Page 36 of Jealous Lumberjack

The world’sa blur of pine shadows and moonlight.

His chest is a furnace under my cheek, and his heartbeat’s pounding wild. He carries me like I weigh less than one of his logs, and I probably do. Like I’m not a woman who tried to run twice, who pointed a gun at him, who sassed him at every turn.

He carries me like I’m precious.

My body’s wrecked, every nerve humming. I can still feel him—the thick, insane stretch of him, the way he held back most of his size but still split me apart.

And sweet heaven, what he did with his axe!

He swung that axe like it was a prop.

I’ve seen men show off like that before, larger than life in a ring, but never that close, never that real.

It was like he reached inside me, plucked the dirtiest fantasy even I didn’t know I was harboring, and dragged it kicking and pleasurably screaming into the sunlight.

It’s so hard to believe this time yesterday I didn’t know this man existed, and just a day later I’ve... I’ve...

God, I can’t even think about it.

My thighs ache. My pussy throbs. My lips are swollen. And my heart won’t stop racing.

He lays me on the bed, rough hands surprisingly careful, tucking the blanket around me. Then he sits in that damned chair again, his frame a dark silhouette against the firelight.

I can’t look away.

What just happened wasn’t sex. It wasn’t even punishment. It was something rawer, hungrier.A claim.

I should be terrified. And part of me is. He’s too big, too intense, too much. My ex told me I was fragile, useless, nothing without him.

But Bear doesn’t make me feel small.

He makes me feel wanted. Desired.Alive.

And that’s more terrifying than anything.

His gaze catches mine. Heavy and unblinking.

I whisper, “What happens now?”

His jaw clenches. For a long moment, silence stretches, thick as smoke.

Then his voice rumbles low, “Now, petal, you rest while I finish my chores.”

“Then what?” I push.

“Then we’ll see. You still need to heal from all the cuts you’ve sustained. But I might even show you my mountain if you behave and don’t prove more of a distraction than you’ve already been.”

Thecorner of his mouth twitches as he says that, as he tugs the blanket tighter. My eyelids droop, exhaustion dragging me under. But before I fall, I see it?—

The way he grips the arm of his chair like he’s holding himself back.

The way his chest heaves like he’s in pain. The way his eyes burn, feral and halfway to being obsessed, like I’m already his.

And for reasons I don’t dare admit, I want to be his addiction.

As if that isn’t the most insane thing ever?

I close my eyes, drifting. His chair creaks as he shifts, still watching.