Page 19 of Claimed By the Lumberjack

Tessa’s face is pale, but her jaw is set. “Do you think they’re still out here?”

“Not now. But they will be.”

I look at the camera, then at her. This isn’t just about catching someone, this is about protecting her. This is about not losing what’s right in front of me. Because even if neither of us can say it yet. I’m not walking away from her. Not after last night.

Chapter Nine

Tessa

The door clicks shut behind us, and just like that, we’re back. The storm’s moved on, the town is behind us, and it’s just us and this cabin again, four walls and a growing ache in my chest that I don’t know how to name.

Sawyer drops his keys into the bowl by the door, sets the camera bag down on the table, and exhales like he’s been holding his breath since we left. His shoulders rise and fall beneath that old worn T-shirt I’ve come to associate with comfort. With him.

I know this version of him. Quiet. Focused. Protective. Still humming from the weight of the day. We’ve barely known each other for a few days, but I feel like I know him better than I’ve ever known anyone.

I cross to him, pressing a hand lightly to his back. “You okay?”

He nods, turning toward me. His hand lifts to my waist like it’s instinctual now, fingers grazing the hem of my sweatshirt, his sweatshirt, that I don’t plan on giving back.

“You hungry?” he asks, voice low.

I shake my head. “No.”

We don’t need to talk about what happened in town or about the way Annie looked at us like she knew what was happeningbetween us. We don’t talk about the camera, the threat. Not right now.

His mouth finds mine easily, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. No hesitation. Just heat and rhythm and the faint taste of coffee and rain still clinging to his lips.

It’s not the same kind of kiss as before—not rushed, not desperate.

This one is claiming. Familiar. Likewe’ve already been here,but he still wants to discover me all over again.

I kiss him back, sighing against his mouth as he backs me toward the couch, his hand sliding under the hem of the sweatshirt, palm skating over bare skin. He’s warm. Solid. Grounding.

When we sink down onto the cushions, I straddle his lap. We’ve found a rhythm, slow and fluid and full of quiet intensity that builds between touches.

I run my fingers through his hair, his scruff rasping lightly against my jaw as he kisses his way down my neck, over my collarbone. I tug the sweatshirt off and toss it to the floor. He does the same with his shirt.

My hands skim over his chest, the curve of his shoulders, the way his body tightens under my touch. I love the way he reacts to me, never with noise, but with that slight hitch in his breath, with the way he presses his forehead to my shoulder when I do something that makes him lose his grip.

I roll my hips against him and feel him throb beneath me, already hard and hot and ready. His hands are slow and thorough as they explore, tracing familiar paths like he’s taking inventory of what’s his. He lifts me just enough to slide his hands into the waistband of my leggings, then pulls them down slowly—no urgency, just the steady assurance that he’s going to enjoy every inch of this.

When I’m bare in his lap, he just looks at me for a moment, eyes roaming, reverent, dark with want but soft with something else too. Something quieter. Deeper.

“You’re unreal,” he murmurs, voice rough.

I smile and reach for the waistband of his pants. “I’m very real and right here.”

We shift together, moving toward the loft in a haze of touch and tension. There’s no stumbling now. No nerves. He lifts me easily, helping me up the ladder, laying me across the bed like I’m the most precious thing he’s ever held.

The firelight glows below us, flickering on the wood beams above, casting golden shadows across his bare back as he settles between my thighs.

He kisses down my chest, my stomach, the inside of my thigh. He takes his time and I let him, because with Sawyer, this is different.

There’s no game. No pretending not to care. Every sigh, every kiss, every roll of his hips says I want you, I know you, and I’m going to make sure you never forget this.When he finally sinks into me, it’s slow. Deep. I gasp, arching into him, legs tightening around his waist.

“Still with me?” he whispers against my cheek.

“Always,” I breathe.

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