Page 12 of Liberated By the Logger

His thighs are as long and stocky as tree trunks, leading to the most beautiful set of thick buns I’ve laid eyes on. My eyes drift higher, tracing the intricate ink tattooed on his heavily muscled back. His head hangs forward, not giving any clue who he is.

The man is a giant—a gorgeous, naked, wet god.

If this is what I get to look at for the rest of eternity, I’m totally cool with being dead.

A small part of my brain screams at me I’ve intruded on a man showering in his bathroom, that I need to leave immediately and give this man his privacy. However, leaving seems impossible. Those tempting solid tushie muscles of his have hypnotized me into remaining in place.

The man groans, a guttural sound that stirs my lower belly with need. Aroused, I bite back a responding moan.

Without warning, the massive man turns to face me. His chin is tucked, still hiding his face from my view. His chest is chiseled, covered in ink similar to his back. Though wet and plastered to his head, his hair is a ruddy hue, matching the red in his thick beard.

As impressive a sight as he is, it’s what he’s doing to himself that captures my attention and has me gasping.

In his large hand, he works his very hard and very long cock, pumping his fist over himself in swift, measured strokes. He grunts, his head falling back as he loses himself in his pleasure.

Oh, my sweet heavens!

Shell-shocked, I remain frozen. Unable to look away, I let my eyes drink in their fill of him. He’s stunning, demonstrating his visceral ability.

With each of his grunts and shunts of his tapered hips, my sex clenches. My heart gallops, imagining what he must feel like. I’m desperate to feel something as big as him inside of me, stretching around his girth to accommodate his larger-than-life dick.

I don’t know how long I stand there watching him, mesmerized by his beauty, but it’s long enough to see him finish.

With one last deep groan, he thrusts his hips forward into his fist a final time. Cum spurts from his cock, coating his hand and dripping onto the river rock shower floor.

It’s at this moment, he opens his gray eyes—the same eyes I saw in my dream—meeting mine across the room.

Dismay, mortification, and possibly horror, flit across this handsomely rugged face. I’m sure my expression is no different. It’s not every day you get caught watching a person jack off in front of you.

As I feel the heat of my embarrassment rise to my cheeks, the handsome man steps out of the shower.

A naked giant with a still semi-hard dick and a furrowed brow is approaching me.

Did I mention he’s naked and looks pissed off?

Alarm bells aren’t going off. No, I have an alarm siren wailing at me to RUN.

Suddenly scared out of my mind, I react in the most unhelpful way possible—screaming bloody murder.

CHAPTER FIVE

AMBROSE

Holy fuck wads!

The last thing I expected while taking care of my sexual urges in the shower was turning around to find the woman responsible for said urges present for the show.

Her appalled expression has me hustling out of the shower to grab a towel, eager to explain away what she clearly witnessed me doing. But I don’t make it to the towel rack before her eyes bulge to twice their size.

Had I taken a moment to consider how she may have felt seeing a naked stranger approaching her after whacking off in front of her, I would’ve remained in the shower.

But I’m not thinking with my brain, acting purely on nervous impulse.

The green-eyed beauty’s mouth gapes like a fish out of water when she notices my hand reaching out, assuming I’m coming for her and not my towel. She sucks in a lungful of air, releasing it in one violent burst.

Jesus Christ! Her scream could bring down the house. The acoustics in my bathroom only intensify her shrill cry.

Worried about the poor woman, I hurry towards her with a need to calm her.