Page 156 of The Lumberjack and the City Slicker

But there’s something else there too.

Wonder.

I trail my mouth along his jaw, down the strong column of his neck, feeling the pulse beneath his skin. He exhales slowly, hands tightening on me.

“Clara,” he warns softly.

But I’m not stopping.

No way.

I press kisses down his chest, over the planes of muscle shaped by work and solitude.

My fingers trace the lines of him, the scars, the ridges, the warmth.

He shudders under my touch.

The power of that—of making this strong, guarded man tremble—goes straight to my core.

When I look up at him again, his head is tilted back, throat exposed, breath uneven.

And I realize something.

This isn’t just desire.

Not just a declaration either.

It’s complete surrender.

And I am awed by it. By him.

He lets me explore him the way he explored me.

He lets me see him like this—open, wanting, undone.

Before he can move, I slide my hand between us and pull his boxers down, freeing his cock from its confines.

He’s hard and thick and heavy.

Greyson hisses, eyes on me as I squeeze his length.

God, he feels perfect in the palm of my hand.

His eyes are on my mouth, and I lick my lips and slide down his body, making a space for myself between his thick thighs.

“Trouble, what are you doing?” he growls.

“You know what I’m doing,” I murmur and I dip my head.

He hisses when I reach my prize.

And there is definitely no stopping me now.

He leans up on his shoulders to watch, and I lock onto his gaze as I open my mouth and take him inside.

Fuck, he tastes so good—like heat and desire and man. My man.

I can’t say I’ve ever been enthusiastic about giving a man a blow job, but for some reason I can’t explain, I want Greyson’s cock in my mouth.