The Mountain Man's Muse

by Frankie Love

  "Does that scare you?" he asks, his voice a deep growl.

  "I'm not scared. I'm just..."

  He steps closer to me. "You can tell me. What are you thinking?"

  "I don't want to do it wrong," I tell him.

  He brushes my hair from my forehead and cups my cheek with his palm, again raising my chin so his eyes meet mine, and he sees me. Really sees me. And it hits me hard, right in my heart, that maybe it's the first time anyone has ever really seen me. Taken the time to look.

  And I know he's been complimenting the way I look, but right now, when he looks into my eyes, I feel like he sees my soul.

  "How is this happening?" I ask him. "It feels like... a fairytale."

  "Oh, Rose, this is no fairytale. This is a goddamn dream come true."

  He kisses me again, and I whimper against him. I can't even help it, and really, why would I hold back? My husband is holding me in my arms, looking into my eyes and kissing my lips. His arms wrap around me and his strong, capable body shelters me from the storms outside.

  My life has been a struggle. One foot in front of the other, trying to keep my chin up and my heart open.

  There's a reason I practice yoga. It helps remind me to stop and smell the roses. To not dwell on the hard things and instead focus on the good. Cheesy as it sounds, it helps me reach deep inside and live my best life possible.

  And now I get to do that with River. He's my future. And as he lifts me into his arms, carrying me from his office and up the stairs into our master suite, I know he won't let me fall.

  In our room, his eyes devour me, and I lick my lips, ready.

  "Take me, strip me. Deflower me."

  His eyes tell a story, and somehow it starts with us. This moment. Right here. Him and I, the beginning of our forever.

  "I'm not scared, I have you," I whisper as he sets me down on our bed. He

  growls as he stands before me looking down at where I lie on the bed. My breath is shallow, anxious, and ready. Wanting this to go faster and slower all at once.

  "I want to see you," I tell him. "All of you. A real man."

  He growls again, this time sending a wave of desire over my skin. He pulls off his flannel shirt and drops his jeans, then pushes off his boxers and stands before me completely naked. I moan as I look at him, my chiseled mountain man with a rock-hard body and a rock-hard cock.

  "You're so big," I say, and immediately regret my words. "I'm embarrassed," I add, covering my eyes. " I actually... I just have never seen... I told you I'm a virgin."

  He leans over me, pulling down my hands. "Look at me when I undress you."

  He begins undoing the buttons on my pants and slipping them off my hips. He eases me up to the edge of the bed and pulls off my panties, my sweater. He drapes them beside us on the bed and I glance over at the blue brooch pinned to it, the gift from Fiametta.

  Something borrowed, something blue.

  This is my wedding night. With my husband. A week ago, I would've never imagined... But things can change fast when you're willing to take a chance.

  "God," he moans looking me over. He drops to his knees and runs his hands over my thighs kneeling before me.

  "My muse, my bride." He runs his hands over my belly, behind me, unhooking my bra and then tossing it aside. Then his hands roam over my large breasts and he bites his bottom lip, moaning as he explores me.

  "Your tits are perfect. So, fucking perfect. Has a man ever touched them?" he asks as his fingertips run over my supple skin.

  I shake my head. "Never," I manage to tell him as he begins to stroke my hard nipples. My pussy grows wet and hot with desire.

  "You saved yourself for me?" he asks, and I nod. Because I did. Truth is, I've never met a man I trusted myself with or wanted to give myself to. Maybe I knew in my heart I was waiting for River all this time.

  "I need to taste your pussy," he tells me, and my mouth falls open in shock as his head lowers, his mouth between my thighs, his hands gripping my ass and pulling me towards the end of the bed. His face is buried in my pussy, his beard tickling my thighs as his tongue begins lapping up my cream.

  I find myself groaning in pleasure, in need.

  "Damn," he groans. "You taste like a sweet rose."

  "Oh, River," I moan not having expected to feel so much so fast. My core is alive with desire. My slit is wet and full of cream and his tongue rolls over me as if enjoying every last drop.

