Bossy Mountain Daddies: A Reverse Harem Romance, page 24
And then, finally, he lets go. His hips slam into mine, his cock buried deep inside me as he comes, his release pulsing into me, hot and thick. I’m shaking, so close I can taste it, but he pulls out before I can finish, leaving me trembling on the edge.
Griff moves into position and his eyes lock with mine as he enters me, the intensity of his gaze almost too much to bear. His rhythm is steady, controlled, his hands firm on my body.
"Don’t leave us again, baby," he says, his voice rough with emotion and desire. "You belong here. With us."
His fingers trace the curve of my hip, rough and possessive, before sliding down to my thigh and pulling my leg over his shoulder. I gasp as he spreads me wide, leaving me exposed and trembling. His eyes burn into mine, dark and hungry.
“You’re so fucking wet for me,” he growls, his voice thick with lust. His thumb brushes my clit, sending a jolt of electricity straight through me. I whimper, arching into his touch, but he pulls away, leaving me desperate and aching. “Not yet, baby. You’re gonna earn it.”
He reaches down and sucks my nipple into his mouth, his tongue flicking over the hardened peak until I’m squirming beneath him. His teeth graze my sensitive flesh, and I cry out, my nails digging into his back.
“Rub your clit,” he orders, his voice low and commanding. My hand trembles as I obey, circling my swollen clit in time with his thrusts. He’s so deep inside me, and each stroke hits that sweet spot, sending waves of pleasure crashing through my body. I can feel myself tightening around him, my orgasm building like a freight train.
“That’s it, Skye,” he murmurs, his breath hot against my ear. “Be a good girl for me.” His hips snap against mine, driving me closer to the edge. “Come for me, baby. Come all over my cock.”
Finally, I shatter. My orgasm rips through me, so intense it feels like my soul is being torn from my body. My hips are bucking wildly as he keeps fucking me, prolonging the bliss until I’m begging him to stop. But he doesn’t. He keeps going, his thrusts relentless, until I’m crying out again, my body convulsing with pleasure as my second orgasm hits even harder than the first.
Griff grips my hips as he pounds into me, his own release building. I can feel him throbbing inside me, his cum filling me as he comes with a guttural groan. He collapses on top of me, both of us panting like we just ran a marathon.
“Good girl,” he murmurs against my neck, before pressing a kiss to my lips. I shiver, my body still trembling from the aftershocks. “You’re so fucking perfect.”
We lie there under the stars, our breathing gradually slowing, our bodies cooling in the night air. I feel hands on me—stroking my hair, my arm, my thigh—though in the pleasant haze of afterglow, I'm not sure whose is whose. It doesn't matter. They're all mine, and I am theirs.
Later, we migrate inside to Ford's living room, the plush sectional easily accommodating all four of us. I'm wrapped in one of Ford's soft throw blankets, my naked body still humming with pleasure.
Buck returns from the kitchen with four glasses of water, passing them around before settling beside me. Griff sits on my other side, while Ford sits on the end. The comfortable silence between us feels like a warm embrace, but there are things I need to say—promises I need to make.
"I just have to say it again… I'm so sorry I left the way I did," I begin, my voice quiet in the stillness of the room. "The note was... you all deserved better."
"You already apologized," Buck says, his arm settling around my shoulders. "It's done."
"I know, but I need to explain better." I take a deep breath, gathering my thoughts. "When Daniel saw us together, the look on his face—that disgust—it triggered all my insecurities. I kept imagining everyone I knew looking at me that way. Judging me."
Ford leans forward, his elbows on his knees. "That’s such a horrible thing to feel."
"It wasn't just that though." I twist the edge of the blanket between my fingers. "I was scared of how much I felt for all of you. How right it seemed to be with you, even though it's so different from anything I ever imagined for myself."
Griff's hand finds mine beneath the blanket. "Different doesn't mean wrong."
