The Mountain Man’s Babies: Books 1-5

by Love, Frankie

  I laugh, “You guys are a bunch of fuckers, you know that?”

  Rosie clucks her tongue. “Regardless, we know that you need a woman, but not some city-slicker girl who won’t play nice with us.”

  “You’re telling me not to get laid when I’m in Seattle?” I shake my head, knowing I’d never tell Rosie this, but the prospect of getting laid tonight is half the reason I said I’d go.

  “You can sleep with whomever, Wilder. I’m just saying, don’t knock anybody up that we haven’t approved.”

  “She talks to you like that, too?” I ask Buck. He just grins like a lovesick puppy. Rosie winks at her husband before going back to the kitchen.

  “You know she’s just giving you a hard time, right?” Buck says.

  “The girls just want you to be happy,” Jaxon says. “And selfishly they want another friend. It’s lonely up here for them, too.”

  Living in the mountains is great. I set my own hours, am my own boss, and work with the greatest guys I’ve ever known. But damn, Jaxon, my oldest friend, hit the nail on the goddamn head.

  “I know, I know,” I tell them, before I take another drink of my coffee, knowing just how lonely it can be up here.

  Damn, maybe I need to get off this mountain more than I thought.

  I need to go get laid. And badly.

  Chapter Two

  Stella

  “I’m not trying to be a pessimist,” Anna assures me, raising her hands in defense. “I just think a reality TV show is so...”

  “So what?” I furrow my brows not understanding why my sister can’t just support me. That’s what I need. That’s all I’ve wanted. My family to have my back.

  She takes a sip of her mimosa before answering. “It’s so tacky.”

  We’re having brunch in a swanky Seattle bistro, something French and something expensive and she doesn’t seem to understand that we all aren’t married to stockbrokers living in posh waterfront homes. Some of us are just trying to pay rent and a reality TV show seems like the best offer I’ve seen lately.

  “You are such a talented interior designer, and you’ll make more money updating the homes of my friends. That house you did, for Alana? It was gorgeous.”

  I frown. “Buying furniture for mansions is redundant. I want something more exciting.”

  “Well, this reality show is a bad idea. Those shows always make someone out to be the villain. What if that person is you? Your entire career could be ruined.”

  I take a deep breath; frustrated that she doesn’t understand me. “This reality TV show could pay my bills for the entire year.”

  “Or you could just move into our spare bedroom and help watch Nicolette.”

  My mouth is in a tight line. “You know I love helping with my niece, but I don’t want any handouts. I want to make it on my own.”

  Anna spears a piece of pineapple, eyes narrowed. “Mom and Dad think it’s embarrassing. The idea of you flaunting around on television.”

  “Mom and Dad could call and talk to me about it. If they had their way I’d already be married to a guy like Brent. And that’s not going to happen. Ever.”

  My sister’s husband is the last sort of guy I want to be with. I want a man who cares about more than his bank account.

  Anna purses her lips. “You may think being married to Brent sounds like your worst nightmare, but he is able to support me and Nicolette. That counts for an awful lot.”

  Anna married for money, not love. Just like our mother. And we may be family, but our priorities have always been different.

  “It’s out of the question.” I fold my napkin and set it on the table. “I want my freedom, and I need some money in order to do that. So I’m going to try and get this gig.”

  Anna narrows her eyes, confused. “Don’t you want a family? A husband? A baby?”

  I shrug; because of course, I want those things. But I also want them on my terms. In my own time.

  “One day,” I tell her. “But I’m not in a rush, Anna.”

  “I know.” She pouts, and for a split second, I feel bad for her. Then I remember she chose this.

  As if ignoring my comments about what I want, she launches into a new plan.

  “Ohh! Brent can set you up with someone from work and we could have a double date. God, I need a night out.”

  She is literally the last woman I know who needs a night out. She sends Nicolette to a fancy-pants preschool, has a private chef and a personal driver.

