Chapter Four
Serena
Watching a lumberjack cut down a Christmas tree was not on my bingo card this winter.
Standing at a huge window overlooking a yard full of trees, I cannot help but giggle. In the warmth of his house, with a roaring fire going behind me, I watch him wander through the trees. It is snowing outside, the skies gray, but he hardly seems to notice. Even in just gray sweatpants and bare feet, he bulldozes through the flurries with purpose.
“Slater Roth is a mad man,” I whisper to myself.
Seeming to find one he approves up, he goes to cutting it down. I laugh. What in the world is going on in that man’s head? Still watching, I forget about what is going on in his head as my own thoughts overtake me. It would be unfair to judge me for my thoughts—a big, barbaric, beautiful man is literally chopping down a tree just to hang the gift I brought.
Slater’s back flexes with every swing of the axe. He does it with ease. His thick arms coil with power as he swings again and again. Dark tattoos trail down his back, but they cannot hide the scars there. I find myself wanting to trace the jagged edges of the raised flesh or brush my lips over it to soothe any hurt it may cause him.
“Lord help me, he is getting to me,” I admit.
Turning from the window, I take a calming breath, trying to shake off the buzz running through me. It is impossible, of course. This buzz has worked its way from my head to my heart. Now it throbs between my legs. I tour the room, trying to find some reason to think twice about all the noise in my head. All the things that brought me back up on this mountain on my own, with a storm darkening the skies overhead.
“He is all alone up here,” I rasp, tracing my fingers along the bare mantle over the fireplace.
There is more missing here than a Christmas tree. There are no photos, no mementos, no sign of his life being lived. Just a long leather couch sits across from the fire, a pile of wood stacked in the corner. A thick rug lays before the fire, but the small living room is bare otherwise. I keep nosing around the small cabin, looking for any sign of who he is.
I circle the kitchen slowly, even being so bold as to open cabinets. He is stocked with food, spices, and plenty of meat and vegetables in his fridge. Everything is neat, lined up perfectly, no dirty dishes or old pizza boxes and crushed beer cans.
“Slater is so alone,” I whisper, the ache in my voice ringing clear.
Going down a long hallway, I stop at a door that is cracked open. Once I step inside, I gasp. It is beautiful and full of the life I was looking for. Small structures fill a long, wide table. One look and I know what they are. I see the bar, the small flower shop, the butcher. Almost all of Main Street Driftwood is done with all the little details perfectly in place.
“ This is Slater,” I declare, carefully touching his handiwork.
Hearing the front door shut with a loud bang, I jump, turning as if I have been caught with my hand in the cookie jar. Rushing from the room, I find him by the fireplace, a thick, beautiful fir standing almost as tall as he is in his hand. He holds it up with ease, a huge smile on his handsome face.
Oh, this is also Slater, I decide. This sweet softness I suspect no one else has seen before.
“It is beautiful,” I tell him, almost clapping my hands with joy. I go to pick up the gift I made him, holding up to consider where it might look best. Slater grins crookedly, his face flushed from my praise, not from the cold air. “Where will you put it?”
“Wherever you want it, sweetheart. I’ve never…I mean, since I was little, I have never had a tree. Never my own. I wanted somewhere to hang the gift you brought me.”
Going towards him, I watch him for a moment. There is some of that pain I saw last night. I want to ask him to give me more. To tell me all he can, so I can help ease it. But not yet. Spinning, I look for a good spot for the beautiful tree he chose.
“By the fireplace would be perfect. Don’t you think?”
Slater flashes the biggest smile at me, nodding. Moving the tree where I point, he sets it up, creating a cross stand out of two other logs. I think there is little he could not do with an axe and some wood. There is something very attractive about him being so good with his hands. About how take charge he is, how he never even hesitated once I suggested he needed a tree.
Once it is set up to his liking, he turns back to me. Holding his hand out, he waits for me to pass him the ornament. I almost feel bad for the dark design I made him. He has hardly been a grinch tonight, has he? Still, he seems pleased with it, so I hand it over, watching him look for the right spot for it on the snow dusted fir.
“Do you have lights? It would be so lovely with lights, Slater.”
Turning back to me, he hesitates. The air thickens as he stares at me. Last night we were strangers, and almost cruel to us. Tonight, he seems another man entirely. Softer in his eyes, a spark there that was not there before. I take a step closer, drawn to him against my own power.
“If you want lights, I will find lights, sweetheart.”
“Why would you…I mean it is very cute that you want to hang the ornament I made you. That you would go out there in the snow to put up a tree. Why would you do all that because I said you needed a tree?”
“Well, Serena, I think I would be inclined to do just about anything you asked of me. Don’t ask me why that is true, but I believe it is.”
Leaving me with that, he stalks down the hallway towards the room I snuck out of moments ago. Watching him go, I am not at all ashamed to eat up the beauty of his golden skin, his strong shoulders and wide body. He truly is a massive man. I believe he could protect me from anything.
Wondering what could ever protect me from him, I rub my thighs together. Nothing. I do not believe anything could stop what is going on inside of me. That is why I came back to his cabin tonight. Not just to bring a gift. But because I have not been able to think of anything else since he stood at his doorway staring down at me last night.
What he said…I think I would be inclined to do just about anything he asked of me, too.
“These should do. Might not be holiday lights but they will work.”
