Page 68 of Wolf It Down, Knot Me Up

Roman places his cup in the sink. “Okay, that’s our cue. We all clear on our running order?”

We nod as I smooth down my dress.

Wolf passes me, hand tenderly tracing my chin. “Do try to control yourself out there. I’ve seen firsthand how excited you get when we get shirtless with axes.”

“Very funny,” I mock as he lingers too long, tracing my jawline then my lips, and when he leaves my side, I already miss him.

Grayson loops an arm around my waist, drawing me against his chest, his mouth on my ear. “Let’s go have some fun.” I soften against him, inhaling that intoxicating, rich scent. “And you need to know that last night was rough for some of us.”

I swallow the thickness in my throat. “Perhaps this isn’t the best time to talk about that?” Here I am, trying to be casual, which is close to impossible with his hard body curled around mine, his erection pressing against my ass. How am I meant to have a sensible thought?

Instead of releasing me, he tightens his grip, his hot breath flaring across my neck. “I could lie and say you weren’t on my mind last night, except I jerked off way too many times, picturing your mouth on my cock, little bird.”

An inferno rushes through my body, and I find myself leaning back into him, desperately craving more contact, even if I’ve spent the day telling myself to keep my distance from them. “Are you trying to drive me crazy? Why would you say that?”

His lips brush across my ear. “I want it on your mind all day.” Then he lets me go, facing me, walking backward.

I’m left swooning from the loss of him, and he knows it by the slow grin at the corners of his mouth. He’s fully aware how difficult it’s becoming to resist these men.

Loud thundering sounds from the guests rushing downstairs, so we head out of the kitchen.

All six of them are dressed in shorts and hiking boots; some have sunglasses up in their hair, others wearing caps. The woman in front wears a tiny emerald tiara and a pink sash that reads, Debbie, the bride.

Grayson approaches them, shoulders back, head high. “Ladies, are you ready to discover the world of lumberjacks? To have the most amazing day of your lives?” He releases a whoop, and the women scream out in excitement in return.

I smile, loving to see them ready to have a fun day, though it’s impossible to ignore how each one of them leers at Grayson, checking him out head to toe. The green monster in my chest rears her head up, wanting to put a stop to this.

I step up alongside him. “Hello, everyone! I sure hope you’re all ready for all the fun. I’ll be with you for the festivities. Okay, shall we begin?”

They are all rushing out the door. The bride pauses at my side, whispering, “Are they real lumberjacks?”

“Every single day,” I answer.

“Steph,” she calls out to her friend. “They’re real!”

In no time, we’re outdoors, and they’re climbing into the large truck made for eight people, even if snug, and I get into the driver’s seat.

Grayson hurries out of the lodge, carrying two picnic baskets. He loads them into the back as one of the ladies in the back says, “For today, I’m not married.”

They all giggle, agreeing, and by the time Grayson climbs into the passenger’s seat, they fall silent, studying him.

“You’re a real lumberjack, then?” Steph asks.

“Yep, that’s me,” he answers with a grin.

“So you live out here in these woods?” another asks.

“Actually, I live in a wooden cabin.” He glances my way with a raised eyebrow, and I shake my head as I start up the engine. I hit the gas, and we’re following the track that takes us deeper into the woods.

“Aww, it must be lonely out there,” someone else says.

“Well, three of us live together, and we manage,” he explains, keeping his tone neutral, while the woman squeaks with excitement.

Fifteen minutes later, and a dozen more questions, and every lady in the back has grown loud. Once we take the last bend and emerge into a clearing, I park the truck.

Up ahead, Roman and Wolf are in the cleared area. Their sleeves are rolled, and they’re practicing moves with their axes. Roman swings long, his dark hair falling forward, and all those muscles tensing across his back with every strike. Wolf uses shorter swings, but twice as brutal. It’s impossible not to look at them and drool.

“Oh my God,” the bride squeaks from the back.