"I know that now." I squeeze his hand. "But after hearing about Miranda, I panicked. I didn’t want to be another woman who would eventually hurt you all. I decided I needed to leave before things got too deep."
"And now?" Ford asks quietly.
"Now I realize things were already deep. That running away hurt all of us more than staying and facing my fears ever could." I look at each of them in turn, wanting them to see the truth in my eyes. "I want to give this—us—a real chance. I don't care who knows about it or what they think."
Buck's arm tightens around me. "What if people around here talk?"
"Let them talk." I say it with more conviction than I expected to feel. "What we have is ours. It's not for anyone else to understand or approve of."
"And if you get scared again?" Griff asks, his voice gentle but direct.
"I'll talk to you." I meet his eyes, wanting desperately for him to believe me. "All of you. I promise I won't just take off. I'll tell you what I'm feeling, what I'm afraid of." I pause, swallowing past the lump in my throat. "But I don't want to leave. I want to stay here. With all of you."
The words hang in the air between us, my declaration of intent, my choice made clear. Ford rises from his spot and comes to sit on the coffee table directly in front of me.
"We want that too," he says simply.
"There's something else you should know," Griff says after a moment. "Something we did while you were gone."
I turn to him, curious. "What?"
"We went to see Daniel."
"Wait a minute… what??"
"Drove to Denver," Buck explains. "Went to his office. Had a little chat."
My heart races. "What did you say to him?"
"We told him to leave you alone," Ford says. "To stop posting about you, about us."
I try to imagine the three of them confronting Daniel in his sleek corporate office.
"Was he awful?" I ask, already dreading the answer.
To my surprise, Griff shakes his head. "Not exactly. He was defensive at first, but then... something changed."
"Turns out Alicia dumped him," Buck adds. "For some rich guy."
"Oh." I'm not sure how to feel about that. Despite everything, a small part of me flinches at the thought of Daniel being hurt.
"He said it gave him perspective," Griff continues. "Made him understand better how you felt when he cheated."
"Really?" I'm skeptical. The Daniel I knew wasn't big on introspection.
Ford nods. "He promised not to post anything else about you or about us. Said he was sorry for how he treated you."
"And you believe him?" I ask.
"Strangely, yes," Griff says. "He also apologized to me. For how he's treated me since the divorce."
That surprises me even more. Daniel had always been so cold toward Griff, so unforgiving about the divorce.
"That's... wow." I lean back against the couch, processing this unexpected development. "So he won't tell everyone about us?"
"That's what he said," Buck confirms. "And even if he breaks his word, so what? Like you said—let them talk."
The fear of judgment, of humiliation, of being the subject of cruel gossip—it suddenly seems so much smaller, so much less important than what I have right here.
"Thank you," I say, looking between them. "For doing that. For standing up for me even after I left."
"We care about you, Skye," Ford says simply. "That didn't stop when you got in your car and drove away."
The sincerity in his voice makes my eyes sting with tears. "I don't deserve you guys."
"Probably not," Buck teases, making me laugh. "But you're stuck with us now."
"Promise?" I ask, and I'm not just being cute. I need to hear it.
"Promise," Griff says, his voice steady and sure.
"For as long as you want us," Ford adds.
"All of us," Buck finishes, his arm still warm around my shoulders.
I look around at these three incredible men who've somehow become the center of my world in such a short time. This unlikely family we're creating, this unconventional love that shouldn't work but somehow does.
"I think I'm going to want you for a very long time," I admit, my voice soft but certain.
Buck grins, pressing a kiss to my temple. "Good thing we're not going anywhere."
Outside, the night wraps around Ford's house like a protective blanket. Inside, I'm surrounded by warmth and acceptance and a love I never expected to find.
Chapter 29
Skye
Istand in front of the mirror, adjusting my blouse for what must be the tenth time. My stomach twists with a familiar anxiety—not the butterfly flutter of excitement, but the heavy weight of dread. Today is the Flounder Ridge Harvest Festival, and for the first time, I'll be attending a public event with all three of my men. Together. As a unit. The thought alone makes my palms sweat.
