Page 4 of Praised By the Lumberjack

"I did it!" she exclaims, her blue eyes sparkling with excitement and accomplishment. She bounces on her toes, her red curls – and tits – bouncing with her. "I can't believe I actually hit the target twice in a row!"

I can't help but mirror her smile, feeling a ridiculous sense of pride. "You did great, Hazel. Good girl."

A tiny quivering gasp escapes her lips.

"Why don't you come by tomorrow? It's slow on Mondays and I could coach you some more. Maybe you're good enough to join the league." I say the words before I can stop myself, my heart pounding in my chest.

I'm not just talking about the axe-throwing league anymore. I'm talking about something else entirely. Something primal and raw. Something that has to do with the way she feels against me, the way her breath hitches when I'm close to her, the way her eyes darken with desire.

Hazel's eyes widen in surprise, her cheeks flushing a darker shade of pink. "The league?" she repeats.

I nod, my gaze locked onto hers. "Yeah, the axe-throwing league." We both know that's not what I'm talking about anymore.

"Sure," she says. She glances over at my clients, who, although they have beers to drink, are obviously getting impatient. "I think you should get back to work. I'll see you tomorrow?"

"I wouldn't miss it, Hazel."

three

Hazel

Isuckinanervous breath as I stand outside of Timber!

It's Monday afternoon, and the parking lot looks pretty empty. Flint wasn't joking about it being quiet. There are only two other vehicles in the lot, and the place seems almost deserted from the outside.

Flint said he'd be here around noon, and my watch tells me it's almost exactly that. I push open the door to Timber!.

Flint's not at the counter or by the aisles. I scan the room, wandering past the bar until I hear the sound of an axe hitting wood. I push open the door that reads 'PRIVATE PARTY ROOM.'

Flint is there, his plaid shirt unbuttoned and his muscular chest glistening with sweat as he throws axe after axe. He's training. He doesn't see me standing in the doorway, so I take a moment to appreciate the view. His muscles shift and flex with each throw, his shoulders moving in a fluid rhythm. He's a true lumberjack, a master of his craft. I can't take my eyes off him.

He finally notices me, a smirk spreading across his face as he catches my gaze. "You made it," he says, wiping the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. He pulls his shirt off completely, revealing a sweat-soaked undershirt that clings to his chest. I gulp, trying to keep my composure.

"I said I would, didn't I?" I offer a small smile, trying to play it cool. But my heart is pounding in my chest like a drum.

Flint walks over to me, his bare feet padding softly on the sawdust-covered floor. He extends his hand, his fingers brushing against mine as he helps me step up onto the throwing line. "So, you ready to learn?"

I swallow hard, trying to ignore the electric tingle that's coursing through my veins. 'Yes, oh God, yes, teach me. Teach me everything you know.' This is what I want to say, but instead, I settle for something less daring. "Yes, please."

Heat surges between us. He's so close. I can see the sweat beading on his chest, the way his muscles ripple with every movement, the way his eyes darken as they roam over my face. My heart is pounding in my chest, and I'm sure he can hear it.

"Alright, let's start with the basics," he says, his voice low and husky. He lifts an axe from the rack, his fingers brushing against mine in the process. I shiver at the contact, my breath hitching slightly.

Flint pays me a small smile, his eyes crinkling at the corners, before stepping back to demonstrate the proper stance. I mimic his movements, my body swaying gently as I bring the axe back over my head.

"Good," Flint murmurs, his gaze intense as he watches my every movement. "Now, follow through."

I release the axe, and it spins through the air before embedding itself in the target with a satisfying thud. I turn to face Flint, a grin spreading across my face.

"Good girl," he says. "You really are a natural."

I can barely suppress a whimper when he praises me. It makes heat bloom between my legs and my stomach twist.

Flint's eyes flick down to my lips as he takes a step closer. "Hazel," he says, choosing his words carefully. "Do you like it when I praise you?"

"Yes, you're a good teacher," I say.

"Would you like me to teach you anything else?" His lips slowly curl into a seductive smirk.

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