His Feral Temptation: A Curvy Woman Moutain Man Romance (Rugged Peaks Book 6)
Chapter 1
Delilah
The sleek town car pulls up to the Timberline Tavern, and I step out onto the gravel, my stiletto heels instantly sinking into the uneven surface. Glancing down at my curve-hugging red dress, I can”t help but feel overdressed for this rustic mountain town. City life has certainly molded me into someone who dresses for the occasion.
I stride toward the entrance below the warm glow of the tavern”s neon sign. Daisy”s bachelorette party is already in full swing, and I”m running late, but it’s for a good reason.
”There she is!” my little sister squeals as I enter, rushing over to envelop me in a hug. She”s decked out in a sash emblazoned with ”brIDE TO BE” and a tiara that sparkles under the dim lighting. In her hand is her phone, and I see she’s broadcasting live to her followers. Usually a hub for adventurer wannabes and thrill-seekers, her channel has become more about wedding planning in the last few months.
”You clean up nice, sis.”
I laugh, giving her a playful nudge. ”When’s the last time you saw me not cleaned up?”
The rest of the bridesmaids greet me with cheers and raised glasses, their flannel button-downs and distressed jeans a stark contrast to my own attire. But Daisy doesn”t seem to mind—in fact, she”s beaming as she links her arm through mine.
”So?” she whispers as we make our way to the bar. ”How”d the interview go?”
I feign nonchalance with a casual shrug. ”It was fine.”
Daisy sees right through me, her eyes narrowing. ”You finally ready to ditch the corporate rat race?”
It”s a good question. The opportunity to join a small firm in this charming mountain town is becoming increasingly tempting, but the nagging voice in my head reminds me that I”ve worked too hard to throw it all away on a whim.
Before I can respond, Daisy”s attention is diverted by the arrival of another round of drinks. She thrusts a glass into my hand, and just like that, the moment passes. I down the fruity concoction, letting the sweet burn of alcohol wash away my doubts—at least for tonight.
The music pulses through the tavern, and Daisy drags me onto the makeshift dance floor with all the other girls. At first, I feel out of place, unsure of the steps and self-conscious in my tight red dress. But with each sip of the fruity cocktail, my movements grow looser, more carefree.
Beads of sweat form on my brow as I try to mimic the line dancing, occasionally bumping into strangers who offer flirtatious smiles. A part of me preens under their appreciative gazes, thrilled by the attention. At one point, Daisy and I abandon the line dancing altogether and strike out across the floor in an exaggerated tango, drawing whistles and laughter from the crowd.
That”s when my gaze locks with a pair of piercing green eyes on the edge of the dance floor.
He”s ruggedly handsome, with tousled copper hair and a thick beard framing his chiseled jawline. Our eyes meet, and I feel an instant spark of electricity. But the spell is broken as Daisy spins me around, and I tear my eyes away, refocusing on the celebration.
Time blurs into a kaleidoscope of laughter, music, and the sweet burn of alcohol as my glass is continuously refilled with fruity concoctions. The night stretches on, and I lose myself in the revelry, worries and doubts fading into the background like distant memories.
For once, I”m not overthinking or second-guessing—I”m simply living.
Sweaty and breathless, I eventually break away from the dance floor, my feet aching in protest in my unforgiving stilettos. Daisy”s too caught up in the festivities to notice as I make my way to the bar, my throat parched. Before I can flag down the bartender, a tall figure appears beside me.
It”s the greed-eyed god from across the room, and he’s standing way too close to me.
Or not close enough, depending on how you look at it.
”Let me get that for you,” he says in a deep, gravelly tone.
Without waiting for my response, he orders two glasses of amber liquid from the bartender.
As one is placed in front of me, I eye the drink skeptically. ”How do you know I”ll like it?” I”m not annoyed, exactly. More... caught off guard.
The man”s lips curve into a lopsided smirk. ”You seem like the type to try new things.”
”You don”t know me,” I counter, arching a brow at him even as my cheeks flush ever so slightly.
His gaze drops briefly to my lips before holding my stare again. ”Not yet.”
The blatant flirtation should make me uncomfortable, but instead, it ignites a simmering heat within me that has nothing to do with the alcohol. There”s something thrilling about the way he looks at me, like he can see straight through my polished exterior to the vibrant, unrestrained woman beneath that I rarely let show.
”You”re quite presumptuous, stranger,” I say with a playful smile.
He leans in closer, his woodsy scent surrounding me. ”I like to think of it as confident.”
”Is that so?” Taking a sip of the drink, I let the smoky flavor linger on my tongue. ”Not bad. Though I prefer my whiskey neat.”
”Noted.” His eyes sparkle with amusement. ”I”m Stylz, by the way.”
”Delilah.” I extend my hand, but instead of shaking it, he brings it to his lips, pressing a featherlight kiss to my knuckles.
