The axe slams down again.Crack.
Her breath catches.
And fuck me, but I no longer give a flying fuck about this log.
It’s not wood I want to split.
It’s her. My petal. Wide open.
The axe lands with one last crack. The log parts, halves tumbling to either side, but I don’t reach for another.
I can’t.
Because all I see is her.
My petal, sprawled on the blanket, the morning light catching her hair, her lips parted. She’s flushed from more thanthe mountain air. Her thighs squeeze and twitch and release, restlessness and horniness betraying her.
I prop the axe on my shoulder and stalk to her.
Her breath catches all over again as she looks from the sharp blade to me.
“You didn’t answer me before. Are you enjoying the show?” My voice is low, gravel.
She swallows hard, and I catch the tip of her tongue resting against her bottom lip. Jesus, I’d give both pinkies to suck on it. “Maybe.”
I crouch over her, one hand braced on the knob of the axe. She doesn’t move to scramble away, and that pleases me more than I want to admit. Although I’d enjoy catching her too if she did.
“You like that.” I lower my mouth close to her ear, sniffing, catching the faint sweetness of her arousal mixed with her shampoo. “You like being my petal?”
Her voice trembles. “I…work with flowers. Always have. They’re my whole life.”
“Hmm, my pretty florist.” My whole body is ablaze. Does she have the faintest idea how fucking perfect she is? I surge close enough to pick out the hints of gold in her eyes. “Show me your beautiful body, Lily.”
Her blush spreads down her neck. She shakes her head, hugging herself. “No. I…can’t out here. What if someone sees?”
“There’s no one here but us,” I growl. “My mountain, my trees. My fucking air, petal.”
She shivers at the name. Her lips part, eyes glistening. But she still looks nervous.
“Did you forget that I saw you…all of you last night?”
Her color deepens, and a shadow crosses her face. “I know, but that was at night, and not everything looks…great in the daylight.”
Fury and jealousy snap through me. My chest heaves. “You better not be repeating shit that fucking idiot fucker said to you,” I warn, the growl already in my throat.
Her blush deepens, and before she can look away, I crouch even closer, grab one thigh, and urge it wide.
The sun beats down, sweat sliding off my shoulders as I shove the other thigh open, pinning it with one knee on the blanket.
The bottom of the T-shirt still covers her. When I reach for it, she makes a sound, half protest, half needy.
“I need you to stay really still, petal. Will you do that for me?”
Her beautiful eyes snag hard on mine. She’s torn between refusing and embracing what I have in store for her.
“Remember last night? How good it felt?”
She makes another sound, and her head bobs. “Yes.”