  “No thanks, and I doubt Brent would want to help me,” I snort, thinking about her husband and the way he was condescending to me when I told him that I wouldn’t be taking my father’s money.

  “It’s because you aren’t grounded. Once you have your shit together, a husband, a house, and a 401k, then you and Brent will get along.”

  I swirl my mimosa, wondering what planet my sister lives on. I love her, I do. But she’s living in a completely different galaxy.

  Anna must sense my irritation because she softens her stance. “Listen, I just care about my little sister. You’re twenty-five and don’t have a plan.”

  I groan. “I do have a plan. The reality TV show is gonna fund my life,” I explain, circling back to where we started.

  Anna raises her hand and signals for the check. “And if you don’t get the job?”

  I down the rest of my mimosa. “Then I guess I’ll have to go on that double date.”

  * * *

  Well. That sucked.

  I was so not supposed to eff that interview up. I was supposed to be classy and smart and current. I was supposed to speak clearly and look at the camera.

  Instead, I was a bumbling mess of nerves.

  A complete disaster.

  I was thrown the moment the TV show concept was pitched. I thought the show would entail me making over some mansion in the Hollywood Hills, not designing the interior for a cabin in the woods. My ideas were all wrong. I was thinking gilded tables instead of buffalo plaid.

  My work had not prepared me for this. At all. I couldn’t be less suited for a job.

  “Ms. Saint Claire,” a television producer says, stopping me in the hall. “I want you to know I was rooting for you. I saw some of the work you did in the last Seattle City magazine, and it was so gorgeous. I had been so impressed with your work, which is why I got you in for an interview.”

  “Well,” I tell her, swallowing tears. “Thank you for your time. I know I don’t have experience with this sort of design and would be all wrong for this project.”

  “I wish this show was a better fit for you.”

  I take a deep breath, wishing I hadn’t pinned my hopes on this project, and say goodbye.

  * * *

  In the hotel lobby, I order a well drink, gin and soda, grateful for the happy hour prices. Sure, I could ask my parents for money, but that has never been my mode of operation. And I’m not destitute. I have a few more projects lined up for the spring, and by then I will have found a few more jobs.

  I look down at my phone, not having the courage to text my sister. Because I swear to God the moment I do she will be making reservations for our double date.

  Instead, I lift my eyes and look down the bar.

  A man raises his pint of beer to me, smiling. Unabashedly. His eyes don’t hint at interest. They aren’t tiptoeing around anything. His eyes say, Slide down, sweetie. Let’s make this a night to remember.

  I smile back, because, well, it’s nice to have someone flirt with me, especially after the afternoon I’ve had. Especially this someone.

  He is the opposite of Brent, even though he’s in a dress shirt and tie. His shirtsleeves are rolled up, revealing tattoos on his forearm. He may clean up nice, but it’s clear he’s rough around the edges. His beard could rival any of the hipsters in town and he has a look that says, Let’s do this, baby.

  Without hesitation, I pick up my drink and move four seats down the bar.

  I may not have gotten a television gig today, but I can certainly end
the night with a bang.

  Chapter Three

  Wilder

  For a woman flying solo at a bar, she doesn’t have that hungry look in her eyes, a look that screams, I want you to want me.

  No. This woman has a look that says, I don’t give a fuck. No false pretenses. She isn’t trying too hard, she isn’t trying at all.

  But damn, she likes the vibe I’m sending. When she scoots down one stool, two stools--four--I know my night is going to go even better than my day.

  Which is saying something.

  My day was fucking insane. The producers had a hard-on for my buddies and me, and it showed in the way they wooed me all the way to a contract.

  Jaxon and I aren’t hard up for cash--our timber hauling business set us up real well, but I know Buck and Rosie don’t have a ton in the way of savings. And with their babies, I know the offer from the studio could really set them up nice.

  I’m not talking college tuition, but I am talking a car big enough for their tribe, or hell, a down payment for a bigger home.

