5. Knox #2
That terrifies me, maybe even more than my ex ever did.
“Come,” he rumbles again, pushing back from the table.
I stiffen. “Where?”
“Outside.” His eyes gleam. “You’ll see.”
He holds out his hand and, telling myself I have no choice, I slide mine into his giant paw, my pulse kicking hard when our palms meet. If he feels anything more, he doesn’t show it.
And holy crap, that perma-bulge behind his fly hasn’t softened since last night, so I can’t even tell whether he’s ignoring it or not. Or if that’s his constant state and he’s okay just lugging that thick log around.
I follow him out into the crisp morning, blinking at the beauty around me. At the way the pines sway, the mountain air sharp in my lungs.
We cross the clearing and he stops near the woodpile, spreads a thick blanket across the ground, then points to the spot in the middle.
“Umm…what?”
“Sit,” he says, gesturing. “From now on you stay exactly where I can see you. At all times.”
My stomach flips, even as I sink onto it, heart hammering. The memory of last night slams into me—me pinned against his tree, his mouth on me, his growls vibrating like a dirty sonnet through my skin.
I shiver.
He crouches in front of me, eyes never leaving my face. His sheer size makes me tremble, but not just from fear. From the insane possibilities rushing through my brain. That he could crush me, cage me, keep me here forever.
And God help me, part of me isn’t flailing and clawing for escape.
I press my palms flat against the blanket, grounding myself.
He studies me for a long moment, then rises, grabs the axe leaning against the pile.
My breath catches.
Not because I think he’ll hurt me.
Because I know what’s coming.
The wood-chopping.
The very sexy wood-chopping that has somehow found its way into a kinky fantasy I never saw coming.
He lifts the axe high above his head, and a needy whimper escapes my parted lips.
Jesus. What the hell is happening to me?
Knox
The morning air bites fresh, the sun not yet high.
I try not to stare at the way she sits, the way her hair catches the light, her legs crossed to one side, my T-shirt doing a way too good of a job covering her thighs.
And I can’t not think of it—her spread against a tree, writhing on my tongue.
I shake it off, grip the axe firmer.
The log waits on the block. My body knows this rhythm better than prayer. Lift, swing, crack. The wood splits clean.
Repeat.
Her eyes, green as the pine leaves surrounding us, are on me. I feel them. Like hands dragging over my skin. And I swear I hear the tiniest, sexiest little gasp.
I grab the next log. I swing again, harder, clean split.
Again. Again. Again.
I feel every bead of the sweat starting to drip down my spine. Every whisper of a breeze. Hell, even the subtle roll of my hips and clench of my butt when I bring the axe down.
Each strike sends heat coiling low, not just from the workout but from the way she shifts on that blanket, thighs pressing, lips parting and panting.
She’s getting a kick out of watching me split wood.
I grit my teeth and split another log.
My cock’s been stone-hard since the moment she crashed into my life. Now it’s pure unbending steel, straining my jeans, kicking with every heartbeat. I didn’t hide it when she first saw it and don’t try to hide it now.
It is what it is, and fuck it, I’m too big to disguise her effect on me.
I grab another log, plant it, swing. The wood screams as it breaks. Her breath hitches.
“Enjoying the show, petal?” I ask, voice a growl.
Her cheeks flame, but her chin tips up. “You don’t just chop wood all day, do you? Like one of those social media guys?”
I freeze, glare. “You see a fucking camera around?”
Her lips remain parted when she shakes her head.
The axe slams down. Another split. “And what have I said about you mentioning other men in my presence?”
She bites her lip, eyes glinting as she leans back on one hand. Her thighs are no longer pressed so primly together. Hell, she’s swaying them back and forth, back and forth as she watches me.
And those nipples…yup, they’re still cheeky little points on my T-shirt. Waiting…begging for a lick from my tongue or a good plucking from my fingers, peppered with a hard twist to make her squeal.
“Then tell me more about yourself, Bear.”
Fucking. Christ. The way it rolls off her tongue.
Bear .
She doesn’t know how close she cuts, but the sound turns me inside out. Makes me want to shove her flat on that blanket and rut into her until she’s soaked and begging, cum dripping from her every hole.
I glance down at my crotch.
My cock tents the denim, obscene, leaking. I’m one finger stroke from coming in my pants like a fucking teenager.
I drag the back of my wrist across my jaw, swing the axe again. The burn in my shoulders does nothing to calm me.
“You want to know what I do?” I grunt, sweat dripping.
