Page 18 of Falling for the Lumberjack

His lips curved against my skin. “Yeah? And what makes you think this doesn’t count as emotional growth?”

“Because your version of intimacy isyou’re mine nowand a possessive death grip in your sleep.”

“Are you complaining?”

“No. Absolutely not.” I grinned, but it slipped when he pulled back, serious now, his eyes locked on mine.

“This isn’t just sex, Sally,” he said. “This is me not being able to keep my hands off you. This is me wanting to tear that smart mouth of yours apart every time you open it. This is me wanting to keep you up on this mountain so no one else gets a fucking look at you.”

My heart thudded. His words were possessive, almost primitive, and they shouldn’t have thrilled me the way they did.

He grabbed my chin, tilting my face up. “Because if I give you everything I want to give you, Sally, you’re never leaving here.”

I didn’t flinch. Didn’t look away. “Good. Because I’m not going anywhere.”

That was all it took.

His mouth crashed onto mine, savage and claiming, his hands dragging me against him like he was done pretending he didn’t want this.

His fingers found me fast, sliding between my thighs, finding the heat already pooling there. “Still so wet for me,” he muttered, mouth trailing down my neck. “You don’t even need me to be nice, do you?”

“Never liked nice,” I panted, rolling my hips into his hand. “Nice is boring.”

He growled, lined himself up, and slammed into me in one sharp thrust that stole my breath. “Fuck,” he groaned, forehead pressed to mine, breath hot against my lips. “You’re mine, Sally.”

“I’ve always been yours,” I gasped, clinging to him as he moved inside me, fast and rough, perfect and consuming. He kissed me again, his tongue matching the rhythm of his thrusts. It didn’t take long. I was already teetering on the edge.

“Come for me,” he ordered. “Let me feel you.”

I did. Hard. Shuddering and gasping his name, my body clenching around him. He followed with a growl, thrusting deep one last time as he spilled inside me.

And he didn’t let go.

Not this time.

He held me after, arms wrapped tight around me like he didn’t plan to let go.

“Don’t,” he rumbled when I shifted. “Not yet.”

“You’re bossy.”

“Yeah. And you’re mine.”

It should’ve sounded ridiculous. But it didn’t. It sounded like a vow.

“You sure you want to claim me, McAllister? I’m a handful.”

“I’ve got big hands.”

“Cocky.”

He cupped my ass. “No. Just confident.”

We lay tangled together, our bodies still humming, when the low rumble of engines cut through the quiet. Landry didn’t move, but I felt the shift in him. Tension, alertness, protectiveness. “Brothers,” he muttered. “Get dressed.”

I did, quietly, wondering if what we’d just shared would come tumbling down. I knew he had five brothers who ran the logging company beside him. What I didn’t know if they’d be angry that I’d stepped into their lives virtually overnight.

He swung the door open and stepped onto the porch like he was bracing for a fight. A massive black truck pulled up beside the downed tree. Another followed. Three men climbed out, all big, broad, and unmistakably McAllister.

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