  And when they pitched the concept of the house we would build for the show being Buck’s new place, it was a done deal, too good be true.

  “You here for business?” she asks, swirling the straw in her glass. She doesn’t meet my gaze, but my eyes can’t help but drink her in.

  Her top is sheer, the black straps of her bra leave little to the imagination. But it isn’t flashy, it’s effortless. And when she licks her lips, I lick my own. Her hair is shiny, black and in a messy pile on her head. Like she just woke up and ended up here. For me. Like I am her final destination.

  That’ll work just fine.

  With my cock twitching, I raise a brow. “Yeah, business brought me to the city. You?”

  “Me too. Well, I mean I live here, though. So to be specific, business brought me to this hotel.”

  Knowing the hotel is one of the biggest in Seattle, I’m sure there are tons of conferences and meetings happening in every wing of this plaza.

  “Business go well?” I ask, not wanting to pry, but feeling weird about not asking a follow-up question.

  She lifts her empty glass, smirking. “Not great. Otherwise, I’d be home, not wallowing at a stuffy overpriced bar.” Her eyes go wide and she covers her mouth. “Shit. Sorry. Maybe you love this bar. Awkward.”

  I shake my head slowly. “I don’t give a shit about this bar, but I’m pretty damn interested in the person I met here.”

  She sets her hand on mine. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. We haven’t properly met. I’m Stella.”

  “And I’m Wilder,” I tell her lifting her hand to my lips, kissing the soft skin without any intention of letting her out of my sight for the rest of the night.

  “Wilder?” She flicks a loose strand of hair from her face, leaning closer to me. Close enough that I could kiss her. Close enough to know she wants to get filthy as badly as I do. “That’s quite a name. Can you live up to that?”

  “Oh, baby, I was born wild. It’s in my blood. All I’ve ever known.”

  She inhales, and my eyes swallow her whole. Memorizing the soft dimple in her cheek, the icy-blue shade of her eyes, her slightly upturned nose.

  “Show me,” she says, looking at me straight on. “Show me how wild you can be.”

  * * *

  Minutes later we’re in my hotel room, neither of us interested in wasting any time. Maybe Stella understands that life is short, fucking precious. Maybe she understands that heat like this, between two people, doesn’t show up every day.

  Or maybe she’s just hot and bothered.

  Which is fine by me because my cock is fucking raging, ready for her to touch it, taste it, be filled with it.

  Facing one another, we begin to strip. No tease, we are here for the fucking show. I loosen the tie that fucking choked me all day, set it aside, unbutton my shirt, watching her lift her sheer top, unbutton her pants. I drop mine the same time she does, and slacks and shoes are kicked away.

  Seconds later I’m in my boxers and this beauty is in lacy black panties, a bra that hides nothing. Her nipples are hard, tight little nubs showing through and I am not capable of resisting pressing my mouth to them. To her.

  Our bodies collide, brought together with a force I’m not familiar with. My hands are on the base of her neck, her arms snake around my waist and with her chin upturned, I kiss her.

  Hard. I kiss her as I hold her. I kiss her and she knows I’m not messing around.

  And it’s not just because my boner is between us, it’s because her mouth parts and my tongue finds hers and then there is no going back.

  “Oh, Wilder,” she moans in my mouth. “This is exactly what I need tonight.”

  My hand slides to her ass, thinking this is exactly what I need too. I’ve been alone on that mountain for far too long.

  Her ass is round and soft, and when I squeeze it she leans into me, offering to go faster, farther, more.

  “I’m going to fuck you, Stella, the way a woman like you needs to be fucked.” I slap her ass, not to the point of pain, but to the point of pleasure.

  She likes it. Her hand slides beneath my boxers, wrapping her hand around my massive cock.

  “And how do I need to be fucked?” she asks, her breath hot against my ear as she strokes my shaft.

  I draw her closer to me, a hand on her neck, my thumb pressing against her lip. “Like you are mine.”

  “For tonight I am.” Stella purrs, as she touches me. “Tonight you can do whatever you like to me.”

