Page 15 of Teased By the Lumberjack

"Let me finish," I say gently. "I'm forty-three. You're twenty-four. That's not a small gap. When you're my age, I'll be pushing my second retirement."

"I don't care about that," she interrupts.

"But I do," I continue. "Because I need you to understand what you'd be signing up for. I'm set in my ways. Stubborn as hell. Not exactly the guy most young women picture building a future with."

She props herself up on one elbow, expression fierce. "First, don't tell me what 'most young women' want. Second, I know exactly who you are—the good, the bad, and the frustrating."

"Frustrating, huh?" I can't help the smile tugging at my lips.

"Incredibly." She pokes my chest. "You're opinionated, overconfident, and occasionally infuriating."

"Not really selling myself here?—"

"You're also passionate, principled, and surprisingly open-minded when you actually listen," she continues. "You care about preserving traditions that matter. You respect the forest in your own way. And when you look at me..." Her voice softens. "When you look at me, I feel seen in a way I never have before."

Something breaks open inside me—a dam holding back emotions I've kept locked away too long. "I see you," I whisper, cupping her face. "All of you. Not just the fiery ecologist, but the woman who migrated across the tent in her sleep to curl against me. Who defends mushrooms with the same passion others reserve for their children."

She laughs, the sound catching on what might be a sob. “So why does the age difference matter to you?”

"It matters because I want you to have everything you deserve," I explain. "A full life. Family, if you want it. Adventures. I don't want to hold you back."

"Has it occurred to you," she says, voice steady, "that you might be exactly what I need to move forward? That your experience complements my idealism? That we're stronger together?"

The echo of what we discussed about forest ecosystems isn't lost on me. "Like the hemlock and the cedar."

"Exactly." Her smile is brilliant. "Different species supporting each other, creating something more resilient than either could alone."

I pull her closer, inhaling the scent of summer leaves still clinging to her hair. "So what are you saying, Smokey? You want to take a chance on an old lumberjack?"

"You're not old," she scoffs. "Experienced. And yes, I'm saying I want us to build this together—the camp, the research, a life. I'm all in if you are."

My heart thunders inside me. "I've never been more certain of anything."

"Then it's settled." She seals the declaration with a kiss that starts gentle but quickly deepens, her body pressing against mine with newfound confidence.

When we break apart, breathless, she has a gleam in her eye that has my cock standing at attention.

"Now," she says, fingers working the buttons of my flannel, "I believe this room comes with one very important amenity we should take advantage of."

I raise an eyebrow and search around us. "I don’t see a ‘Magic Fingers’ vibrating bed console?"

She laughs, shoving my shoulder. "The shower, silly. A real, hot shower with actual water pressure."

"Ah." I capture her wandering hands. "Excellent suggestion."

I stand, pulling her up with me. We undress each other slowly, no urgency now—just the deliberate unveiling of what we've claimed as ours.

In the bathroom, steam billows as hot water fills the small space. I step in first, offering my hand to help her over the high edge of the tub. She joins me under the spray, sighing as water glides over her skin.

"Turn around," I murmur, reaching for the shampoo.

She complies, and I work the lather through her long hair, massaging her scalp with firm pressure. She melts against me, a soft moan escaping her lips.

"Goddamn, I love that sound," I growl.

She smiles as I rinse the suds away, watching copper strands darken to auburn under the water. Then I reach for the small bar of soap, working it between my palms until they're slick. Starting at her shoulders, I wash every inch of her—the sexy curve of her spine, the swell of her waist, and the lean strength of her thighs.

She turns in my arms when I finish, taking the soap from my hands. "My turn."

---