Page 155 of The Lumberjack and the City Slicker

Things I’ve never dared to say out loud.

“You love me?” I ask because I need to hear it again.

I need to make sure I’m not still half asleep and inventing this.

“I love you,” he repeats.

And my entire soul lifts.

The way he says it—no bravado, no hesitation—just truth.

He kisses me then.

Soft.

Slow.

Almost reverent.

It’s sweet, and it’s beautiful, and it is absolutely not enough.

I slide my fingers into his hair—thick and long and accidentally soft in that way women everywhere wish they could mimic—and pull him closer.

My leg hooks around his waist instinctively, drawing him against me.

He inhales sharply when our bodies press together.

“Trouble,” he murmurs, voice dropping low, dangerous, “you keep doing that and I’m going to fuck you right here.”

The heat between us ignites instantly.

Because I don’t want him to behave.

I just want him.

All of him.

Not the careful version.

Not the restrained one.

All of him.

I kiss him harder this time. Deeper.

I taste morning, and tea, and him.

My hands roam over his shoulders, down his back, learning the lines of him like they’re sacred text.

He responds in kind, palms sliding over my hips, my waist, my ribs.

His touch is warm and possessive but never claiming—like he’s asking permission with every breath.

I push him back, and I keep going until he’s flat against the pillow.

His eyes are dark now.

Hungry.