I thought I was finished with these uncomfortable feelings, but apparently I’m not.
"You ready, babe?" Buck calls from the other room. I can hear the television on in the background—some football game Griff's been watching before we head out.
"Almost," I call back, though I'm as ready as I'll ever be. It's not my outfit I'm fussing with at this point, but my courage.
What will people say when they see us together? Will they whisper behind our backs? Make snide comments? I've finally made peace with our unconventional relationship, but that doesn't mean everyone else will. Daniel may have promised to stop posting about us online, but that doesn't protect us from old-fashioned small-town gossip.
I take a deep breath and move away from the mirror. They're waiting for me in the living room—Buck in a blue flannel that brings out his eyes, Griff in a dark henley that hugs his broad shoulders, and Ford in a soft gray sweater that looks ridiculously good on him. The sight of them together still takes my breath away sometimes.
"Worth the wait," Ford says with a soft smile when he sees me.
"You look beautiful," Griff adds, his eyes warming as they take me in.
Buck just grins and wraps an arm around my waist, pressing a kiss to my temple. "Ready to eat our weight in funnel cake?"
I laugh despite my nerves. "As ready as I'll ever be."
I stare out the window during the drive to the festival grounds, watching Flounder Ridge roll by. The massive mountains loom in the background, and as always, they take my breath away.
Griff parks in a field that's been turned into a makeshift lot, already filled with cars and trucks. The festival sounds reach us as soon as we step out of the truck—music, laughter, shrieks from one of the carnival rides set up on the edge of the grounds.
"Here we go," I murmur, more to myself than to them.
Ford's hand finds mine, his fingers intertwining with my own. "We can leave anytime you want," he says quietly, reading my anxiety. "Just say the word."
I squeeze his hand gratefully. "I'm okay. Just a little nervous."
"Nobody's gonna say shit," Buck says confidently, his large frame reassuring beside me. "And if they do, they'll have to deal with me."
"With us," Griff corrects, coming around the truck to join us.
We walk toward the entrance, a simple wooden archway decorated with corn stalks and autumn flowers. I'm hyperaware of every glance that comes our way. A couple walking ahead of us turn and nod in greeting. The woman's eyes take in our joined hands—mine and Ford's—and Buck's arm slung casually around my shoulders, with Griff walking close to Buck. But her smile doesn't falter; if anything, it grows warmer.
"Afternoon, folks," she says cheerfully. "Beautiful day."
"Sure is," Griff replies with a nod.
And just like that, they continue on their way. No double-takes, no shocked expressions. Just a normal, friendly exchange.
Inside the festival grounds, the full spectacle spreads before us. Rows of booths selling everything from handmade crafts to local honey line the main path. Food vendors hawk fried everything, the smells of sugar and grease mingling with the crisp autumn air. A stage has been set up at the far end where a local band plays country covers. Children dart between adults, faces sticky with cotton candy residue.
"What first?" Buck asks, his eyes already tracking a man carrying what looks like a turkey leg the size of my forearm.
"Games first, then food," Ford says. "I want to try the shooting gallery before I'm too full to lift my arms."
"I could eat now and later," Buck argues, but he's already being pulled along by Ford toward the game booths.
Griff's hand settles on the small of my back as we follow them. "How you holding up?" he asks, his voice low enough that only I can hear.
"Better. I think I’m going to be okay."
"Reynolds at your three o'clock," he murmurs, nodding toward the ring toss booth.
I glance over to see his familiar weathered face breaking into a grin when he spots us. We haven’t seen much of him lately, now that he’s sober. He waves, abandoning his attempt to land a ring around a bottle neck.
"There they are!" he calls, making his way over. "The happy foursome!"
My face heats at his casual acknowledgment of our relationship, but there's no judgment in his tone, just genuine warmth.
"Afternoon, Reynolds," Griff says, clasping the man's outstretched hand. "Enjoying the festival?"
