Page 16 of Claimed By the Lumberjack

“Say it again.”

“I want you.”

Something in him snaps. His hand slides into my pants, fingers tracing over the damp heat between my thighs. I gasp, bucking against him.

He kisses me again, slower this time, savoring every second. Then he stills and his forehead drops to mine.

“God,” he rasps. “I want you so bad it’s killing me.”

“Then take me.”

His eyes meet mine. “I’m not going to rush this,” he says. “Not when it matters.”

I blink. “Matters?”

He cups my cheek, thumb stroking gently. “You’re not just some distraction.”

My heart slams because I feel it, too. This isn’t casual. It never was. He kisses me again slow and deep and aching with everything we can’t say. And when he sinks into me, it’s not just about lust. It’s about need.

His body presses into mine, claiming every inch, every breath, and I cling to him, legs wrapped tight around his waist, hands gripping his shoulders as he moves. Every thrust is deliberate. Measured.

He watches me like he’s memorizing every expression, every sound I make. His name spills from my lips again and again, andevery time, it breaks him a little more. The world fades. There’s only this.

His body in mine. His mouth on my skin. His voice murmuring my name like a prayer. We come undone together, breathless, shaking. Lost and found in the same heartbeat.

Afterward, he gathers me close, his chest slick against mine, his breath slowing beside my ear. Neither of us speaks. There’s no need. Because whatever just happened between us—it’s not over. It’s only the beginning.

Chapter Eight

Sawyer

She’s still asleep when I wake up. The fire’s mostly gone out, just glowing embers in the hearth, but the room is warm. The sun filters through the windows in soft streaks of gold, catching in the strands of Tessa’s hair where it spills over my chest.

She’s curled against me, one leg draped over mine, her hand resting on my stomach like it belongs there. And hell if it doesn’t feel like it does.

I stay still, watching her breathe, the rise and fall of her chest, the flutter of her lashes. I trace a path with my eyes from the curve of her cheek to the freckle near her jaw to the soft pink of her lips, kiss-bruised and parted.

Last night plays back in flashes. The storm. The kiss. Her body under mine, wrapped around me. Her voice in my ear. The way she looked at me like I was more than the man I’ve spent the last two years trying not to be.

I run a hand slowly over her back, fingers brushing the hem of my T-shirt she’s still wearing. She shifts against me, murmuring something incoherent before nuzzling closer.

My heart does something stupid…it claims her.Mine. Mine. Mine. Pounds out in rhythm. I close my eyes and breathe her in. I don’t name what I’m feeling. I can’t because once you give it a name, it becomes real. I’m not sure I know what to do withrealanymore.

She’s quiet when she finally stirs, stretching like a cat in the sun before blinking up at me with a sleepy smile.

“Morning,” she murmurs, her voice rough from sleep.

I brush her hair back from her face. “Hey.”

Neither of us moves to get up for a long stretch, but eventually, reality catches up. There’s still someone watching us, still someone taking pictures. Posting them. And now that I’ve let Tessa into my life—my space, my bed, my everything—that threat feels a hell of a lot more personal.

We get dressed mostly in silence. It’s not awkward at all. She steals my sweatshirt. I don’t even pretend to care. She makes the coffee. I fix breakfast. We don’t talk about last night, but when her hand brushes mine as she passes me a mug, she doesn’t pull away. It all feels natural.

By mid-morning, we’re packed and loaded onto the four-wheeler, heading down the mountain. The blocked road’s still a mess, but we can bypass it on the ATV trail.

Tessa wraps her arms around me from behind, snug and warm against my back. Her chin rests briefly on my shoulder, and I have to swallow the sudden knot in my throat.

We ride in silence, save for the growl of the engine and the wind tearing through the trees. Her grip tightens when we hit a bump, and I feel the press of her chest against my spine. I feel her smile.

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