“I jack lumber one week a month. Buyers want stuff off this mountain, I give it to them. Timber, firewood, specialty cuts. But I only cut what I replenish. Always leave more standing than I take. The rest of the time is my own. Do as I please. When I said this was my mountain, I meant it literally, petal. I don’t need to work a single day for the rest of my life if I don’t want to. ”
I glance at her, watching and waiting.
She doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t widen her eyes at the unsubtle mention of my obscene wealth. She just nods, calm as you please, like wealth means nothing to her.
It stirs something deep.
I slam another log in half, watching her instead of the grain. The way her thighs squeeze together. The way she licks her lips, trying to hide it.
The blanket looks too soft under her. She should be on her knees in the dirt, taking what I give.
The axe slams down again. Crack .
Her breath catches.
And fuck me, but I no longer give a flying fuck about this log.
It’s not wood I want to split.
It’s her. My petal. Wide open.
The axe lands with one last crack. The log parts, halves tumbling to either side, but I don’t reach for another.
I can’t.
Because all I see is her.
My petal, sprawled on the blanket, the morning light catching her hair, her lips parted. She’s flushed from more than the mountain air. Her thighs squeeze and twitch and release, restlessness and horniness betraying her.
I prop the axe on my shoulder and stalk to her.
Her breath catches all over again as she looks from the sharp blade to me.
“You didn’t answer me before. Are you enjoying the show?” My voice is low, gravel.
She swallows hard, and I catch the tip of her tongue resting against her bottom lip. Jesus, I’d give both pinkies to suck on it. “Maybe.”
I crouch over her, one hand braced on the knob of the axe. She doesn’t move to scramble away, and that pleases me more than I want to admit. Although I’d enjoy catching her too if she did.
“You like that.” I lower my mouth close to her ear, sniffing, catching the faint sweetness of her arousal mixed with her shampoo. “You like being my petal?”
Her voice trembles. “I…work with flowers. Always have. They’re my whole life.”
“Hmm, my pretty florist.” My whole body is ablaze. Does she have the faintest idea how fucking perfect she is? I surge close enough to pick out the hints of gold in her eyes. “Show me your beautiful body, Lily.”
Her blush spreads down her neck. She shakes her head, hugging herself. “No. I…can’t out here. What if someone sees?”
“There’s no one here but us,” I growl. “My mountain, my trees. My fucking air, petal.”
She shivers at the name. Her lips part, eyes glistening. But she still looks nervous.
“Did you forget that I saw you…all of you last night?”
Her color deepens, and a shadow crosses her face. “I know, but that was at night, and not everything looks…great in the daylight.”
Fury and jealousy snap through me. My chest heaves. “You better not be repeating shit that fucking idiot fucker said to you,” I warn, the growl already in my throat.
Her blush deepens, and before she can look away, I crouch even closer, grab one thigh, and urge it wide.
The sun beats down, sweat sliding off my shoulders as I shove the other thigh open, pinning it with one knee on the blanket.
The bottom of the T-shirt still covers her. When I reach for it, she makes a sound, half protest, half needy.
“I need you to stay really still, petal. Will you do that for me?”
Her beautiful eyes snag hard on mine. She’s torn between refusing and embracing what I have in store for her.
“Remember last night? How good it felt?”
She makes another sound, and her head bobs. “Yes.”
“Good. Now, will you stay still for me? I need you to say it, Lily.”
“Y-yes, I will.”
“Good girl.”
I pull up the T-shirt, up her thighs and over her hip, and bare her pussy to the sunlight. Watch the pretty blush creep up her satin-smooth skin. I keep dragging up the shirt until it rests just beneath her chin, exposing her mouthwatering tits to the air and sun. To my hungry, grateful gaze.
Her eyes dart frantically between my face, my hand, and my axe.
I clutch her thigh to hold her still.
Then I grip the throat of my axe.
I turn it so the sharp end is facing me, and my petal gasps when I drag the blunt head of the axe between her folds, cold metal sliding against her heat, my gaze locked on her face as she writhes.
Her head drops back an inch, and her mouth gapes as she’s swallowed in frantic pleasure. “Oh…oh! Oh…God!”
“Look at you,” I rasp, pressing harder, grinding the weight of it slow against her slit, groaning at the slick sounds it makes. “Already so wet I could split wood with your slick alone. Tell me, flower…did you like watching me chop?”
Her eyes widen, and her lips tremble as her whole body shakes. “I?—”
“Say it,” I demand, pushing the axe head firmer, circling her clit while her thighs tremble.
“Oh God. Yes,” she breathes, blushing fiery red. “I like it. I like watching you. You’re so big and it…it was so…so hot.”