Page 9 of Protected By the Lumberjack
It's so much. So much sensation, so much to take in-- literally-- so much emotion to navigate my way through at finally feeling this man moving inside me. I drop back and rest my body on my elbows, awkwardly braced between the kitchen counter and the wall behind me.
The sound I hear myself make is something between a howl and a sob.
All I want is more.
More of Carver's hard body pounding into mine. More of his ragged breaths and the death grip on my hips that will probably leave marks. More of the rough words he grinds out in time with his thrusts and much, much, more of the pressure building inside me again.
"You're so fucking beautiful, baby."
One of Carver's hands reaches for my breast, kneading it and flicking a thumb over my sensitive nipple. His other handstill holding my hip tightly, pinning my body to the edge of the counter exactly where he needs it in order to angle his hard thrust up so that I can feel where the broad head of his dick is rubbing against my G-spot.
"You feel so fucking good on my cock..." He groans, his rhythm stumbling momentarily. "Fuck, do that again and I'll be hosing you down inside."
I don't know what I did. My senses are overwhelmed, the kitchen has gone black at the edges of my tunneling vision. I lean back, lost in watching Carver as he watches himself pistoning in and out of me where our bodies are joined.
Sweat drips from his brow, his jaw is tight, his eyes narrowed in pure concentration.
It's so fucking hot.
Somewhere in the distance of my climax, Carver makes an utterly agonized sound. He pushes deep and I feel his release. His entire body convulses with each pump as he fills me with his seed.
It feels like we're locked in this moment forever, but finally my own muscles relax and I collapse in my folded position with my torso bent between the counter and the wall. My legs wobble as my feet slip off the edge of the counter and dangle free on either side of Carver's broad body.
He doesn't pull out of me. Carver lays his head heavily against my breasts. For a long time, we lay tangled up like this, with neither of us indicating a desire to get more comfortable.
"I want to keep you, Honey." Carver's words are thick and slurred as he speaks them against my flushed skin. "I want to keep you right here, all wrapped up with me forever."
My fingers stroke his smokey gray hair.
I like his plan. I'm totally here for it.
Carver
As far as I'm concerned, it's a done deal. Honey has a name she likes hearing when I'm telling her how beautiful she is or how good it feels when I'm buried inside her.
She likes calling Moonshine Ridge home, and she's making friends in the town.
She's mine, plain and simple and when she's ready, I'll put a ring on her finger and we'll start making big decisions-- like which of the spare rooms is best suited to be a nursery.
Running my hand through my hair, I have to shake my head a few times like I'm trying to clear the sand out of it.
Fifty-three years on the planet, and I never thought I'd be considering such things. Never thought I was going to find a woman who made me want these kinds of thoughts in my head, let alone be happy to have them there.
Lifting the axe above my head, I bring it down hard, letting gravity and inertia carry the blade into the heart of the seasoned wood on the block. Two splits fall to either side and I place another piece on the block.
We're still working on putting together Honey's story. Since no one expected that there'd been a passenger on that plane, no one considered the crash a crime scene. Investigators concluded the fire was a lithium battery in the cargo area. They figure the fire broke out as the pilot was navigating through the mountain pass, caused her to panic and she must have made a bad maneuver that sent the plane smashing into the granite face of the mountain.
The whole scene was put down as a tragic accident. Any evidence that could have helped us discover Honey's identity has been lost or destroyed.
Her DNA turned up a couple of fourth cousins, but nothing that's led us to more information. No one's contacted the county sheriff's office. I understand there's some internet group of amateur sleuths who've taken up the case, but so far all we know is that Honey was on a small, private plane that was headed to Seattle from Billings, Montana.
Doctors tell us her memory will probably start coming back in patches as she works through the trauma of her ordeal and memories get triggered by little things that come up in daily life.
I saw some of that back in my military days; soldiers having to rediscover their own identities in drips and drabs after head injuries or just the trauma of watching your buddies cease to exist just for standing in the wrong place.
Compared to what my brothers saw, my time in the Corps was pretty dull, but "dull" in the mid-nineties was plenty enough to send most of us home with the kind of nightmares you never completely wake up from.
Whatever's buried in Honey's missing memory, we'll deal with it as it resurfaces. Together. Because she tells me there's nothing that would change her feelings for me, and I believe her.
