Page 51 of The Lumberjack and the City Slicker

“Yes,” I whisper, because my body is already answering for me—warming, softening, opening to the idea of him like it’s been waiting.

His expression tightens—something like hunger, something like awe.

“Good girl,” he grunts. Then he lowers his mouth to my pussy.

The next kiss is gentle. Almost careful.

The second is deeper, lingering.

By the third, my whole body is thrumming, pleasure pooling low and hot as he maps a slow trail across my sex—and I feel it everywhere.

I reach for him, grasping his hair, leaning up on my elbows as he works me over with his talented tongue.

God, he’s so hot.

So damn handsome.

There’s a mirror on the side of the bed, and I watch him eat me.

His jaw opens, his tongue slides out of his mouth, and his lips cover mine as he licks into me.

I moan at the thousand and one sensations batting against me—unsure where to look next.

His hands flex on my thighs as they hold me open for him, the curve of his shoulder—fuck, it’s too good, too intense.

He groans as he makes out with my pussy, his breath a warm drag that makes me squirm and buck helplessly against him.

My hands clutch his shoulders, nails digging in.

Then it hits me, hard and fast.

A pleasure so intense I think I might die from it.

I don’t, but I do fall back against the mattress—satisfied, boneless.

Somewhere in the periphery of my brain I hear the telltale sounds of foil ripping and the condom unrolling as he sheathes his cock.

He crawls over my body, licking a trail from my belly to my mouth. He kisses me and I can taste myself—and fuck me, nothing has ever felt so sexy,

His voice comes out against my skin, a low rasp. “Tell me now if you want me to stop.”

I laugh, breathless and shaky.

“I don’t want you to stop. I want you inside me. Want you to fuck me. Please, Greyson.”

A sound leaves him—half growl, half surrender.

And then he’s back at my mouth, kissing me like he can’t help it.

Like he’s trying to pour everything he refuses to say into the way he touches me.

The storm keeps raging outside, but in here there’s only heat and desire and the steady strength of a man who looks like he’s been alone too long.

His hand slides down, fingers threading with mine, pinning my hand gently to the mattress as his mouth moves to my ear.

“You’re shaking,” he murmurs.

“It’s not fear,” I breathe.