Page 13 of Jealous Lumberjack

The gift of being in Eagle’s Crown for this long is that it sharpens the senses. And the fucking curse of it…from going without pussy for so long is that I can smell it—sweet and sharp, her arousal curling through the air.

My little rabbit is fucking wet from getting spanked, and it makes me groan low in my chest, makes me want to bury my face between her thighs and lick until she’s screaming for mercy.

But I don’t make a move toward her. I force my hand to still. I’m already too close to the edge.

Plus, while I don’t like it, there’s also real fear in her face. Because, face it, we’re strangers. I rescued her, yes, but I could be a fucking psycho for all she knows. And from those glances she keeps casting at my raging hard-on aside, she doesn’t know if that’s the body part I’ll use…maybe even force on her next.

I rise, and she scrambles back farther. Her breath’s coming fast, cheeks flushed and eyes glassy. Fuck, she’s pretty.

Stealing a deep breath that’s…fuck…laced with the scent of her juicy pussy, I close the distance, snatch her up by the waist, and set her carefully on her feet, then guide her to the sofa.

When I push her down, I see her nipples are pebbled against the thin fabric of that buttercup dress, pointy and impossible to ignore.

Christ.

Okay, so maybe her reaction is less fear and more…something else.

I should be thankful. Sure, I’m an animal, but I’m not a ravening, rutting beast.

And yet my cock aches, heavy and shameless in my jeans, and I catch the way her gaze drops to it again. The way her lips part, tongue darting out before she jerks her eyes away.

My little rabbit, pretending she’s not hungry.

I drag a hand over my jaw, force myself to step back before I do something I can’t take back.

When she tries to move, I fix her with an unequivocal stare.

Stay.

She freezes. I return to my armchair.

And for a moment, all I can do is stare. Because fuck me to hell and back, she’s so fucking pretty. Small and curvy and the opposite of how I like my women.

Until today.

“You wanted me to say something?” My voice is gravel. “Fine. Answer my questions.”

She blinks at me, lips still parted, breaths still panting, but then she squares her shoulders like she’s bracing for another blow. Or a fight.

“How did you end up on my mountain?”

Her throat works. “I told you. I got lost.”

I growl, low and warning. “Don’t lie to me. People get lost, they head down. Not up.”

She shifts, fingers knotting in her lap. She chews on her plump lowerlipfor a second. “Okay. I…left someone. That’s all.”

The words slice at me, stirring old wounds I thought I’d buried.

Left someone.

A man. Always a man. Fucking women. They run from one to another, spinning stories and breaking hearts along the way.

And a woman as stunning as this, I bet she’d left a trail of broken men behind her.

My jaw clenches, heat simmering into anger.

“Not good enough,” I bite out.