I clear my throat, trying to regain my composure. ”So, Stylz, are you always this forward?”
”Only with women who intrigue me.” His gaze roams over me slowly, taking in every curve. ”Which you most definitely have.”
”And what, exactly, has you so intrigued?” I ask, emboldened by the whiskey buzz.
”You”re a puzzle I can”t quite figure out. One minute, you”re all polished sophistication.” He leans closer, his lips nearly brushing my ear. ”The next, I get the feeling you”re aching to let that wild side loose.”
A delicious shiver runs down my spine at his words. He”s not wrong—there”s a part of me that”s been coiled tight for far too long, desperate for release. Before I can overthink it, I down the rest of my drink in one burning gulp.
”You”re more perceptive than I gave you credit for.” I set the empty glass down. ”But the real question is, what are you going to do about it?”
Stylz”s eyes narrow playfully. ”Is that a challenge?”
”Take it however you”d like.” With that, I turn on my heel and saunter toward the hallway leading to the restrooms, glancing back over my shoulder just long enough to catch his gaze following me.
The thrill of the chase courses through my veins as I push open the bathroom door. I”ve barely had time to check my reflection in the mirror when strong hands grip my waist, spinning me around. My lips part in surprise as Stylz backs me against the cold tile wall.
“One thing you should know about me,” he says in a low voice. “I don’t back down from a challenge.”
And then he kisses me… and I let him. More than that, I fist my hands in his flannel shirt and yank him even closer.
Stylz”s lips are firm and demanding, and his tongue slides against mine. His hands roam over my body, bunching the fabric of my dress around my hips. I can feel his hard length pressed against my stomach, and I ache for him, for this stranger, for what he’s offering me.
A breathless moan escapes my lips when he hooks one of my legs around his waist, the friction sending shockwaves of pleasure through me. Rational thought has fled; there”s only this all-consuming need, this hunger.
His mouth blazes a searing trail along my jawline, nipping at the sensitive flesh below my ear. ”I want to make you come,” he rasps.
Before I can process his words, his fingers are sliding beneath the lace of my thong. He growls in approval when he realizes how soaked I am for him. His hand cups my pussy, and I stifle a whimper against the crook of his neck as he presses a thumb to my clit.
His fingers tease my folds, sliding up and down before slipping inside me. I cry out as he thrusts two fingers deep, curling them to hit that perfect spot that has me seeing stars.
”Are you going to come all over my hand, princess?” he asks in a low growl.
”Yes,” I breathe, and I’m not sure where the boldness is coming from. The whiskey, maybe? ”Make me come.”
He picks up the pace, his fingers pumping in and out of me as his thumb circles my clit. A multitude of sensations bombards me—the cool tile at my back, the scent of musk, the exquisite tension coiling low in my belly. I cling to him, my nails digging into his shoulders as I pant and moan and beg for more.
Stylz”s lips find mine again, swallowing my cries as he drives me higher and higher. His fingers never falter, never slow, until I”m shattering around him, my orgasm crashing over me like a tidal wave.
When I finally come down from my high, I”m panting and breathless, my body still trembling with aftershocks. Stylz slowly withdraws his fingers from me, bringing them to his lips and sucking them clean.
”You taste as good as you feel, princess,” he says with a wicked grin.
The sight is so sinfully erotic that I can”t tear my eyes away. Part of me wants nothing more than to grab him by that flannel shirt again and pick up where we left off. But the other part—the voice of reason that had been silenced by my baser urges—is screaming at me to put a stop to this madness.
Suddenly, the gravity of what I”ve done crashes over me like a bucket of ice water. I”m Delilah Delgado, successful lawyer and consummate professional.
And I just let a complete stranger finger me in a bathroom.
The shame and guilt are instantaneous, my face flushing hot with embarrassment. Without a word, I straighten my disheveled dress and slip past Stylz, hurrying out of the bathroom on wobbly legs.
Back in the dim haze of the bar, the thumping bassline seems to mock me, its heavy rhythm pounding in time with the throbbing between my legs. I spot Daisy and the rest of the bridesmaids still dancing and laughing, completely oblivious to my momentary lapse in judgment.
Pushing the lingering thoughts of Stylz from my mind, I order another drink—a double, because at this point some extra liquid courage is sorely needed. I down it quickly, savoring the slow burn.
With a steadying breath, I plaster on a smile and rejoin the party, pulling Daisy into a tight hug. As we sway and laugh together on the dance floor, the lingering guilt starts to dissipate, replaced by the thrill of having indulged a long-suppressed side of myself.
Maybe being reckless isn”t so bad every once in a while. Maybe I needed this reminder that I”m more than just my career, more than just the polished image I present to the world.
As the night wears on, I find myself loosening up more and more. And if my gaze occasionally wanders back to that bathroom door, lingering on the possibility of what could have been...
Well, that can be my dirty little secret.