Page 72 of Billionaire Lumberjack's Bride

But he has been lonely.

He still feels and wants, even when he thinks he shouldn’t.

He needs this as much as I do.

I didn’t want to admit my attraction to the man I married for money, but it was there all the same. And after his confession on the road, there was no way we were ever going back to pretending to only be roommates.

It would be impossible.

To ignore this spark, this heat crackling between us, would mean turning away from something you might feel once in your life, if you’re lucky. And after everything that’s happened to lead me to this mountain, this man, this moment, I don’t want to let it go.

Only it isn’t up to me.

I just placed the ball in his court.

And if he’s not ready or truly doesn’t want this, I will walk away.

I wait for him to pull out from my touch, to push me off him like he so easily could, to tell me he can’t and go back to pretending he hates me and everything I represent…

I wait for him to do exactly what he did that night and the next morning—look for any reason to run away. But it doesn’t come.

Instead, he threads his callused hands in my hair and drags my mouth down to his in a fevered desperation I wasn’t aware he was capable of.

The hesitation, the worry, the uncertainty all seem to melt away with the intensity of his kiss. I roll my hips and grind down on his cock, eliciting a deep groan from his massive chest.

“Fuck, Lyla.” He tears his mouth from mine. “It’s been a really fucking long time…”

I kiss him again, gliding my tongue along the seam of his lips. “Me, too.”

Not that I want to get into any ofthatright now, but hopefully, he knows me well enough by now to understand I am not the type of person to jump into bed with anyone—though I guess I did sleep inhisbed the first night we met.

“Recline your seat.”

His brow furrows. “What?”

I nudge his shoulder. “Recline your seat.”

Silas’ hand slips free from my hair and down to the left, and his seat falls back, allowing me to move more freely between him and the steering wheel. Hooded blue eyes watch me as I undo his jeans and slide my hand in, wrapping my palm around his hard length.

He hisses at the contact, dropping his head back and closing his eyes tightly. If what Carrie Ann said this morning is true, this is probably the first time any woman has touched him in fifteen years—the first time any woman has touched him in his entiretrueadult life.

His body twitches with each slow stroke, and I gently brush my thumb across the head, spreading a bead of pre-cum in a slick glide of skin on skin. Another rumbled groan reverberates in his chest, and I lean in, catching it in my mouth as I release my grip on him so I can shove my pants to my thighs.

In the tight confines of the truck, it isn’t sexy or easy to do, but something tells me if we took the time to get into the house, he’d find a reason to stop this.

Any excuse.

He would deny himself what we both want because of some deep-seated fear of hurting me or opening himself up to getting hurt. But for the moment, whatever made him this way, whatever holds him back, he seems to have pushed it aside. And I don’t dare risk losing it.

His fingers tighten on my exposed hips, his eyes zeroing in between my thighs. The normally pale blue darkens, the storm raging inside him that he always tries to keep contained about to be unleashed.

I shift my position, dragging my slick core along the length of his cock.

His hips buck, fingers digging in almost painfully to my skin. “Fucking hell…”

He drops his head back again, eyes closed tight, muscles in his inked neck straining as he struggles for control.

I reach between us and grip him, aligning the head at my ready entrance, but I don’t sink down yet. I can’t. “Silas, look at me.”

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