Page 49 of Jealous Lumberjack

He groans, fists tangling in my hair.

I go harder. Faster. Take him deep until my eyes water, until his thighs tremble. Then I look up at him, showing him how pleasing him pleasures me.

“Jesus, petal, that mouth... so good, fuck!”

I hum around him, pumping him as I lick the surging veins around his shaft, then suck harder on his head.

When his giant hand cradles my skull, I stretch my mouth wider, determined to stuff more of him into my mouth. He hits the back of my throat and I gag.

The sound seems to please him, and he spurts pre-cum onto my tongue. And his taste... oh heavens. I hated the taste of Brandon before. But not my giant. Not Bear. He’s addictive. I swallow it down, then flick my tongue over him, hunting for more.

“Oh fuck... that’s so fucking good. That’s it, petal, give me some teeth.”

I draw him deep, deep until he strokes the back of my throat again.

Then I sink my teeth gently into him.

And then it happens. He goes wild.

With a roar that rattles the rafters, he explodes down my throat.

I swallow every drop I can, catch the drips that fall down my chin. All while he watches me with a feral look laced with... awe.

I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand and glance at the clock.

Two minutes and forty-four seconds.

I smirk.

He collapses back on the bed, panting. When he finally opens his eyes, I grin up at him, victorious. “Guess I’m coming with you.”

We shower together and he’s grumpy the whole time, muttering about how he doesn’t like the idea of other men seeing me, but I scrub him anyway, kiss him anyway. He lifts me up so I can reach up to shampoo his hair and growls into my hair like he’s barely tolerating it, but his arms tighten around me just the same.

By the time we’re dressed, he’s still scowling. Clearly unhappy. But he doesn’t say no.

He pulls one of his T-shirts over my head, then double-layers socks on my feet. When I glance in the mirror, I look ridiculous—like a kid playing dress-up—but he ties the arms of a flannel shirt around my waist, making it hang like a half-skirt. His jaw softens, almost proud of his handiwork.

“You’ll do,” he mutters.

I bite back a smile, attempting to ignore the giddy heart that tells me this is the happiest I’ve been in a very long time.

I’m perchedon his broad back so my feet don’t get wet when we step out into the crisp morning air.

I expect him to head down the usual trail, but instead he leads me around the back of his cabin to a part of his land I haven’t seen yet.

Through a cluster of trees stands a barn. Dark green roof and bigger than I expected, half-hidden in the slope of the mountain.

He unlocks it, and inside, the smell of oil and sawdust greets us.

There are numerous hulking items covered in dark tarp, along with the usual logging machines and tools he needs for his work and for maintaining his land.

But to one side, taking up another hulking space, is a truck.

It’s massive.

Glossy black with mud-splattered tires, chrome shining even in the dim light. A beast of a thing, lifted high, with a flatbed built for hauling half the forest.

Knox opens the passenger door like it’s feather-light, though it looks like it weighs as much as him. “Climb in.”