  He eyes are filled with a hunger so desperate and ragged, that my body trembles under his gaze. This is what it means to be ravished, and we haven't even made love yet.

  He groans, a different sort of hunger passing through him. It's as if he's starved. He pushes me up on the bed, cradling me in his arms. His hands running up and down my skin, tingles of delight covering me.

  "I'm going to take you as you need to be taken," he tells me. His hand pressing against my mound. "I'm going to deflower my bride on her wedding night. I'm going to make your pretty pussy sing."

  I pant, his tender touch hitting me in the most perfect way. "I don't think I'll be singing," I tell him breathlessly as his capable fingers press against my mound.

  "No?" He furrows his brows. I feel his hard shaft against my thighs as he leans over me, his body my shelter, his chest the only place I want to rest my head tonight.

  "I don't think I'll be singing," I repeat. "I think I'll be moaning."

  A smile crosses his ruddy face, and for such a reclusive man, quiet and reserved, his eyes gleam so openly when he looks down at me. I can feel him opening up, the tightness I saw the moment we first met, has begun to soften.

  "I'm gonna take this cock and I'm gonna put it inside of you, but first, I need you to touch me, wife," he orders me, taking my hand and guiding me to his long, thick shaft.

  "It's so smooth, it's like a velvet," I tell him as his mouth plants kisses up and down my neck, over my collarbone, on my breasts. As I lie naked under my husband, the thrill of it all ignites a passion inside of me.

  I move my hand faster, stroking my husband up and down in a way that I can immediately tell he likes. He's growing as I move my hand over his length, and his grunts of desire excite me. I explore his cock, my fingers rolling over his balls, they are nice and tight as I fondle them, stoking the fire within me with each motion.

  Soon, he spreads me further open, his hand on my pussy, opening me up the way I never knew I needed. "My darling Rose, this will hurt at first, but later it will feel so good."

  I nod, anticipating this, knowing that when he pushes past my hymen and takes my virginity it will burn. But oh, I would be willing to become nothing but as if it meant River would keep touching me.

  "If you scream, Rose, you need to scream my name," he moans against me. As he slowly sinks his cock into my pussy, I can feel the pain begin.

  He sees it in my eyes. "Oh, sweet Rose, you're so nice and tight. And my cock will make you feel so good."

  I whimper. "It's tight, it hurts, River." My eyes widen as a gasp escapes me.

  "You're okay, Rose," he tells me, his eyes locked on mine as he begins to enter me more fully. I had no idea a man could fill me like this; I had no idea what my body has been missing.

  Him inside of me.

  "Oh," I moan, the pain rising up. "Oh, River," I cry, wrapping my arms around him as he wraps his arms around me. I cling to him as he pushes deeper inside me.

  Then we are past the point of pain, and we ride into a place of pleasure.

  I exhale, my body sinking deeper into the bed as he begins to move inside me, rocking his hips up and down, his cock burying itself deep inside me, reaching my core.

  I close my eyes, trying to absorb each ripple of delight as my husband takes my virginity. As he makes me a woman.

  As River makes me his wife.

  Chapter Seven

  River

  When she comes, she is loud, and I can't help but grin. My new wife is a screamer, and I motherfucking love it.

  "Damn, woman, you know
how to make some noise."

  She pants for breath. "Too loud for my quiet mountain man?" she purrs.

  I shake my head. "You can yell all you want, as long as it's my name you're screaming."

  I lean down, kissing her, so fucking inspired by her.

  I roll over, holding her in my arms.

  "I'm so tired," she whispers, her eyes closing. I run my fingers over her bare skin, thinking about how long her day has been. Flying here from L.A., the nervous energy, the fear, and expectation that must have coursed through her veins.

  "Shhhh, sweet Rose, just rest," I tell her, covering her in the duvet, lifting her head ever so slightly so I can slip a pillow beneath it. She needs to rest, and I will let her sleep as long as she needs.

  But I am not tired in the least.

