Page 21 of Jealous Lumberjack

At least for the night.

Every step I took to track her had been filled with fear of her falling into another one of my traps.

My jaw locks, but the words come out rough, torn from somewhere deeper than my chest.

“You’ve run from me twice now,” I growl, voice vibrating through the still night. “There won’t be a third.”

Her eyelids flutter. A small sound slips out, somewhere between a whimper and a sigh.

I press my forehead to hers, my pulse hammering as our breaths mingle. “Once I take you inside, Lily, that’s it. We cross this threshold, and every inch of you is mine. No holding back. You’ll be mine until this mountain buries me. And if anyone tries to take you from me, I’ll bury them too.”

It’s absurd. Impossible. I know it.

And yet the claiming words fall from my mouth. I’ve never done anything by halves, grew up knowing my place in this world would always be larger than life.

So I don’t care what this means for her.

I am what I am. And this is how it’s going to be.

Her lips part, her breath warm against my mouth.

I wait for her to fight, to spit, to scream. But she just looks at me with wide, dazed eyes, pupils blown. And in that silence, I see it—she feels it too. The weight of what I’ve promised.

Sure, she will fight me down the line. Probably as early as tomorrow.

But not tonight.

So I carry her over the threshold.

My threshold.

And my chest heaves like I’ve just sealed my own damn fate.

Inside, the fire snaps low.

I shut the bolt with a slam, the sound final, absolute. Then I turn the key in the lock for good measure and slide it into my pocket.

She shifts against me, murmurs, “Put me down.”

But her arms curl tighter around my neck, her body betraying her. I feel it, every small squeeze, every tremble.

“You’re not ready to stand,” I tell her, my voice flat. “You ran hard and you came harder.” And I sure as fuck am not ready to let her out of my arms.

Her blush creeps back, even through the haze of exhaustion. I smell her arousal still, sweet and sharp, mixing with woodsmoke. It makes my cock throb, my chest ache.

I take her down the short hall, push open my bedroom door with a shoulder. She stiffens when she sees it—my bed, big enough to accommodate us both with more than enough room to spare.

Her gaze darts to mine, panic and something darker flashing.

I set her down on the edge, and she sinks into the blankets.

“Stay here, rabbit. I’m going to run a bath.”

She stares up at me for a moment, then she nods. I rise, and her eyes follow me, her head tilting back so she can stare at me.

Something heats and curls in her eyes, and my own pulse thunders.

I’m learning a few things about my rabbit. Things I shouldn’t relish so much and yet…