by Dizzy Hooper
Holding his gaze, I sink onto him. It doesn't matter that I'm leaking four other men's come, wide open and wet. Street is always a stretch, but he's the best possible one I can imagine. Panting, I work myself down his massive length until finally my rear meets his muscular thighs. I clench down around him, and his eyes shine with pleasure and love.
"So perfect," he grits out. "Grip me like a fucking glove."
"A perfect fit," Walker says from beside us, and yeah.
Exactly.
I was a puzzle of broken pieces before I met these guys. Neglect and loss and betrayal had left me jagged and incomplete.
But with their hands and hearts, all five of them fit me back together again. They showed me I can love and trust. That I can be a part of something beautiful.
My vision blurs as I start to move. I rock over Street's lap, keeping his cock buried deep inside. I'm leaking all over him, the evidence of all the men I've been with today pouring out me, and that feels fitting—doesn't it?
"I love you," I whisper, approaching a shattering peak once more.
"I love you," Street echoes.
I look past him, around at all these men. They're hovering close. I rise higher, taking longer thrusts over Street's delicious cock, and I reach out.
Walker is the first to take my hand. His rough, calloused fingers close around mine. Corey follows suit, touching my arm. Jaquan and Sal kneel on the other side of me. Sal grasps my palm and Jaquan reaches for my shoulder. Street grips my hip hard enough to bruise.
And it's that—the pressure of all five of my lovers' hands on my skin at once that makes me break.
I crash desperately into an orgasm that swallows me whole, and I let it. I welcome the pleasure. I welcome their touch.
I give myself over to it and them. I let myself burn in ecstasy.
And I'm remade from the ashes.
New. Whole. Complete.
Theirs.
Forever.
Thank you
Thank you for reading this story! If you’d like to find out more about my books, please visit my website at http://www.dizzyhooper.com, or connect with me on Twitter or Facebook. You can also follow me on Amazon, or sign up for my newsletter to get updates delivered directly to your inbox.
Reviews help other readers find books. I appreciate all reviews - good or bad.
Please turn the page to read an excerpt from my full-length contemporary reverse harem novel, 5 Mountain Men Of Lonely Peak. Thank you!
Chapter One:
"I hate to leave you like this…" My father hesitates one last time as he wraps his scarf around his neck.
I do my best to stay strong and show him a cheerful smile. Yes, he's abandoning me, leaving me all but stranded here on Lonely Peak. But it's not as if he has a choice.
Neither of us does.
"I'll be fine," I reassure him. I reach up and fix the collar of his thick wool coat.
"If the power goes out…"
"I know how to start the generator."
"And the extra wood for the fire—"
"Is in the basement. I know. Now go, before you miss your flight."
He brushes the backs of his knuckles across my cheek and tucks a bit of my chestnut hair behind my ear. "I'm allowed to worry about my little girl. All alone up here on the mountain…"
"We agreed it was for the best."
Someone has to stay here, after all. My father has his law firm to get back to, and while neither of us is in dire straights, he can't afford to be let go. Me, on the other hand—I took a leave of absence from my classroom the instant my grandmother took a turn. My sabbatical extends through the end of the semester, provided my small town school can keep a long-term substitute engaged.
Provided my ex doesn't decide to screw me over.
And that's if I even want to go back at all.
Working with my ex lording power over me is bad enough. It doesn't help that I've been feeling particularly ineffective as a teacher just of late. Art programs like mine keep getting slashed. My dreams of becoming an artist in my own right keep getting met with rejection, and my muse for painting has up and left.
I've been uninspired in just about every area of my life, basically.
Lord knows I don't want to stay up here, seeing to my grandmother's estate. But going home isn't exactly appealing, either.
So I'll stay.
Presuming I can get my father out the door.
Dropping his hand from my face, he frowns again. "If you get into a jam…"
"I'll call."
"But if you can't get through. You know reception can be spotty up here."
"Dad…"
"Just—if things get really bad, remember the Tucker place is right down the road."
How could I forget? My cheeks heat as the image of Cayden Tucker's face floats across my vision. First the beautiful, blue-eyed boy I'd known back in middle school. Then the big, hardened man he became after his stint in the army.
And finally, the version of him I was reintroduced to at my grandmother's funeral last week. Grandma had told me he and his army pals had come back to Lonely Mountain to take over the old Tucker lumber mill, but I hadn't realized that he had embraced that new life so fully. He'd arrived in a dark suit so fitted he'd nearly busted the seams, his hair long and his beard scruffy, tattoos peeking out from under his collar and sleeves. Truly a mountain man.
A hermit, if the stories Grandma told me are right. He and his friends rarely leave the mountain. Never associate with anybody unless it's necessary.
Though he did still associate with my grandmother. Her hazy eyes had gone warm and soft as she talked about the visits he would pay to check up on her from time to time, resupplying her with extra food they'd "accidentally" bought too much of, or pretending he saw something funny over by the generator, giving him an excuse to refuel it or give the old broken-down machine a quick once-over.
That was Cayden all right. He might be gruff and reserved now, but he'd always been kind to my family.
