Page 52 of The Lumberjack and the City Slicker

His lips brush my cheek, softer than I expect.

“Good.”

I pull him closer, because I’m done being careful with my own desire.

“I want you,” I say, and the words feel powerful instead of shameful. “Tonight. Just for tonight, be here with me.”

Greyson goes still for one heartbeat.

Like he’s never been asked for something so simple.

Then he nods, once, like he’s accepting a truth he can’t fight.

“Okay,” he says, voice wrecked. “Okay, Baby, I got you.”

The next part isn’t frantic.

It’s not rushed or messy in a way that makes me feel out of control.

It’s deliberate.

A slow unfolding—kisses and touches and quiet sounds, my body answering his in a language older than logic, my mind finally going blessedly blank except for sensation.

He fits himself to my entrance, eyes open and on mine, then he pushes in, and I can’t look away.

I watch it happen.

Feel him fall into me like a stone falling in water.

Heat.

Pressure.

Warmth everywhere.

We both groan and I cling to him as the world narrows to the bed beneath us and his breath against my skin, his hands learning me like he’s reverent.

Like I’m something to be cherished, and he’s amazed I’m real.

And this time, when I finally break—when pleasure rolls through me in waves so intense I can’t hold my voice back—I realize I’m laughing and gasping at once, tears pricking my eyes for reasons that have nothing to do with sadness.

“Oh God,” I moan.

“You feel so goddamn good, Trouble. Gonna stay buried in you all night,” he vows.

Afterward, Greyson gathers me closer, heavy and warm and steady.

His arm locks around me like he’s decided I’m not going anywhere, at least not right now.

My cheek rests against his chest. I can hear his heartbeat—strong, uneven, human.

He presses a kiss to the top of my head, like it surprises him that he’s capable of tenderness.

I exhale, boneless and warm, the storm a distant thing now.

And in the quiet, the thought arrives—not panicked, not dreamy.

Just clear.