The morning sun spilled through the forest canopy, casting golden stripes across Jack Johnson’s workbench as he shaved down a slab of walnut wood. The scent of cedar, sweat, and sawdust lingered in the air like musk—thick and earthy. Jack’s shirt was off as usual, broad shoulders glistening with a thin sheen of sweat. His jeans hung low on his hips, tool belt slung around his waist like a badge of raw, masculine authority.
Just then, the crunch of tires on gravel turned his attention toward the cabin.
A familiar black SUV pulled up. Miranda stepped out slowly, her curves draped in a tight, cream-colored blouse that hugged her full breasts and a pencil skirt that did nothing to hide the way her hips swayed with each confident stride. Her dark sunglasses covered her eyes, but Jack could feel her gaze raking over him.
He didn’t stop working.
“Back for more wood?” he asked, not looking up.
Miranda’s lips curved into a slow, knowing smile. “You could say that.”
Jack wiped his hands on a rag, tossed it aside, and finally met her gaze. “I thought you and your family were just passing through.”
Miranda slid the sunglasses off her face, tucking them into her blouse, which dipped just enough to tease a peek of lace. “We were. But I couldn’t stop thinking about… craftsmanship. I wanted to see what else you had lying around.”
Jack stepped around the bench, letting his eyes trail down her body with no shame. “You want a tour of the workshop?”
She bit her lip. “Only if it ends where I think it will.”
Without another word, he opened the side door to the shop and let her inside. The room was dim and rich with the scent of finished wood and oil. Jack moved behind her, shutting the door with a heavy thud that echoed like a heartbeat.
Miranda turned slowly, facing him now. “You make everything by hand, right?”
Jack stepped closer, his chest brushing hers. “Every joint. Every curve.”
“Show me,” she breathed.
Their mouths met in a kiss that was hungry, deep, and thick with the kind of need that comes from sleepless nights and dirty daydreams. Jack’s hands slid up her thighs, under that skirt, feeling the lace of her panties already damp against his calloused palms.
“You wore these just for me?” he murmured against her neck.
Miranda nodded, gasping. “I couldn’t stop thinking about the other day. About how you handled me. Took me like I was the only woman on earth.”
He growled low in his throat. “You are, when you’re here.”
He lifted her effortlessly onto the heavy oak table—one he’d built himself—and tugged her panties down her legs. She gasped as the cool air hit her, but her hips rolled toward him like they had a mind of their own. Jack spread her legs, his eyes trailing up her body, admiring the view like an artist sizing up a masterpiece.
“You want me again,” he said, dragging his fingers slowly up her inner thigh. “Say it.”
“I need you,” she whispered, voice trembling. “God, Jack—I need you inside me.”
Jack didn’t make her wait. He undid his jeans, thick cock already rising to full attention, heavy and ready. He slid the tip along her slick folds, teasing her until her hips bucked.
Then he thrust in, slow and deep.
Miranda cried out, her back arching off the table. Jack grabbed her hips and started to move—long, deliberate strokes that made her legs shake and her breath catch.
“You fit so tight around me,” he groaned, biting her shoulder. “Like you were made for this.”
Her fingers tangled in his hair, her moans turning into pleading gasps. “Harder, Jack. Please—don’t hold back.”
He flipped her onto her stomach, yanked her skirt up around her waist, and took her from behind—rough, dominant, every thrust pressing her hips into the table. Her screams echoed in the shop, mixing with the slap of skin on skin and the rasp of Jack’s breath.
She was close. He could feel it. Her legs trembling. Her body clenching around him.
“I’m gonna—Jack—oh my God—”
She broke. Loud, shameless, soaking him as she came hard, her cries filling the room. Jack held her hips tight, fucking her through it until he finally let go, burying himself deep and groaning as his release filled her.
They collapsed together, bodies tangled, breathless.
Jack kissed her neck. “You came all this way just for that?”
Miranda laughed, breath still shaky. “For now.”
But just as she adjusted her clothes, smoothing her blouse and trying to gather herself again, Jack caught something out of the corner of his eye through the dusty window—movement.
His brow furrowed. He crossed the shop and pushed the door open just enough to see it.
There, parked discreetly in the woods not far off the trail, was a familiar SUV.
Jack narrowed his eyes. And then he saw her.
Delilah.
She was sitting behind the wheel, watching the shop. Her face flushed. Eyes wide. Lips parted like she was holding her breath. And when she saw Jack looking, she didn’t look away.
She just…smiled.
A slow, knowing smile.
Jack’s Page