Page 6 of Rescued By the Lumberjack
I roll us both away from the edge, but I can't let go of her yet. All I can do is hold her tight against me, feeling more possessive of the stranger than I've got a right to.
Loosening my grip on her just enough to give her a once over, I only have a few seconds to take in the hair that's come loose from what might have started off as a sleek pony tail, the rounded face with the lightest of freckles scattered across the bridge of her nose, the thick black lashes that contrast againstbright blue eyes, all the pretty features behind the smudges of dirt tracked with tear stains, some nasty-looking scrapes, and bruises that are already dark enough to make me wonder how long she's been down there.
Her eyes find mine and then, before I can utter a word, she lays a set of pillowy lips against mine in a kiss that breaks my mind and lights my body on fire.
I'm on my back in the dirt, my knees bent up and my feet flat on the ground with the woman of my dreams sprawled out across my chest, her hands wrapped around my neck like she thinks she's gotta force me to kiss her.
I should be prying her off me. I should be checking her for dehydration, signs of snake bite, or broken bones. I should be asking her what her fucking name is.
Instead, I put my hands on the sides of her head and cradle her sweet face while I kiss her back like I own her.
Her lips soften against mine, her pressure letting up to let me take control. I can taste the metallic flavor of raw skin where she must have split her lower lip as I press my tongue into her mouth.
She meets me easily, sliding her tongue with mine as her hands move up the back of my neck into my hair.
When she moans into our kiss, my dick decides that's the permission he's been waiting on, engorging completely and thickening behind my fly.
I don't remember where I am, or how I got here, or the fact that I don't even know this woman's name yet. I know she's mine and I know she's just as in this moment as I am.
When I roll to one side, however, the spell breaks.
"Ow! Fuck! Ow!"
My girl breaks her sweet lips away from mine with a jolt and a harsh cry of pain that quickly fills her pretty eyes with tears.
"Shit, sorry...fuck," I throw apologies at her and mutter curses to myself. "Are you okay? What hurts? Is anything broken? Did you get bit by a snake? Do you need me to call for an airlift?"
I immediately put distance between our bodies, allowing the girl some room to sit up while I kneel in front of her to inspect her wounds.
Her shirt's torn over her right shoulder; same side as the scrape on her cheek. Further investigation shows more torn clothing along the right side of her body-- a cut on her full hip, a nasty rip across her knee, a long section of fabric along the outside of her thick thigh that's not torn through, but looks beat up.
"I don't think anything's broken, no," she moves her arms and wiggles her fingers. As she demonstrates her ability to properly flex and bend joints in all the right places, she moves her feet apart, widening her knees to make room for me to take a closer look at the mean-looking gash on her shoulder.
She gazes up at me with so much trust in those blue eyes, and with her knees wide like they are, and the view of full tits stuffed into some sort of sport bra that has her cleavage pushed tight and running damn near up to her neck has my dumbass, caveman brain think about a dozen other things I'd like to be doing while I'm kneeling between those curvy thighs.
"Doesn't look bad enough for stitches," I tell her after I've forced my brain out of the most inappropriately timed gutter-dive of my life and taken a serious look at her injuries. "Let's get you home so I can wash those out and dress 'em up properly."
Notice I skipped the introductions and didn't mention letting her drive out of here on her own?
Yeah. So did I.
I'm in deep already and now that the adrenaline rush is over, I need to make sure that kiss wasn't a fluke.
Chapter Four
Phoenix
My rescuer kneels in the dirt and gravel and scowls as he gently lifts away the torn edges of my clothing to inspect the scrapes and bruises underneath.
His hands are so big and warm, covered in rough calluses that catch in the nylon hiking clothes I'm wearing and leave trails of tiny tingles where they graze my unharmed skin.
His dark eyes are kind, despite the scowling, and tiny creases have begun to settle into the corners, making me wonder if he's older than he looks. Dark hair lays in a scattered pattern on his head, damp with sweat along the top of his forehead and mussed from my fingers and no doubt from crawling on the ground to save me.
My eyes can't manage to stay off his lips though. Full and firm behind the dark beard, and even though the whole side of me feels like I get hit by a sledge hammer and I know he's right when he says we need to get the scrapes washed and bandaged, all I really want is to kiss him again.
"Leave it," Adam commands when we reach the bottom of the trail and he sees me start limping toward my car. "You ride with me. We'll come back later for it."
Somewhere between the kiss, his assessment of my wounds, and the remaining half mile or so back to the parking area, we finally got around to introducing ourselves.
