Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 96312 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 482(@200wpm)___ 385(@250wpm)___ 321(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 96312 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 482(@200wpm)___ 385(@250wpm)___ 321(@300wpm)
Adrian stared at me in shock before barking out a laugh of disbelief. “You’re the one who’d have to carry my bloody carcass out of here. Be careful what you wish for.”
I hid a smile as I positioned the camera to capture a wide shot of the tree with Adrian beside it. Once the shot was set, I began recording and walked over to where he stood self-consciously holding the axe.
“First, you need to check which way the tree is likely to fall.” I demonstrated how to assess the tree’s natural lean. “You want it to come down away from you, obviously.”
“Obviously,” he echoed, eyeing the massive spruce with newfound respect.
“Then you need the right stance.” I planted my feet shoulder-width apart. “Stable but flexible. You don’t want to be caught off-balance when it starts to go.”
Adrian mirrored my position, looking more like he was posing for a lumberjack calendar than preparing to chop down a tree. His new boots sank deeper into the snow as he shifted his weight.
“Now what?” he asked, gripping the axe a little too tightly.
I moved behind him without thinking, reaching around to adjust his hands on the handle. “Left hand here, right hand here. You want a firm grip but not a death grip.”
The moment my chest pressed against Adrian’s back, I realized my mistake. The faint scent of that cologne I’d caught a few days ago—something expensive and subtle—filled my senses. I was suddenly acutely aware of how perfectly my height matched his, how easily my arms fit around him.
“Like this?” Adrian asked, his voice oddly tight.
“Yeah,” I managed, forcing myself to focus on the task. “Now, when you swing, it’s all in the hips and shoulders. Let the weight of the axe do the work.”
I guided him through a practice swing, my hands still covering his on the wooden handle. He was warm despite the cold and more solid than I expected. His body moved with mine through the arc of the swing… and his ass rubbed against my dick.
Even through forty-seven layers of outerwear, I felt it… and, god help me, I responded. A flicker of heat flared in my core, and all the blood in my body rushed south.
“I, uh… I think I’ve got it,” Adrian said quickly, stepping away.
“Yeah.” I took a deliberate step back, too, grateful for the cold air on my warm face. “No, yeah, absolutely. Just, ah, remember to aim for the same spot each time. You’re creating a notch, not randomly hacking at it.”
Adrian nodded, focused now on the tree rather than our uncomfortable proximity. He took a deep breath, raised the axe, and swung.
The blade connected with the trunk with a dull thud, barely sinking in before bouncing off.
“That was… pitiful,” I said, unable to hold back a laugh.
His eyes narrowed. “Test swing.”
Three more swings, three more underwhelming results. I bit my tongue but couldn’t keep from saying, “Not sure you need this many test swings.”
He bit out a curse and made a fourth attempt. This time, the blade finally bit into the bark with a satisfying thunk. Adrian’s face lit up with triumph, making my breath catch a little in the thin air.
“There you go,” I said. “Turns out, you just needed to be needled a little.”
“Fuck off,” he said with a laugh before hauling the axe back for another attempt.
I stepped behind the camera, adjusting the frame to capture his increasingly confident swings. Despite the ridiculous contrast of his luxury outfit against the rugged activity, he looked good. Natural, even. The determination on his face, the way his body had quickly adapted to the rhythm of the work—it made for compelling footage.
After about ten minutes of steady chopping, sweat glistened on his forehead despite the cold. He’d removed his camel coat and scarf, working in just the cream sweater that hugged his torso like a second skin. I tried not to notice how the physical exertion had brought a flush to his cheeks or how his hair had fallen across his forehead in a way that was frustratingly attractive.
“How much longer?” he asked, pausing to catch his breath. “This tree is tougher than it looks.”
“Welcome to real work,” I teased. “Not everything can be accomplished in a ninety-second clip.”
He shot me a look. “I’ll have you know I’ve done plenty of hard work in my life.”
“Lifting a pitcher of margaritas on a yacht doesn’t count.”
Adrian’s flushed cheeks darkened, which, of course, only made him more attractive. “Neither does being an ass, yet here you are, excelling at it.”
I grinned, enjoying our back-and-forth more than I should. “Keep chopping, city boy. You’re about halfway.”
Adrian rolled his shoulders and resumed his attack on the tree with renewed vigor. I captured his efforts on camera, occasionally offering guidance on his technique. The snow continued to fall more heavily around us, the light taking on that peculiar quality that comes before a serious storm.