Back when I was picked on at school—even by his own best friend, Jax…Cayden had always been kind to me.
But I don't have time to go losing myself in the past, mooning over my middle school crush or indulging in explicit fantasies about the ripped mountain man he is now.
My dad's frown deepens. "I know you and that Tucker boy were close, and he was good to your grandmother, but…"
"But?"
"The rest of that crew he's living with." He shakes his head. "I'm not sure if I trust them."
Oh. Right. Cayden had come home from his hitch in the army with Jax in tow, along with three other men, each of them as muscular and rugged as the rest. I've never spoken with any of them during my visits, but I've glimpsed them and their powerful physiques from a distance. They were a damn sight, taking up half the room at the funeral, their shoulders near broad enough they could each fill a pew on their own. One was so tall his head almost scraped the ceiling.
I shiver as a low flicker of heat sparks to life inside me. I'm not sure if I trust them, either. Or maybe I should say that I'm not sure if I trust myself around them.
But it doesn't matter. The point is moot. "Don't worry, Dad. I can take care of myself. The chances of me needing to go to those big scary men for help is between slim and none."
His scowl finally softens. "Okay, pumpkin."
"Now go. You don't want to still be on the roads after dark." Up here on the mountain, they can get treacherous.
"Okay, okay. Promise you'll call if anything goes wrong?"
"For the thousandth time—"
"Fine." He pulls me in.
With a hug and a kiss, I basically shove him out the door. He goes, looking back a couple of times as he makes his way to the rented SUV he drove up here from the airport exactly two weeks ago today. I stand there in the doorway, even though it's letting the frigid night air in. I can't feel the cold. All I can feel is the solitude, slowly draping itself around me.
Lonely Peak,
indeed.
My father blinks the headlights at me, and mustering one last burst of cheer, I force a smile and wave. I close the door and peer out through the faceted glass as he pulls away.
And then it's real. I'm here. Alone.
I shake off my melancholy the best I can. I should be used to being by myself by now. People have walked out on me enough in my life.
This feels different, though, somehow.
The wind outside howls, and is it just me, or is the siding on this old house more rattly-sounding than it used to be? Oh, God, what if there are animals living in it? Grandma had a whole nest of possums living under the rafters once and had to chase them out.
I can just picture it—her with her glasses on and her gray hair pinned high on her head, screaming while shaking a broom. The image makes me smile, right before it crushes me with a wave of unbearable sadness.
I just miss her, is all.
For a moment, I want to grab my keys and get into Grandma's old truck and chase after my father. Tell him to take me with him or beg him to stay. This house is too much for any single person. My grandmother may have managed it, but she was stronger than I am.
Another gust of wind makes a branch scratch against a window, and I almost jump clear out of my skin. What the hell was I thinking, staying here?
I close my eyes and take a deep breath. I imagine what my grandmother would say, seeing me freaking out like this. I can almost hear her voice.
"It's fine," I mutter to myself. "It's all going to be all right."
Opening my eyes, I force myself to look around.
There's work to be done here. We're going to have enough trouble selling this old place as it is. Finding a buyer who wants to live on the mountain, out in the middle of nowhere is a challenge, but in this state? It would be impossible.
I hate to admit it, but the place is a total mess. My grandmother may have been strong, but she wasn't strong enough to battle her cancer and the cobwebs both, there at the end. The whole house needs to be cleaned out. Generations worth of my family's things need to be sorted and stored. Repairs must be made. The job falls to me. How could I let my grandmother down, after everything she did for me?
Nodding to myself, I clench my hands into fists at my side and face the wreckage. There's no time like the present to get started.
As emboldened as I'm going to be, I head toward the basement where some of the easiest pickings live. Stuff has been accumulating down there for decades, and I'm pretty sure most of it can be donated or thrown away. The rickety stairs creak beneath my feet. Through the small half-windows set into the cinderblocks, I can see the world outside getting dark.
I make it all the way to the base of the stairs before another fierce gust of wind rattles the siding.
Two seconds later the power goes out.
Chapter Two
It's okay. It's all going to be all right.
I climb back up to the main floor of the house repeating that reassuring mantra in my mind, but it does little to set my jangling nerves at ease. Darkness is falling fast. Up here on the mountain, the power goes on and off at random. It could be up again in a couple of minutes, or I could be sitting here for days.
At least we have contingencies.
As I make my way to the generator, I call the power company on the phone to report the outage, for what little good that will do. There are only a handful of families living on Lonely Peak, so we're pretty literally their last priority.
By the time I get outside, a light, frigid rain has started up. I pull the hood of my jacket over my head and hold it up against the heavy wind as I dart toward the shed. My father made sure the generator had plenty of fuel, so I go ahead and get it fired up.
Only.
Nothing.
Despair claws at my chest. I mean, I'll be okay without power for a little while. We have plenty of firewood and candles, but my growing sense of dread about being out here in the wild alone is crowding out my rational thoughts.
I try again and then again. I swear my father tested this the other day, but something must be wrong. I troubleshoot the best I can, but I was a dummy and forgot to bring a flashlight, and the light on my cell phone is only doing so much.
Okay, breathe.
