Page 19 of Jealous Lumberjack

A growl erupts from his throat as I whimper. “You’re mine to taste now.”

“Yes,” falls from my lips even before he’s done speaking.

The first press of his mouth against me tears a cry from my throat. His tongue—rough, relentless—flickers over my cotton-covered pussy. Then his mouth is closing over me, licking, sucking, devouring. My knees shake, and my hands claw at his hair, tugging hard.

He groans against me like he’s starving.

I grind against his face, shame gone, pleasure burning through me. Every question is a demand, every lick an interrogation.

“What do you like, Lily?” he asks, lips wet against me. “Fast? Hard? Tell me.”

“Hard,” I whimper, thighs shaking. “Please?—”

“Bet he didn’t satisfy you like this,” he growls between licks. “Did he even know you liked this?”

“No,” I gasp, head falling back. “God, no?—”

“Thought so.” His mouth covers me again, tongue thrusting deep. “He’s a fucking idiot.”

A fast, ruthless tug of his hands, and my panties are also shredded, discarded, and forgotten on the forest floor.

Then his tongue is on my bare pussy. I scream at the first skin-to-skin lick. His tongue is rough, insistent, delving betweenmy folds in a brazen gorging that makes me tremble from head to foot.

“Fuck. I knew you would taste incredible. You had to, didn’t you? Break me with a first taste?”

His mouth is pinned to my sex as he hoists me up. I instinctively wrap both legs around his shoulders, my fingers delving deeper into his hair, and he growls his approval.

Then this beast…whose name I still don’t know…is eating me out against his tree on top of his mountain.

He works my clit with mind-bending skill—harder, sucking, biting gently, then pointing his tongue-tip to draw my juices, grunting every time I gush for him.

“More, little rabbit. Give me more,” he grunts every few minutes.

And I give, and I give until I break.

My climax rushes through me, raw and blinding, and I cry out, clutching his head as the world spins to nothing.

Knox

Holy fuck.

The first taste of her.

I groan, sucking her through her release, licking every drop like it’s the only sustenance left on earth.

Five years without a woman.

Five years swearing I’d never lose myself again. And here I am, on my knees in the dirt, drunk on the taste of her.

She’s sweeter than a chokehold that won’t let go, headier than the roar of an adoring crowd onWrestleMania, and I can’t stop.

Her thighs tremble around my head, her cries soft and broken, and I want more. I want to learn every sound, every shiver, every secret her body’s kept from other men.

“One more,” I command.

Her head sinks weakly against the tree. My tree. My dirt. My fucking mountain.

My woman.