She obliges, deepening it until we’re both lost in it again—mouths warm and eager, hands wandering without hesitation. We pull down my underwear ...
Pull aside her thong . . .
Lucy does all the work, lines herself up and slides onto my rock-hard cock, stifling a moan once I’m buried deep inside her, and we find a rhythm that suits us both.
Goose bumps cover my flesh. Hers.
Back and forth . . .
Back and forth . . .
More feverishly this time.
“I’m so close ...” she whispers to no one. Me. The birds.
“Same,” I answer back, fingers gripping the flesh of her butt, ignoring the stinging in my side.
I want to smack her ass, driving deeper into her as the dirt and pine cones and grass and plants dig into my bare ass. A rock jams itself into my thigh, but I don’t care.
I never. Want.
To stop.
Fucking her.
When we finally collapse, tangled and breathless, she rests her head on my chest, tracing lazy circles over my skin.
I press a kiss to her temple. “Best day ever.”
She hums in agreement, her fingers lacing with mine.
We lie there in the clearing, under the stars, not ready to move yet—soaking up every last second of the night before Monday rolls around.
Chapter 23
Harris
The lakefront is buzzing, the air thick with the scents of sawdust, sweat, and maple-fried donuts. Children perched on parents’ shoulders, waving miniature axes—harmless replicas sold at the makeshift concession stand. Caramel apples. Sizzling bratwursts. Mulled cider.
I stand at the edge of it all, hands on my hips, stomach twisted in knots. Laughter and chatter are almost drowned out by the country song blasting from the loudspeakers—and the hired lumberjacks taking practice swings on logs nearby.
For the first time all week, I feel like a fraud.
A phony. Fake.
I am, without a doubt, the worst lumberjack in this entire lineup and have no business being here.
Not to mention: I’m injured! The ache in my ribs is a dull, persistent reminder that I shouldn’t be doing this.
Instant regret.
Abort mission.
I step forward, rolling my shoulders, bracing myself for Annabelle’s pep talk before the day begins, eyes scanning the crowd.
Lucy has taken a spot among all the people, and I smile to myself.
She’s perched on the edge of her seat, her hands wrapped around a coffee cup, and I can see her grin from here. Unlike the rest of the spectators, who are here for the spectacle of burly men chopping wood, she’s here forme.
