Page 15 of Wrong Number, Right Grumpy Lumberjack

"Condom," she murmurs against my mouth. "Please tell me you have a condom."

My wallet. Back pocket. I dig it out, strip off my jeans and boxer briefs while she watches with those green eyes trackingevery inch. My cock is hard, thick, straining. She reaches for it, wraps her fingers around the shaft, and the groan that tears out of me is obscene.

"Hattie."

"Just looking." She strokes once, slow. Twice. Her thumb swipes over the head and my hips jerk into her hand. "Making sure you're real."

"I'm real." I pull her hand away before I embarrass myself. Roll on the condom. Position myself between her thighs.

One long stroke. All the way in. She's tight and hot and still clenching from the orgasm, and the sound I make is not something I recognize. Her nails dig into my shoulders. My forehead drops to hers. Both of us breathing hard, adjusting, feeling every single inch.

"Oh fuck." Her voice is thin, wrecked. "Wal."

Long, deep thrusts. Slow at first because she feels too good to rush and I want to remember every second of this. Her hips rock up to meet each one, finding a rhythm with me. I hook my arm under her knee, open her wider, change the angle. She gasps and her eyes roll back.

My hand slides between us. Thumb finds her clit, already swollen. Firm circles timed with every thrust. She whimpers, wraps tighter around me, nails raking down my back.

"Harder," she whispers.

I give her harder. One hand gripping the headboard, the other between her thighs, my hips driving into hers. Deep, full strokes that shake the bed frame. She cries out and pulls my mouth down to hers, kissing me through the building wave, moaning against my tongue.

"Come for me, Hattie." My thumb presses harder, circles faster. "Let me feel it."

She breaks. Clamping down around my cock so hard my vision whites out. Her whole body seizing, back bowed, mouthopen on a scream she tries to muffle against my shoulder. I feel every pulse, every clench, her pussy milking me.

Two more strokes. I bury myself deep and come with her name on my tongue. Hard enough that my arms shake. Hard enough that the headboard cracks against the wall.

We collapse together. Breathing ragged. Her head on my chest, my fingers in her hair. Maple's nails click on the hallway floor, settle outside the door. The house is quiet around us in a way that doesn't feel empty. It feels full.

"Wal?" Her voice is sleepy already. Warm against my skin.

"Yeah."

"I'm really glad I typed the wrong number."

My arm tightens around her. I press my mouth to the top of her head. Close my eyes. Her heartbeat against my ribs, fast and slowing, matching mine.

"Me too, Hattie. Me too."

CHAPTER FOUR

HATTIE

Morning light through unfamiliar curtains. The smell of coffee from somewhere down the hall. A warm weight against my back that turns out to be Maple, who has apparently decided this bed is hers regardless of who else is in it.

Wal is gone. His side of the bed is cold, the pillow still dented. From down the hallway comes the faint sound of the coffee maker, a cabinet opening and closing. Quiet movements from a man who's used to being the only person awake in this house.

I stretch under the sheets, every muscle sore in the best possible way. My body remembers everything from last night. His hands, his mouth, the rough sound he made when he pushed inside me. The way he held me after, fingers tracing circles on my shoulder blade until I fell asleep.

Sitting up, I reach for my sundress on the floor. My phone is dead. My car is dead. My underwear is on the nightstand where Wal put it after pulling it off me with one hand, and I should be mortified but mostly I'm just smiling like an idiot.

The hallway is narrow, hardwood floors, framed photos on the wall. I slow down without meaning to.

Wal and a woman. Dark haired, pretty, laughing at something off camera. In the next frame, the same woman kneeling in a garden, dirt on her knees, holding up a tomato triumphantly. Then one of both of them on what looks like a porch, his arm around her, her head tilted onto his shoulder. She's thin. Beautiful. Wearing a yellow cardigan.

Cora.

More photos down the hall. A younger Wal with less gray, standing in front of the mill sign, Cora beside him with her hand on his chest. A wedding photo in a simple frame. She's in a white dress that looks vintage, wildflowers in her hands.