Page 103 of Goode Tidings

Callum looks down at me with a shrewd gaze. "Are you lying?"

"Fibbing," I amend, while also admitting that I am, in fact, fibbing. My lips curl into a mischievous grin. "I spoke with a doctor about my ailment, and he said a wood chopping mountain man is the only cure for my illness." I bat my eyelashes innocently.

Suddenly I'm being lifted. I was on the ground and then like magic I'm airborne, held at the hips with my legs wrapped around his middle. He walks us deeper into the yard, away from street view.

"You liked what you saw, huh?" He lands a playful smack on my ass.

I shimmy in his grasp. "A sexy man chopping firewood so I can sit by a roaring fire, which happens to be my favorite thing? Yes, I liked what I saw."

"Second favorite thing," he corrects.

"What's my first?"

"Me. And this." He ducks his head, capturing my mouth.

My hands run over his back and his neck, slick with sweat, and I take my fill of his mouth. He's salty and warm, the crisp smell of pine rising from the fabric of his shirt. My handsome, generous lumberjack who makes me smile and fucks me so good.

"You gonna let me finish my chore before I take you in the house and bend you over, or do you need it now?" Callum nips at my ear, licking over the place his teeth grazed.

"Now," I whine, like the dick-drunk woman he's turned me into.

"Ok, baby," he says, pushing my v-neck sweater off one shoulder. "I'll take care of you." He sucks at the exposed skin. "Give you what you need."

He sets me down and I lead him into the cabin. The place smells of a recently prepared coffee, and cinnamon and nutmeg from the pumpkin bread I baked this morning. There's also a smell I wasn't expecting. "Did you build a fire?"

Callum toes off his boots, saying, "I thought you'd like one when you got home. I realized there was only enough wood for a little while, so I went outside to chop more."

"That sounds incredible." I yank at my boots, pulling them off and tossing them aside without care. Using two hands, I unbutton his jeans, sheathing him with my hand.

His gaze locks on the space between our bodies, watching me. "I love the way your painted nails look around me," he chokes out.

Bright red, to match the approaching holiday season. They look good next to the smoothness of him.

He wraps a hand around mine, following along with me for a moment before he grips me hard, holding my touch in place. "Stop," he says hoarsely, with a desperate edge. "Please."

I do as he's asked, pleased with how responsive he is to me. "How about you show me the fire you've built?"

In the living room, Callum pulls the blanket down on the ground, spreading it out in front of the crackling fire. "You're wearing a skirt," he says, eyes on the piece of clothing.

I pinch a section of the plaid fabric. "I can't wear jeans all the time."

"Take off everything," he instructs, sliding his jeans off his legs. "Leave the skirt." He pulls off his shirt.

"Bossy today," I sass, even as I listen to him.

"Yeah," he agrees. He points at the blanket. "Hands and knees."

Bossy Callum is hot. I do as he says. The fire pops, flames licking over the wood as embers burn red and orange.

Callum positions himself behind me. His touch starts at the inside of my knee, and he knocks them wider. "You wore this skirt for me, didn't you, baby?" His voice is a growl, tires spitting gravel.

That's twice now. Baby. I love it.

I wiggle. "Sure did."

His hand explores higher, then higher still. A pang of lusty hunger uncurls in my belly, and then his knuckles brush over exactly where I want them.

"You really do need me," he murmurs, passing over me again and again. "Even through these tights I can feel you."