Page 50 of Jealous Lumberjack

I scramble up from his back and into the seat. The leather smells of him, musky and warm. The steering wheel looks comically small in his hands when he climbs in beside me.

The engine growls to life, deep and feral, shaking the barn.

I feel the monster engine between my legs, and I can’t help my gasp as it seems to hit all my sensitive parts.

He glances at me, eyes dark, jaw still tense.

“You sure about this, petal?” The question is a grumpy rasp, and I know he’s hoping I say no.

I lean over and pull on his neck until he drops his head.

I kiss him long and deep, until he groans. “Let’s go, Bear.”

I’m not sure whether the thrill coursing through me is anticipation or apprehension. Because something tells me I’m about to see a whole new side of my Bear.

The truck growls down the mountain, a steady, rumbling heartbeat under my thighs.

The world opens wider than I’ve ever seen it, ridge after ridge rolling into the distance, pine needles gleaming in the morning light.

The air feels different down here—brighter and sweeter—and for a moment I forget about my aching body, the socks swallowing my calves... this fantasy limbo status I’m existing in.

Then we crest a bend, and I see it.

A meadow with wildflowers splashed in every shade of gold and violet spreads out below. It’s the kind of place you stumble across in dreams. It’s far enough from the cabin to feel separate, tucked against the slope, sunlight pooling over it like honey.

I press my forehead against the glass and drink it in, wondering why my chest tightens strangely, like I’ve found something I didn’t know I was looking for.

Something that matters.

I shake the thought off before it can take root. I’ve got bigger problems than pretty fields.

The town comes into view a while later, tucked in the valley. Smoke curling from chimneys, cars that look like matchboxes from here moving on semi-busy streets. Humans going about their daily lives.

Civilization.

“Do you... go down there much?” I ask, glancing at Knox.

His jaw ticks. “Not often.”

“Do you... have friends?”

The tick intensifies. “No.”

“Anyone who visits you then, sometimes?” He mentioned he hadn’t had sex in five years, so I’m guessing no women. But male buddies?

His hands tighten on the wheel. “No one I want to see.”

The short, curt answers slam into me like a wall. I bite the inside of my cheek and stare out the window again. The silence grows heavier with every curve of the road, tension filling the cab like a storm waiting to break.

By the time we’re close, he’s slowed the truck to a crawl.

My stomach knots.

When I slide my hand onto his arm, his muscles are taut, steel under my palm. “It’s going to be fine, Bear.”

His eyes cut to me, feral in the dim cab. Searching. Frantic. “Is it?”

“Yes,” I say firmly. “Why wouldn’t it be? You know these men, don’t you?”