Page 24 of Liberated By the Logger

“Look around, darlin’. I’ve been a comfortable bachelor, content with never finding someone to share this life with. Never needed to bring someone into my space before to accommodate a woman. In fact, you’re the only woman I’ve allowed in my home.”

I open my mouth to speak, only to shut it, unsure what to say. Here, I assumed he was looking for a night of fun. Hearing this revelation about his lack of past relationships oddly makes me feel more at ease with trying.

Doubt has me asking him one more question. “Are you feeding me a line of bullshit you tell women to get in their pants?”

Brose throws his head back, laughing, before he sobers enough to answer me.

“Not to sound like a jerk, but if I wanted an easy lay, I could find an easy lay. Instead, I’m here dodging decoys and pillows, putting up with your insults, and loving every second. I either have a sick fetish for abuse or I’m honestly interested in you. What do you think is more likely?”

Though I don’t know Brose, he makes a solid argument. Minus this mountain man, the percentage of men who would’ve tolerated what I put him through would be in the negative digits.

I chew on the inside of my cheek, pitting commonsense against desire.

The lumberjack tilts my chin until I have nowhere to look but at him. “Are you still scared of me?”

“No,” I say truthfully.

His face inches closer to mine, making my stomach dip with anticipation.

“Would you trust me enough to try something? I think it might help with your decision?”

Mesmerized by the steely gray of his gaze, I nod without thought.

Brose slowly dips his head to mine, his lips an inch away from my mouth. My pulse races, anxious and aroused. He’s close and yet too far.

“You push me away if you want to stop, ya got me? I won’t be hurt.”

My head nods as my body goes slack in Brose’s hold, ready to accept whatever it is he wants to try.

Brose doesn’t rush. He rubs his nose against mine, caressing me tenderly, intimately. His arm tightens a fraction around my waist while his thumb on his free hand brushes over my cheek in soothing strokes. This logger is gentle, attentive—the opposite of what I would expect from this burly man.

When his lips finally connect with mine, I melt.

His lips are pillow soft against mine, warm and enticing. I expected his beard to feel coarse against my skin, but it’s soft, conditioned, and smells of cedarwood. He effortlessly pulls me against his hard chest, molding his body against mine like we’re one.

With a slant of Brose’s heavenly mouth, he deepens the kiss. His drugging lips coax my mouth to part and his tongue to slip inside. A soft moan escapes me as I surrender to him, letting him lead.

The longer we kiss, the more desperate I become. My fingers fist into his thin t-shirt, holding on for dear life. I pant against Brose’s hot mouth as he alternates between full mouth kisses and soft pecks.

It drives me wild, bringing on a desire I haven’t felt with anyone before.

I need more.

I bite his bottom lip, tugging it between my teeth before releasing him. Brose hisses from the sting, gripping me around the waist and hauling me onto the island. He centers himself between my legs, his hand once cupping my face, now gripping me by the nape of my neck. His hold forces my head back, making me gasp. Brose plunges his tongue into my mouth, dominating me. I yield to him, letting him take his fill and in return he fills a want of mine—to be cherished.

I’ve never felt more loved in all my lack luster relationships combined as I do in this solitary moment with this bold mountain man.

Without warning, my emotions get the best of me and I cry. Nothing ugly, like snot sobbing. More like silent tears tracking slowly down my cheeks, almost like I’m relieved to have finally met a man who treats me as if I’m his world.

Brose doesn’t pull away or get disgusted as some men would with women’s tears. Instead, he moves his kisses from my lips to my tear-stained cheeks. Everywhere a teardrop is, Brose’s lips follow, kissing my sadness away.

When my eyes have dried, Brose holds me against him, his arms locked tight around me like he’s afraid I might slip away. He buries his face into my hair, breathing me in like his lungs can’t get their fill.

“Give me a chance, Aspen,” he husks against my ear.

My mouth opens on its own accord, saying words I never would’ve uttered before today.

“Alright, Brose. We can try.”