Page 30 of Jealous Lumberjack

Her eyes, green as the pine leaves surrounding us, are on me. I feel them. Like hands dragging over my skin. And I swear I hear the tiniest, sexiest little gasp.

I grab the next log. I swing again, harder, clean split.

Again. Again. Again.

I feel every bead of the sweat starting to drip down my spine. Every whisper of a breeze. Hell, even the subtle roll of my hips and clench of my butt when I bring the axe down.

Each strike sends heat coiling low, not just from the workout but from the way she shifts on that blanket, thighs pressing, lips parting and panting.

She’s getting a kick out of watching me split wood.

I grit my teeth and split another log.

My cock’s been stone-hard since the moment she crashed into my life. Now it’s pure unbending steel, straining my jeans, kicking with every heartbeat. I didn’t hide it when she first saw it and don’t try to hide it now.

It is what it is, and fuck it, I’m too big to disguise her effect on me.

I grab another log, plant it, swing. The wood screams as it breaks. Her breath hitches.

“Enjoying the show, petal?” I ask, voice a growl.

Her cheeks flame, but her chin tips up. “You don’t just chop wood all day, do you? Like one of those social media guys?”

I freeze, glare. “You see a fucking camera around?”

Her lips remain parted when she shakes her head.

The axe slams down. Another split. “And what have I said about you mentioning other men in my presence?”

She bites her lip, eyes glinting as she leans back on one hand. Her thighs are no longer pressed so primly together. Hell, she’s swaying them back and forth, back and forth as she watches me.

And those nipples…yup, they’re still cheeky little points on my T-shirt. Waiting…begging for a lick from my tongue or a good plucking from my fingers, peppered with a hard twist to make her squeal.

“Then tell me more about yourself, Bear.”

Fucking. Christ. The way it rolls off her tongue.

Bear.

She doesn’t know how close she cuts, but the sound turns me inside out. Makes me want to shove her flat on that blanket and rut into her until she’s soaked and begging, cum dripping from her every hole.

I glance down at my crotch.

My cock tents the denim, obscene, leaking. I’m one finger stroke from coming in my pants like a fucking teenager.

I drag the back of my wrist across my jaw, swing the axe again. The burn in my shoulders does nothing to calm me.

“You want to know what I do?” I grunt, sweat dripping. “I jack lumber one week a month. Buyers want stuff off this mountain, I give it to them. Timber, firewood, specialty cuts. But I only cut what I replenish. Always leave more standing than I take. The rest of the time is my own. Do as I please. When I said this was my mountain, I meant it literally, petal. I don’t need to work a single day for the rest of my life if I don’t want to.”

I glance at her, watching and waiting.

She doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t widen her eyes at the unsubtle mention of my obscene wealth. She just nods, calm as you please, like wealth means nothing to her.

It stirs something deep.

I slam another log in half, watching her instead of the grain. The way her thighs squeeze together. The way she licks her lips, trying to hide it.

The blanket looks too soft under her. She should be on her knees in the dirt, taking what I give.