “No, well, except for the bachelor party.”

  “Is that already planned?”

  Samson snorts. “Everything with my brother is planned. I swear he has an itinerary for everything. Makes sense, though, growing up things were really rocky for us, and now he craves security.” When he finishes, his jaw is set, and he looks tense.

  I know bits and pieces about Taylor’s childhood. How he grew up without his parents and floated from home to home.

  I try to soften the conversation. “Well, Sophia is the same way about schedules and plans. That’s why they are perfect for each other.”

  Samson smirks. “You think? Two people, who are the same make a good match?”

  “I never thought of it like that, but those two seem to get along so well. They’re really compatible. I’ve never seen them argue.”

  Samson shrugs, “In that case.”

  “So, when’s the bachelor party?” I can’t help but ask. “The bachelorette party is the first weekend in January. A month before the wedding on February 14.”

  “That makes sense, that’s the same weekend as the bachelor party. They probably planned it that way.”

  “Yep, can’t bear to be out of one another’s sight for longer than necessary,” I say.

  The conversation stalls, and I know it’s time to say goodbye.

  “Well,” Samson says, setting down his coffee cup and pushing up from the couch. “I guess I should get going.”

  A few minutes later Samson steps out of the bedroom with jeans and a flannel shirt on, ready to face the day.

  He throws his duffel bag over his shoulder. “It’s been fun,” he tells me.

  “Super fun.” I lean over and give him a kiss on his cheek.

  The sex-vibe from the night before is slipping farther and farther away.

  He doesn’t make a move to kiss me or grope me or bend me over. All things I would have done willingly.

  Instead, he just nods and says, “I guess I’ll see you at the wedding?”

  And then he’s gone.

  Chapter Seven

  Leaving Ava’s condo is hard as hell.

  Here’s the thing, I never thought about settling down and getting married. Not because I’m some coldhearted asshole, it’s just that after everything with my parents I knew I’d never get attached like that with another person.

  They died tragically–and I blame myself. My brother and I were left in the wake, and it showed me how fragile life can be. The last thing I’ve ever wanted to do is get wrapped up with someone, have a family with someone, only to ruin it all.

  So now, I’m a realist. And the reality is this: life is fucking hard and scary and it can change in the blink of an eye. The last thing any woman needs is me and my baggage and my mountain to make it any harder.

  But walking away from Ava Grace? After the night we shared? It hurts like hell.

  I made love to her sweet little body all night long, woke up with the taste of her pussy still on my lips. I walked into her kitchen and saw her looking like sunshine and promise and hoping that I could offer her all of me.

  I saw what she was thinking a
ll too clearly.

  So, I left with nothing more than a goodbye because I can’t offer her any promises.

  Who knows what’s gonna happen to me out on the mountain? I could die, freeze to death. I could get lost in a snowstorm or fall in an avalanche.

  The last thing anyone needs is a man who might not always be around. It’s too fucking risky.

  My brother meets me at the coffee shop. A fucking Starbucks because that’s the kind of man he is. I watch him order a skinny latte with two sugars. Watching him, I conceal a smile. Poorly.

  “What are you laughing about?” Taylor asks.

  “Nothing, but are you sure two sugars will be enough?” I get my black drip coffee and carry our drinks over to an empty table.

  “I thought you were flying out early today,” Taylor asks as he lifts his white paper cup to his mouth, waiting for me to answer

  “I’ve got an hour before I have to get to the airport, thought we could do some catching up.”

  Taylor laughs. “Catch up? Samson, you’re my big brother but for last three years, you’ve been MIA. I know things got rough for you here for a while but—”

  “Rough for me? Taylor, I took a fucking break. Working for the man made me crazy. And you’ve been fine without me.” We’ve talked every few months—enough to know he was proposing to Sophia, enough to show up for the engagement party. “You don’t need me around. You went to law school, have Sophia and her family—you don’t need me.”

  “You’re still avoiding the question.” Taylor looks down, avoiding my eyes. He looks like a little boy, like the nine-year-old who has lost his parents, who is looking for anyone to hold onto. I was the only constant, and then I left. Looking at him now I see he still needs me.

  “Look, with the wedding—the guest lists, and Sophia’s family being so involved,” Taylor, says, looking back up at me. “Sometimes, I just wish I had my brother back. You're the only family I’ve got.”

  “I’m here, aren’t I? I bought a ticket to come back for your bachelor party. I know I’m the only family you’ve got, and maybe I’ve been busy getting my shit together for the last three years, but I’m not too busy for you. And the wedding being in Whistler is fucking perfect. It’s gorgeous country up there, and not so far from where I live.”