  My cock pulses with need, and I lift her up, carrying her to the bed. She laughs as her head falls to the pillow, and I lean over her, pulling down her tiny panties.

  “Damn, baby,” I groan, spreading her legs, looking at her pussy so nice and pink and wet. “Your cunt is a fucking creamsicle.”

  “Then you better lick me before I melt.”

  I don’t need to be asked twice. My mouth is between her legs, and I hold her thighs with my forearms, not letting her squirm away. I’ve known her less than an hour, but I’m smart enough to know this sort of chemistry could take a lifetime to find.

  “Ohhh, God. Your beard is tickling me,” she laughs, raising her ass as my tongue licks her slit up and down.

  She’s wet as fuck, and I nuzzle against her, letting my beard get her all bothered. Her juicy pussy loves it, and I flick my tongue over her clit, over and over again until she is struggling to breathe.

  “Wilder... what the fuck kind of magic is this?” She moans, her fingers running through my hair.

  I laugh, my mouth breaking away from her sweetness. “This is me making you mine. I plan on ruining you for all other men.”

  “With a tongue like that,” she sighs, “I think your plan is working.”

  I suck her pussy until she comes with a crash, my tongue lapping up all that spilled milk. Then I slide a finger into her tight little cunt, groaning as I do because fuck, her pussy is going to flip the hell out when I start filling her with my twelve-inch cock.

  “Baby, I wanna fuck you,” I tell her, moving my fingers in and out of her tightness.

  “Then do it. I’m ready, Wilder. I’m ready to be yours.”

  Chapter Four

  Stella

  Going down on me until my pussy explodes is one thing. Finger fucking me until my knuckles are white from gripping the sheets in ecstasy is another. But him trying to fill me with his cock? That’s an entirely different matter.

  “There’s no way, Wilder,” I say, biting my lip, my eyes stinging. “It hurts.”

  He immediately pulls the tip of his cock from me. And internally I cry because no. This is not the way this complete fairy-tale evening is supposed to go.

  I mean, I legit picked up a guy from a hotel bar and was in his room ten minutes later. What sort of movie am I living right now?

  And maybe we shouldn’t answer that. I know what kind of movie this could be, but I swear it isn’t some porno.

  Oddly enough, t
his feels almost... magical.

  I know. He’s a stranger and this is the first one-night stand of my life so maybe it is the endorphins or the complete insanity of it that is rushing through me right now -- but it does feel like more than hook-up.

  Wilder seems genuine.

  Like, he genuinely likes my pussy.

  Which, again, I know. What guy wouldn’t like a relatively normal looking woman to come to their hotel and fuck them, no-strings-attached? Pretty much every man, ever.

  Still, Wilder is different.

  Like right now, as I admit that my body and his body are not puzzle pieces meant to fit together.

  “I can suck your cock...” I offer. And I will. I mean, my mouth is going to have just as hard a time managing to take him as my lady-parts, but a blow-job might be a bit more manageable.

  “Fuck, baby,” he says, cupping my face with his hands as his naked, chiseled, tattooed body hovers on top of me. “That’s not gonna cut it.”

  “No?” I try not to be offended. I just told him it hurts, and he wants me to keep going?

  “No.” Wilder shakes his head. “No way in hell am I going to hurt you. But I am going to fill your pretty pussy up tonight. So we need to stretch you out a little more, get you nice and ready for my cock. Don’t you worry, we can take our nice, sweet time.”

  I smile, relieved that he wants to make this work because I do too. God, I need to.

  “How do you plan on getting me ready?” I ask.

  He grins, and damn, that gets me wet all over again. Seriously, how is this my life right now?

  “I need to help you relax.”

  I smile, already feeling my shoulders loosen with the slow, steady rhythm of his voice. He doesn’t rush his words, he takes his time, and I like that he wants to take his time with me, too. This may be a fling, but he sure as hell is making it a romantic one.