Blinking as he comes back with his hands full of string lights, I laugh. They were hanging over his displays in that workroom. Looking at me, he smiles ruefully, shrugging his huge shoulders. I laugh more because lord, he is an adorable man. He might be big, he might be brooding, but tonight he is being so sweet, so kind, and I am so drawn to him.
Going to join him, I nod in agreement. “These should do just fine.”
Somehow, I am decking out a Christmas tree with a grouchy lumberjack just days before Christmas. We string the lights up as if we’ve done it a dozen times before. There is no talk about why he is letting me do this. No talk about why I am staying here to do it with him. We just do it together in a comfortable quiet that seems to suit us both.
“Here we go,” he calls as he starts to plug it in. “In three…two…one. Let there be light.”
Laughing as the tree lights up with a soft white glow, I give a little clap. It is beautiful. Even with just the one ornament, which he hung up top, right in the middle, it is perfect. I nod my head in approval.
“It is beautiful. Our first tree together,” I tease before I cover my mouth. What the hell am I saying?
“Yeah,” he hums softly, his voice low, his eyes starting to darken. “You will have to make me something more to hang on it. But I think it is perfect just how it is.”
“I like it just how it is too,” I admit, turning back to it as my face flushes with heat. Why would I say something so.... strange?
“If anyone would know how to make it better, I believe it would be you. I would hang pinecones or berries on it if you wanted.”
“Sounds as if you meant what you said earlier,” I say in way of teasing, never taking my eyes off the tree, using it as a focus point because I am on uneven ground with this man.
Slater moves, pressing so close to me I can feel the warmth of his skin. His hands trace over the lines of me, but he does not touch me. I wonder why it bothers me that he doesn’t. That is strange as well. Why does my body feel as if it is vibrating with him so close. Without him touching me?
“What I said earlier...about doing anything you asked of me? Yes , I meant it. I also meant what I said about not knowing why it is true, but knowing it is, without a doubt. Absolutely true. Whatever you asked of me, Serena, I think I would find a way to do it. Do you know why I feel that?”
Slater poses this as a question, as if I might know the answer. “I do not know. I had hoped you might know why this feels...strange,” I answer softly.
Now, he does touch me. His front presses to my back, the warmth of him soaking through my sweater. Huge hands grip my hips, giving a little tug. I go willingly, moving even closer so I am tucked back against him.
“As long as you’re feeling it too, I think we can figure it out together.”
His head bends and his thick beard brushes against my neck. It sends a shiver through me, and I grab his hands, linking my fingers with his. As if he can hold me together through whatever this feeling is. Because I have never felt these sensations before. I am so overwhelmed, I seek comfort from someone else who might feel the same things I am feeling.
“I--I am. Not that I know what this is. I should not have come here alone. I am not...I do not know about men or relationships or...”
“Good. I don’t want you to know a single thing about other men, sweetheart. Just me.”
I gasp as his mouth brushes up the side of my neck, so soft and warm after the tantalizing roughness of his beard. I close my eyes, my fingers clawing at his powerful thighs. His hands tighten on my hips, yanking me harder against him. Again, I let out a sound, a whimper, a cry, as he presses against my backside, heavy and thick, even through our clothes.
“Slater, I don’t think.... I mean I... oh, that’s.... that’s nice .”
Slater chuckles as his huge, warm hands slide beneath my sweater, smoothing over my stomach. The roughness, the weight of his palm is delicious against my skin. I’ve never let a man touch me this way. I kissed several boys in high school, but my brothers limited those dalliances.
Now I glad for it. Thinking about some other man, or a boy as they were, touching me feels wrong now. It does not make sense, of course. I owe nothing to Slater. We barely know each other. Yet, his touch feels right. I am not afraid of him pushing me or demanding something I cannot give him.
This emboldens me. I press back even more, letting my head fall back on his shoulder. Slater gives a grunt of approval that sends a tingle right to my clit which is swollen and aching. All I want is for him to touch me there. I am stunned by how badly I want it. I even squirm against him, my ass pressing against his hardness, as if that alone will tell him what I need.
“So soft,” he hums against my neck, his lips working there softly. “You smell so fucking good. Sweet. You taste sweet here,” he comments, sucking at my skin with a pop, making me cry out. “Feel so sweet here,” he goes on, his voice hypnotic, heated, as his hands slide up beneath my breasts.
“Slater,” I moan his name, turning my face against his neck.
“Oh, I won’t stop, sweetheart,” he answers the plea I never even say. “I can’t, not now. Touching you is all I’ve thought about since you showed up on my doorstep. I will never make the mistake of sending you off again.”
Nodding because, no, I don’t want to go anywhere, or be anywhere else but right here, pressed against him, feeling his mouth on me as his words hum against my back. Blinding pleasure hits me as his rough fingers pinch at my nipple through my lace bra, sending a jolt to my already aching clit.
Now I really claw at him, so desperate to feel his touch, to be rid of this ache between my thighs that I am barely coherent. The weight of his other hand moves between my thighs, and I swear, I could cry. It feels so good , detonating a cascade of sensations I have never felt before.
“Slater...I...I...” I pant, my entire body trembling.
“Do it for me, sweetheart. Give me this sweet gift. Come for me. Right here, under our first Christmas tree, come for daddy, little girl,” he grunts as his rough fingers pass over my swollen sex.
“Oh my God!” I come with a shout as his fingers pinch both my clit and my nipple, detonating the most powerful orgasm of my life.
“That’s daddy’s good girl, sweetheart. Such a good little girl.”
“Yes! Yes,” I chant, because all I want is to be his, whatever it means.