  In fact, I have more energy right now than I have had in ages. Years. My mind is racing with ideas, and I pull on a pair of sweats and a tee shirt, then open the door to the master bathroom.

  Wanting her to feel cherished, I draw her a warm bath, squeezing some body wash in the tub to create some bubbles. Damn, I wish I’d thought to make things a little more romantic for my wife on her wedding night. Usually I’m pretty fucking secure with myself, but right now, I am aware of all my flaws.

  I walk back into the bedroom, leaning down to kiss Rose’s smooth cheek, and she stirs beneath me. As her eyelids flutter open all I can think is how badly I need to sit down at my computer and write. Never have I been so emotionally invigorated. I’m awake after years of sleeping.

  “Is everything kay?” she asks softly.

  “Yeah, of course. I drew you a bath, but I’m gonna go to my study. I have some thoughts I need to get down on paper.”

  She sighs happily. “Is this what it will be like to be married to a writer? You always sneaking off to write down your ideas?”

  I clear my throat. She has no idea how short on ideas I’ve been for so long. But now? Now I feel that spark. A fire has been ignited in my soul. Kissing her softly, I head downstairs to my study.

  I exhale as I close the door, wanting to collect my thoughts. My heart races as I think of my angelic bride, and I suddenly have the start of a story.

  My fingers are jittery with anticipation as I turn on my computer, I flex my wrists, already feeling the words that are ready to flow like a river, the current sweeping them up into a story that is beginning to emerge in my mind.

  Hours pass, pages are typed, I reread the passages, lost in the character. I call her Petal and I name him Thorne and the opening chapter takes shape.

  The sky has long turned dark, and I only pause for a glass of water and an apple. Then I'm back in my study, working through the night.

  I haven't been inspired for so long, and my eyes fill with emotion over the breakthrough.

  This is why I ordered a wife: for a shift to occur in my creative process.

  A knock on the door to my study startles me, and I bark out an answer. "What is it?" I ask, as Rose opens the door and pokes her head inside.

  Seeing her there, standing in a white robe, her hair tousled and her face bright, makes my heart skip a beat and I don’t want to look away. She looks well rested, her soft skin glowing in the morning light that streams through the window, surrounding her with a halo.

  She is so pure and innocent, my cock is instantly hard, remembering the way she told me a man had never touched her full breasts, never run his hand over her creamy cunt. She is mine, mine alone. My muse and my wife.

  "You never came to bed... have you been working all night?" she asks, her brows knit in concern.

  I give her a small smile, my fingers ready to return to the keyboard, just seeing her here, looking so angelic, has given me another dose of creativity.

  "I'll be working all day, actually."

  "All day but I just..." She frowns, her face so beautiful when she looks down, her long lashes turning me on. "I thought we might..."

  "I can't," I tell her, even though I want her so damn badly. I know how rarely this creative rush appears. I can't waste this opportunity. "I have to do this."

  I know how long the last few years have been, as I kept banging my head against the wall looking for a thread of a story, knowing if I just had that I could stick something together. But I had nothing, no matter how many times I scoured my mind.

  Now, though -- now I have more than a thread. I have a goddamn spool of yarn, mine for the taking and I won't let these ideas unravel before I get them on the page.

  "Oh, alright," she says, her face falling.

  “I’m sorry,” I say, torn between my muse and my wife.

  “No, I understand. Work, River. I can unpack.”

  I stand, moving toward her and giving her a kiss—her lips alone refueling my fire.

  I turn back to my fingers ready to brush against the keyboard again, for the story within me to fall on the page.

  Chapter Eight

  Rose

  I wake up this morning ready to spend another day with the man who made me feel like a queen last night. But he isn't in our bed.

  He's in his office, working.

  I don't want to be offended, but it's impossible not to feel the least bit slighted. It's our first full day as husband and wife. I want to learn all about him, his quirks and habits. To learn how he takes his coffee and if he is an early bird or a night owl.

  I'm guessing night owl, considering he never came to bed last night.

  When he tells me he's going to spend the day working, I hightail it out of there before I start to cry in front of him.

