Page 8 of Liberated By the Logger

When I rub between her legs, she moans, biting her plump bottom lip.

“I’m sorry,” I say sincerely, hoping she doesn’t think me a creepy old man trying to cop a feel.

With her mostly dry, I lift her back into my arms. Her head lolls against my arm, her pretty green eyes now closed. I carry her into my room, setting her gently on the king-size bed. She moans, but doesn’t move.

My mind races, seeing her slight frame sprawled on my bed.

I’ve never had a woman inside my home before, let alone in my bed. When I want to get my rocks off, I go into town and find a willing woman for the night, opting to stay in hotels. It makes the morning after less dramatic when we part ways.

It’s been months since I last had the urge to have sex, too damn busy with the startup logging business to think of my personal needs outside of the necessities.

Seeing this pretty little thing naked and spread out on my bed has me turning away with a curse. I should not be thinking about getting my dick wet with a vulnerable woman in my care. It’s not right, and she certainly doesn’t deserve it.

Scrubbing my hands down my face, I do my best to ignore the ache in my balls.

Clothes! She needs to be covered before my eyes wander back toward her exposed body. I tug open my dresser drawers to see what might fit her.

Willing my cock to settle down, I hold up a pair of sweats that may work.

Taking a quick peek over my shoulder to where the slumbering woman lies, I quickly determine the sweats will slip right off her. I’m a big dude, weighing in at two-twenty and measuring six-three. She’s at least a foot shorter, weighing one-twenty sopping wet.

Dropping the sweats, I opt for a long sleeve Henley shirt. It will swallow her whole, but that’s the point—keeping her tight little body covered from my eyes while keeping her as warm as possible.

Dressing a sleeping woman is the equivalent of wrangling a limp noodle. It’s a bit of a struggle, but I manage. As soon as she’s covered, I consider tucking her into my bed before thinking better of it. Waking up in a stranger’s bed wearing different clothes than what they last remembered wearing would terrify anyone.

Her teeth chatter, alerting me she’s not as warm as she should be. I toss my down comforter over her, haul her back into my arms, and head for the living room. I lay her on one of the two leather couches I have, brushing her wet hair away from her face. She smiles in her sleep, leaning her soft cheek into my palm.

Fuck me, she’s gorgeous. Like drop dead gorgeous. She’s got the natural beauty women pay money for. High cheekbones, thick dark lashes, and a heart-shape face sporting some full pale pink lips. I already know her eyes are the most beautiful green spheres I’ve laid eyes on, and her body is lithe and curvy in all the right places.

She’s breathtaking. And she’s relying on me.

Her teeth chatter again.

I sigh, reluctantly pulling my hand back. She needs more warmth.

Within minutes, I have a fire roaring in the fireplace. The couch she lies on is pushed as close to the fire as I feel is safe. She seems content, slumbering peacefully in my home.

As a final touch, I place a glass of ice water on a coaster on the end table nearest her. She will wake up parched from her harrowing experience on the mountain.

The wind howls outside, and thunder shakes my cabin. The weather is getting worse. It’s a good thing I brought her to my home instead of fighting the rain into town. We’re safe here and she’s comfortable—more comfortable than what a sterile hospital could give her. If the power goes out, my generator will keep my heavier appliances going, the log burning fireplace will keep us warm, and I have plenty of candles to light the rooms.

I take a moment to watch over her, to make sure she’s truly okay. It would be a lie if I said my hovering was only to insure she’s safe. Her beauty is alluring, but it’s more than her looks calling to me.

For whatever reason, I feel overprotective of her. Dare I say, territorial. Strange, considering I do not know who she is, nor do I know anything about her.

Still, there’s something about this woman that sucks me right in.

Shaking my head at myself, I force my feet to turn away from the sleeping beauty. There’s a lot I need to do to make my house guest comfortable when she wakes.

While she rests, I clean my master bathroom and mop up the wet oak floors leading into my cabin. I prefer my home spotless and sorted, but knowing there’s a lady in the house, I want my space to be presented at its best.

As good as she looks in my Henley, I toss her clothes in the wash, assuming she’ll want to be dressed in her own clothes once she’s awake.

After I get the laundry going, I make my way into the kitchen to prepare a meal. No doubt, my woman will be hungry once she wakes.

Whoa there now! My woman? Seriously, what is wrong with me? I’ve been in her presence less than a couple of hours and I’m already claiming ownership of her?

Shaking my head at my ridiculousness, I reach into the fridge to retrieve a pound of ground venison for dinner this evening. Considering the temperature has dropped dramatically with the storm, I opt for chili—easy, tasty, and filling. The sourdough rising in the bowl I prepared from the day before will be the perfect addition to the meal.