Abandoned on His Mountain – Possessive Instalove Read Online Dani Wyatt

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Erotic, Insta-Love, Virgin Tags Authors:

Total pages in book: 43
Estimated words: 40275 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 201(@200wpm)___ 161(@250wpm)___ 134(@300wpm)

The only color I’ve ever been allowed to wear is red.My grandfather says it’s a warning to others that I’m impure. That I have the devil inside me.When he catches me reading Cosmo and wearing makeup, he takes me to a remote mountain cabin with enough food to last until winter.Between the howling wolves and the bears at the door, it’s clear I won’t make it that long. Then, a bearded mountain man as big as a grizzly comes along wielding a shotgun and I know in my heart, he’s here to protect me.Except he says this is his mountain and I belong to him now. Have I just traded one devil for another? Or, will my sins be washed away by love?Author’s A little impurity might be just what you need! In fact, I’m sure of it, so get your read on with this uber, over-the-top romp in the woods with a hero that takes what he wants and a heroine who deserves a new start. The steam in this quick read starts out fast and never lets up. Let’s get it on!The Palate Teaser Series…want a quicky? For 99 pennies? Then grab a treat...I got you with these standalone Palate Teaser novellas!They are designed for those who love a low angst, extremely high heat, no cheating, palate-cleansing treat. The heroes are over the top and obsessed with their one and only. These are trope-heavy, taboo-friendly, and are designed to make you squirm.So, suspend reality for a bit and get ready for some twisted fun, a happily ever after, and a smile.

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chapter one


Granted, my life is weird. Super-duper weird. But this? This?

This is level-10 bananas.

Jesus watches me from the dashboard. Actually, several Jesuses do. One from a medallion glued above the AC vent, and another bobbling figurine above my grandpa’s odometer.

I’ve looked at Jesus a lot in my life. A lot. I can never tell if he’s angry, annoyed or just kind of…meh.

But never mind about Jesus for the moment. Right now, the AM radio is blaring so loud that the car speakers crack and buzz making the preacher’s words cut in and out in weird stutters and stalls.

“Thy soul sh— be —ar—d only —f you —pent, sinn—! Re—nt!”

As the preacher rages on, I stare at the swish, swish, swish of the wipers battling the freezing mist that started as we turned onto the road leading out of Sherman and toward Carson Mountain.

“Grandpa. Tell me where we’re going. Please,” I beg, looking over to see the muscle in his jaw tighten to stone as he hisses something unintelligible through his dentures.

He’s never been this mad and certainly has never dragged me out of the house and into the truck in the middle of the night.

He thumps the dashboard in agreement with the roaring preacher. “Hear that, young lady? Repent!”

I swallow hard and re-focus forward. The road is dark and unmarked, the asphalt gleaming like diamonds in the headlights of Grandpa’s brand new eighty-thousand-dollar GMC truck.

Biting back tears, I twist the sleek satin of my dress in tight fingers on my lap. It’s cold, but the bulky red coat Grandpa insisted I wear as he tugged me out the front door after finding out I was not going to choir practice but to an appointment at a modeling agency, is warming me from my knees to my neck.

“I keep telling you. It wasn’t my idea.” One thing about being born with a Bible in one hand is that I honestly cannot lie. Impossible. “It was Stacey at school. She took those pictures of me, she sent them to the agency, she set up the appointment. I had to go. She’s my only friend, grandpa.”

Grandpa grumbles. “You won’t talk your way out of this. I didn’t do enough to stop your mother from ruining her life… and mine… but you…” His nostrils flare, knuckles white on the steering wheel, his gold Rolex glinting in the moonlight. He narrows his blue eyes at me. “I will not let the devil take you like it took her.”

My heart sinks. I’ve been paying for my mother’s sins since birth. In fact, my birth was her sin.

Mom had me at seventeen. All I know is I was born in the same room I now occupy in my grandfather’s sprawling mansion. But I guess money can’t fix everything because my mother died two days after my birth.

When I was around ten, I heard two of the deacons’ wives in church talking about how more girls would keep their knees together if they had to give birth with no pain medicine and a midwife who was paid extra to provide no comfort. Like my grandfather did with my mother.

Just because you have a nice house and go to church on Sundays, sure doesn’t mean your life is candy corn and teddy bears, that’s for dang sure.

Grandpa’s wife, my grandmother, passed away one year before I was born, so he raised me tangled up in grief and anger and the twisted righteousness he thought was the solution to everything.

He never talks about my mom, except in offhand references to the shame she brought upon him for fornicatin’ outside of marriage. The only thing I have of hers is a couple school pictures I found tucked inside my grandmother’s old bible and from the pictures, we could be twins.

As far as my father, that’s a mystery and I’ve never had the courage to ask.

I tug my legs together as the heated leather seat bakes me from under my rear end but it does nothing to chase away the chill that’s taken root deep in my soul.

I point the toes of my red heels into the floor mat, then pull them back, stretching out my calves. I’m sure not used to six-inch stilettos. Grandpa would never have bought me anything so sexy. But Stacey did, and I just wish she had chosen a different color.

Everything on my body is red. My dress, my jacket, my nails. Even my underwear and my bra. Red, red, red… everywhere. It’s always been this way. Grandpa insists the children of Jesus need to see me coming, so they know to look the other way.

How one out-of-wedlock pregnancy could turn him into an irrational tyrant I’ve still not puzzled out, but on the upside, I’ve never had to wonder if my socks match my slacks. Or my shirt. Or my shoes.