I dart back to the house to get a light and maybe an Idiot's Guide to Home Repair. I find the former if not the latter. I'm going to have to make do. I put my hand on the doorknob and look out through the glass to find the sky nearly black, the rain pouring down in sheets.
Only then the darkness breaks. Bright light pierces through.
Headlights.
Irrational panic makes my breathing speed. There aren't many serial killers living on the mountain—or at least I don't think there are. It's too soon for the power company to be here, though, which leaves…
"Cayden?" The name escapes my lips before I've really thought it through. Huge surges inside me, making my lungs expand. A little of the panicked haze clears.
Because I'd know that bright blue pickup truck anywhere.
Back when I lived here for real, we were both too young to drive. This pickup was his daddy's. He'd come to pick us up from school sometimes, and Cayden and I would ride in the bed, laughing and tumbling around as the truck climbed the twisty mountain roads. It's a wonder we didn't manage to get ourselves killed, but man, we had a time.
When Cayden's father passed, it only made sense that he would have inherited his truck. Every time I've been back here to visit Grandma, I spotted the truck around town or saw it parked at the head of the Tucker place's driveway. I saw it in a corner of the lot at the funeral home last week.
And now it's here, pulling up in front of my grandmother's old, abandoned, darkened house, and in my entire life, I've never had a sight fill me with more pure relief.
Right up until the moment the truck shuts off and the cabin lights come on.
Right. Because of course Cayden wouldn't come to rescue me alone. He had to bring his asshole best friend, Jax.
Back in middle school, the two of them were practically inseparable, and I never in my entire life understood why. While Cayden was kind and soft-spoken, Jax was brash and abrasive. He put up with me when Cayden was around, but whenever the nice boy from next door was out of sight, Jax would pull out this sneering face that always made me feel small and pathetic—and maybe I was. After skipping a grade in elementary school, I was always the youngest one around. Dweeby and awkward and more interested in classic painters than the latest country pop stars, but really—did Jax have to throw it in my face all the time?
The open, soaring part of my heart shuts down. I step through the door as the two of them dart through the rain. Holding up my lit flashlight, I greet them with a probably-too-defensive, "What are you two doing here?"
My resolve is tested as they step into the torch's glow.
They're soaked through. Cayden's sandy hair glistens with water, and the T-shirt he's wearing underneath his leather jacket is plastered to his muscular chest. Jax is just as wet. He slicks his long, black hair from his face. His dark eyes gleam in the harsh light. Somehow, he doesn't even have to say a word and I can feel his judgment. It makes me feel self-conscious and self-aware in a way I never really am around anyone else. Naked.
Warmth pools in my blood.
These guys have always been unfairly handsome, but right now they look like they just stepped off a runway. You know, if male models doubled as lumberjacks, that is. Jax licks his lips. Something in his gaze goes predatory, and for a second I have this shocking awareness of how vulnerable I am right now. I'm all alone in the middle of nowhere. If I screamed, no one would hear me.
Only I'm not entirely sure I would scream. I've had a crush on Cayden forever, and as much of a jerk as Jax can be, I can't pretend he isn't hot. His teasing has always had this undercurrent I haven't quite been able to name, a tension that's drawn me to him even as the words coming out of his mouth have pushed me away.
If either of them made a move r
ight now, what would I do? Scream and fight?
Or invite them to stay?
I clench down deep inside, empty, a low hum of arousal kindling low in my belly. I shudder, only it turns into a shiver.
Just like that, I remember where I am and what's going on. I'm standing here under the slight cover of the porch at my grandmother's ramshackle house while darkness falls and icy rain pours down. I have no electricity and the generator is on the fritz.
And I'm thinking about sex.
Jeez, it's been too long. I haven't had a relationship in over a year. My last breakup left me too scarred to try again so soon. And while I'm not opposed to the occasional casual fling, random hookups aren't really my style. But clearly, my dry spell is starting to affect my thinking.
I blink a couple of times, shaking my head as if that will help to clear it. Then I pose my question again. "What are you doing here?"
Cayden takes another step closer. Rain drips down the bridge of his nose. "Haley…"
He starts to reach out, then stops himself. There's no explanation for the way my body wants to sway toward him, into that stolen promise of a touch.
Fortunately, Jax interjects. "We saw your daddy's car."
Even that he manages to say with a sneer.
"So?"
"So," Cayden says, shooting Jax a nasty look. "We were worried."
Jeez, does no one on this mountain think I can take care of myself? I mean, all evidence available at this moment kind of supports them, but they could cut me a tiny bit of slack.
I bristle. "Well, you don't have to. I'm fine."
Terrified and abandoned and cold and probably about to die, but fine.
"You shouldn't be alone out here," Jax rumbles.
"Is that a threat?" It feels like one. So why does it excite me, making my nipples tighten and my pussy throb?
"It's an offer." This time Cayden actually does reach out.
His hand connects with mine. It's the most glancing of touches, but the warm brush of skin on skin sends tingles racing through me. Cayden feels like safety and home. It's almost enough to make me forget that Jax feels like danger and grit, or that I'm supposed to be pretending that I'm fine, living up here on the mountain alone.