"Can't complain," Reynolds replies, then turns his attention to me. "These three treating you right?"
"They are," I confirm, surprised by the steadiness in my voice.
"Good," he nods firmly. "Because if they don't, they'll have me to answer to." He winks, taking any sting out of the words. "You all tried the cider yet? Some woman from over in Pine Creek's got a booth, and I swear it's the best I've ever had."
We chat with Reynolds for a few more minutes before he wanders off in search of his friend. As soon as he's gone, another familiar face appears—one of the women who comes to the bar every Saturday night for the live music. She hugs me like we're old friends and tells me she's thrilled I decided to stay in Flounder Ridge. "This place needs more young blood," she insists. "And these three need someone to keep them in line."
It keeps happening as we make our way through the festival. People we know from the bar greet us warmly. They ask about business, comment on the weather, critique the festival food—normal, everyday conversations that don't even acknowledge the fact that I'm there with three men who are all clearly involved with me.
By the time we reach the shooting gallery, where Buck proceeds to win a ridiculously large pink stuffed bear, I've nearly forgotten my earlier anxiety.
"Told you," Buck says smugly, handing me the bear. "Nobody gives a shit."
"Language," Ford chides, though he's smiling. "There are kids around."
"Like they haven't heard worse," Buck scoffs, but he ruffles the hair of a passing kid who's eyeing my bear with naked envy.
We're heading toward the food stalls, drawn by the smell of barbecue, when I spot Vanna across the way. Loverboy trots at her heels, and beside her walks a tall, lean man I don't recognize. Her face lights up when she sees us, and she changes course to intercept our path.
"About time you all showed up," she says. "I was beginning to think you'd decided to spend the whole day in bed."
"Vanna," Ford warns, but his tone is amused.
She grins, unrepentant, then turns to the man beside her. "Harry, these are the guys I was telling you about. Griff, Ford and my brother, Buck. And this is Skye." She looks back at us. "Everyone, this is Harry. We met at the farmer's market last week."
Harry is handsome in a weathered way, with laugh lines around his eyes and an infectious grin. He shakes hands with each of the guys, then offers me a warm smile.
"Heard a lot about you all," he says.
Vanna gives us all a look that tells us to behave, then bends to scratch Loverboy behind the ears. The dog immediately flops onto his back, begging for a belly rub.
We chat for a while, the conversation flowing easily. Harry turns out to be a carpenter who's been hired to renovate the old library building. Vanna watches him as he talks, a softness in her expression I've never seen before.
"We're heading to get something to eat," Griff says when there's a lull. "You two want to join us?"
"Thanks, but we just had those amazing loaded potatoes from the stand by the entrance," Vanna says. "We're going to check out the craft booths now. Harry's looking for some new coffee mugs."
"Mine all broke in the move," Harry explains.
As they walk away, Loverboy trotting happily between them, I feel something settle in my chest—a quiet certainty that maybe, just maybe, everything really is going to be okay.
"I think I could use some of that cider Reynolds mentioned," Ford says. "Anyone else?"
As we navigate toward the cider stand, people continue to greet us with smiles and friendly words. No one stares. No one whispers.
I take a full, deep breath, letting the tension drain from my shoulders. I'm not sure what I expected today—pitchforks and scarlet letters, maybe—but whatever it was, the reality is nothing like that.
Eventually, the festival transforms as dusk settles over Flounder Ridge. String lights flicker to life overhead, casting a warm glow across the grounds. The air cools enough to make me grateful for my denim jacket, and the scent of woodsmoke mingles with sugar and spice.
On the main stage, the afternoon band packs up their equipment as a new group begins to set up—this one with a fiddle player and a stand-up bass.
We've spent the day wandering from booth to booth, checking out cute local crafts and eating like we’ll never eat again.
"They're clearing space for dancing," Ford observes, nodding toward the area in front of the stage where volunteers are moving benches to create an impromptu dance floor.
