Page 112 of Billionaire Lumberjack's Bride

He inclines his body, pressing his chest against my back, and reaches his hand over, nudging mine away so his callused fingertips can take over.

Fuck can they do the job…

My orgasm doesn’t slam into me; it consumes me. Burning out from my core through my limbs, my entire body bursting into a conflagration I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to put out.

I gasp, my body jerking as he continues to pound into me. He bites down along my collarbone, a sharp sting of pain, making me clench around him as he finally comes deep inside me in short, hot spurts.

He sags against me slightly, gripping the headboard, and wraps his arm around my waist to keep me from fully collapsing under his weight. Then he kisses the spot where I undoubtedly have teeth marks and makes his way up my neck, pushing my hair over one shoulder to give himself access.

I turn my head to peek at him out of the corner of my half-lidded eyes, and he drops a kiss to my cheek, my temple, then buries his face in my hair.

“I fucking love you, Lyla.”

His words make me tense and clench my eyes closed.

What just happened was emotional, for sure, and those words getting thrown around at a moment like this are always suspect, but he reaches up and tips my chin toward him.

“Open your eyes.”

I do, and I see the truth in his.

His fingers feather over my cheek. “I didn’t think I knew what it meant. But this is it; you, me, this. Isn’t it?”

Shit, the man actually has to ask what love is.

The tears I’ve been fighting finally leak out of the corner of my eye, and I nod, swallowing past the emotion threatening to choke me. “It is.”

Relief flashes across his face, and I close my eyes again because watching him struggle with something we should so innately understand only makes me love him even more.

He pulls me to him again, then rolls onto his side, taking me with him, his cock still buried deep inside me. Curling around me, he kisses every inch of skin he can reach and holds me tight enough that it feels like he may never let go.

And I might not let him.

ChapterEighteen

LYLA

The house where Silas was forced to grow up far too fast towers over us like some ancient castle that should be somewhere in remote Europe, not in the middle of Pittsburgh.

A shudder rolls through me as I stand in front of it, and not only because I know what happened inside those walls. The cold, stark exterior can’t be helped by the perfectly manicured bushes, flowers, and shrubbery. It still looks like a prison, and that’s what it was for him.

I squeeze Silas’ hand, and it barely gives, his entire body as rigid as the stone on the building we stare at. “Silas, you need to breathe.”

He glances down at me. “I am.”

“No, you’re not.”

The corners of his lips fight a smile, likely remembering me giving him the same advice before we walked into that conference room. Which means I’ve succeeded at getting his focus off the monstrosity in front of us and broken through the anxiety to actually get a hint of humor from him.

But it disappears as quickly as it was there.

He returns his focus to the house. “I don’t know how much time we’re going to have.”

After waiting all morning for Marty’s car to speed away from the house, this might be our only opportunity to get in without him here before we see the board on Monday. If I can get Silas in there without him passing out because he stops breathing.

Just like when we were standing outside Bolton Steel, I tug on his hand, urging him to advance toward the building that holds so many horrific memories of his past. “Let’s go.”

He swallows thickly but slowly steps forward, putting one foot in front of the other. Today, he dressed in something much more Silas—a pair of well-worn jeans and black Henley.

---