Page 27 of Challenged By the Rugged Lumberjack

"Its own," I repeat, tears threatening at the simple inclusion. Two days ago, I was a stranger here. Now I'm being claimed, protected, welcomed.

"And you're mine now," he adds, voice dropping to a register that sends heat spiraling through me. "If you want to be."

In answer, I rise onto my toes and press my mouth to his. This kiss is different—not a question or a revelation, but a promise. His arms come around me, lifting me slightly as he deepens the kiss. I wrap my arms around his neck, pressing as close as my slightly rounded belly allows, wanting to feel every inch of him against me.

We move together, stumbling slightly, until my back meets the wall. Josh braces one hand beside my head, the other still at my waist, his body a wall of heat and strength before me. He kisses like a man starved, with an intensity that makes my knees weak and my pulse thunder in my ears.

"I've never met anyone like you," I gasp when we break for air. "Never felt this way."

"Me neither," he murmurs against my throat, his beard a delicious friction against sensitive skin. "Never wanted anyone before. Not like this."

The admission stuns me momentarily. "Never? You're a virgin?"

He shakes his head, "I am. Never had a relationship. Never wanted one, either. Not until you walked up to my door."

This knowledge—that I'm his first, that this powerful, beautiful man has waited thirty-eight years for this connection—has my pussy throbbing and begging for his touch. I kiss him again, hungrier now, more demanding, and feel his response in the groan that rumbles through his chest.

We move away from the wall, still kissing, hands exploring with increasing urgency. I tug at his flannel shirt, and he helps me push it from his shoulders, revealing the t-shirt beneath and the tattooed arms I've been admiring since yesterday morning. My cardigan follows, then his t-shirt, revealing the broad expanse of his chest with its light dusting of dark hair, the continuation of the tattoos I glimpsed earlier.

"You're gorgeous," I breathe, running my hands over the defined muscles of his chest and abdomen. "So beautiful."

A flush darkens his cheeks—embarrassment at the praise, perhaps, or simply the heat of arousal.

"Look who's talking," he murmurs, his hands spanning my waist, thumbs brushing the underside of my breasts through my dress. "Wanted to touch you since I first saw you. Couldn't stop thinking about it."

We stumble down the hallway toward his bedroom, kisses growing more desperate with each step. At his door, he pauses, looking down at me with a question in his eyes—one last chance to change my mind, to slow down, to reconsider.

In answer, I take his hand and pull him into the darkness beyond.

The bedroom is bathed in silver moonlight filtering through half-drawn curtains, casting Josh's body in dramatic shadows ashe closes the door behind us. My heart pounds against my ribs, desire and tenderness tangling together in my chest. We stand facing each other, breathless from kissing, our lips swollen, cheeks flushed.

"Is this okay?" he asks, his deep voice roughened with want but still careful, still considerate.

"More than okay," I assure him, reaching for the hem of my dress and pulling it over my head.

His sharp intake of breath is audible in the quiet room as I stand before him in just my bra and panties. His eyes travel over me with such reverence that I feel beautiful despite the stretch marks on my hips from my pregnancy with Mason, despite the slight roundness of my belly where our second child grows.

"Your turn," I whisper, nodding toward his jeans.

He hesitates only a moment before unbuttoning them and pushing them down his muscular legs. Now he stands in just black boxer briefs that do little to hide his arousal, his broad chest rising and falling with each deep breath. The moonlight traces the contours of his tattoos—the tree that spreads across his shoulder and ribs, the timepiece circling his bicep, and others I couldn't see before.

I step closer, place my palm against his chest, feeling his heart thundering beneath my hand.

"You're nervous," I observe softly.

He nods, swallowing hard. "I’ll probably suck at this."

"We'll go slow," I promise, pressing a gentle kiss to his chest. "And if you want to stop at any point—"

"I won’t," he interrupts, his hands finding my waist, fingers splaying across my skin. "Just... afraid."

I smile up at him, touched by his vulnerability. "Let me lead, then."

I guide him to sit on the edge of the bed, his knees parting to make space for me as I stand between them. Like this, even seated, he's nearly at eye level with me—a powerful reminder of his size, his strength. I run my fingers through his dark hair, tilting his face up to mine for a slow, deep kiss that has him gripping my hips tighter, pulling me closer.

When I break the kiss, I hold his gaze as I sink to my knees before him. His eyes widen, pupils dilating until only a thin ring of brown remains.

"Elisa, you don't have to—"

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