  This is the time where I wish I had a mother to call. I've always been on my own but right now, I need sage advice more than ever.

  Swallowing, I head back upstairs and grab my cell phone from my purse. My fingers hover over the buttons as I debate placing a call. I don't want to assume the worst of River... maybe it was me that turned him off. Maybe he slept with me and realized I was nothing but a disappointment.

  Still, I can't shake the feeling that I'm going to start crying. Just wishing I had girlfriends to talk this over with won't do me any good. I don't have any besties, I've never been that kind of girl. I'm a solitary person, keep to myself, and usually, that's just fine.

  It started as a protective measure against getting hurt and turned into my personal preference. It's why when Isabella mentioned a secluded Alaskan life, I was game. I love the quiet and the fresh air.

  In fact, maybe that is just what I need. A little yoga workout on the dock.

  Immediately I perk up at the prospect of stretching my body. No need to get down and overanalyze the mood swings of a man I've just met. He can do his thing, and I can do mine.

  I take a quick shower and dry my hair, then put on my light, everyday makeup, and open my suitcase debating on whether or not I should put my clothing in the dresser and closet.

  I can't help but pull open River's drawers and breathe in his manly, woodsy scent. In the closet, I press one of his sweaters to my nose and inhale. I feel a tingle up my spine, remembering last night.

  I really hope I didn't disappoint him last night. The truth is, I'm hoping for lots more like it.

  It was, without a doubt, the best night of my life. Which makes this morning all the more disappointing. Deciding that I can organize my clothes later, I slip on a pair of stretchy pants, a sports bra, and a loose tank top.

  Since it doesn’t seem like River and I are going to be hanging out anytime soon, I grab my yoga mat and head downstairs.

  Finding a freshly brewed pot of coffee in the kitchen, I twist my lips. I'm not a coffee drinker, I drink tea. I suppose that is something we should discuss. Our roles around here... am I supposed to cook and clean? Grocery shop?

  Trying not to feel overwhelmed with all the what-ifs, I head outside through the beautiful French doors and step onto the massive patio. I take a deep breath of mountain fresh air. It is summer, and the sun is shining brightly, reflecting off the lake and creating a beautiful glitter across
the surface.

  Crossing the patio, I head to the dock, wanting to be surrounded by the water. Once there, I roll out my mat and begin in a simple sukhasana--a seated position-- letting my body soak up all the earthen majesty that Alaska has to offer.

  I move through a workout, moving to a mountain pose, guiding my chin towards my chest, creating space along the back of my neck. I close my eyes and breathe, taking in this craziness for what it is. Mine.

  Continuing in my workout, I spend the next thirty minutes moving through my downward-facing dog sequences until I'm a sweaty mess.

  As I lie on the mat, looking up at the sky, I know what I need to do. I have to start my new journey, here as a mail-order bride in the wilderness, by recording a yoga video.

  My blood starts pumping, my mind awake and alive as I imagine what poses I might do for the video. Leaving my yoga mat on the dock, I pull my hair into a messy topknot, then I head into the house, a great big smile on my face.

  In the house, I grab a yogurt from the fridge and a banana and eat as I poke around the house, looking down the hall to see if River's office door is still closed. It is.

  I don’t want to bother him, considering he made his wishes crystal clear, so I rinse my spoon, throw the container and banana peel in the trash, and head upstairs for my equipment.

  Not much later, I'm back outside on the dock with my tripod set up, and the video camera in place. I take a deep breath and press record, ready to try making a video without the noisy city distracting me or my potential viewers.

  I smile, introducing myself to the camera, "Thanks for stopping by my channel: Stop and Smell the Roses." Then I begin my routine, trying my best to absorb the beautiful scenery around me.

  When I finish, I know the footage is good, there were birds soaring overhead and the wind rustling through trees, the soft lapping of water and a hum in my heart. I carry my mat and gear in the house and before I even shower, I'm on the bed, laptop in my lap, editing my twenty-five-minute video.