Wedding Night | Timber Creek
The rain tapped a soft, syncopated rhythm on the cabin roof, a sultry prelude to what was unfolding inside. Rosie stood at the foot of the bed in a white silk slip so thin it clung to her curves like a second skin, the hem teasing the tops of her thighs. Her nipples, hard and desperate for attention, pressed against the fabric, betraying the arousal simmering beneath her calm exterior. Her bare feet sank into the plush rug, but the real heat was how Harry Cole’s eyes devoured her from the bed.
Something in him shifted—something primal, possessive, fucking feral. He didn’t move quickly; no, Harry Cole didn’t rush. He unfolded from the bed like a predator rising to its full height, his every movement deliberate, calculated. He towered over her, his presence overwhelming, and Rosie felt her breath catch in her throat.
He reached out, his hand—so fucking massive—cupping her jaw, his thumb brushing over her bottom lip. His touch was possessive, claiming, and it made her feel small, vulnerable, and fucking owned. “Say it again.”
Her throat bobbed as she swallowed hard. “I’m yours, Harry.”
“Damn right you are,” he growled, and then he was on her.
His mouth crashed down on hers in a kiss that was all heat and hunger, his tongue sweeping into her mouth with a dominance that left her gasping. He didn’t rush, didn’t force—he just took, slow and sure, like he already knew every inch of her belonged to him. His hands were everywhere—gripping her hips, sliding up her back, digging into the soft flesh of her ass as he lifted her effortlessly. Her legs wrapped around his waist instinctively, her core grinding against the hard plane of his abs as he carried her to the bed.
He laid her down like she was something precious, something sacred, but the look in his eyes was pure fucking filth. His hands were rough and reverent as they peeled the silk slip from her body, his touch burning her skin as he revealed every inch of her. Her tits bounced free, nipples hard and begging for his mouth, and she arched into him as his hands roamed over her curves.
The rain outside was a distant memory now; inside the cabin, the world had narrowed to just the two of them. Harry pulled her closer, his cock already hardening against her thigh as he whispered filthy promises in her ear. Rosie knew one thing for certain: she was his, body and soul, and he wasn’t done with her yet. Not by a long shot.
The rain hammered the cabin roof like a relentless drumbeat, a wet, rhythmic symphony that paled in comparison to the carnality unfolding inside. Rosie lay on the bed, her body a fucking masterpiece draped in a sheer white silk slip that clung to her like a second skin, teasing every curve and dip. The hem flirted with the soft skin of her thighs, barely covering the sweet, hidden treasure between her legs. Her tits, pert and needy, strained against the fabric, her nipples stiff little peaks begging for attention, but the real heat was in the way Harry Cole’s eyes devoured her from the bed.
Harry was a fucking beast of a man—a lumberjack carved from sweat, muscle, and raw fucking desire. His chest was bare, the firelight dancing over the chiseled ridges of his abs, and the dark trail of hair that disappeared into the waistband of his jeans, which hung so low they were practically a fucking invitation. His arms, thick and roped with muscle, were crossed, but his fingers twitched like he was already imagining them on her body, gripping her hips, pinning her down, owning her. His blue eyes burned with a hunger that made Rosie’s pussy clench, and the rough stubble on his jaw only added to the raw, animalistic energy radiating from him.
“I thought you’d be halfway out the window by now,” Harry drawled a low, gravelly growl that vibrated straight to her core. “Figured you’d at least try.”
Rosie swallowed hard, her toes curling into the rug as her body betrayed her with a shiver of anticipation. “I almost did,” she admitted, her voice trembling.
His gaze sharpened, piercing her like a fucking arrow. “But I didn’t,” she whispered, stepping closer. The hem of her slip twisted nervously between her fingers. “I don’t want to run tonight.”
“Why not?” he asked, his voice calm, but there was a fucking typhoon brewing beneath it—a storm of need and possession.
She met his eyes, her heart pounding like a drum. “Because I’m yours.”
And that was it. Something in him fucking snapped—something primal, possessive, utterly fucking feral. He didn’t move quickly; no, Harry Cole didn’t rush. He unfolded from the bed like a predator rising to its full height, every motion deliberate, calculated. He towered over her, his presence overwhelming, and Rosie felt her breath catch in her throat.
“You say that like you mean it,” he growled, his voice a deep, throaty rumble that sent molten heat pooling between her thighs.
“I do,” she breathed, her voice barely audible over her heart pounding.
He reached out, his massive hand cupping her jaw, his thumb brushing her bottom lip. His touch was possessive, claiming, and it made her feel small, vulnerable, and utterly fucking owned. “Say it again.”
Her throat bobbed as she swallowed hard. “I’m yours, Harry.”
“Damn right you are,” he snarled, and then he was on her.
His mouth crashed down on hers in a kiss that was all heat and hunger, his tongue sweeping into her mouth with a dominance that left her gasping for air. He didn’t rush, didn’t force—he just took, slow and sure, like he already knew every fucking inch of her belonged to him. His hands were everywhere—gripping her hips, sliding up her back, digging into the soft flesh of her ass as he lifted her effortlessly. Her legs wrapped around his waist instinctively, her core grinding against the hard plane of his abs as he carried her to the bed.
He laid her down like she was something precious, something sacred, but the look in his eyes was pure fucking filth. His hands were rough and reverent as they peeled the silk slip from her body, his touch burning her skin as he revealed every inch of her. Her tits bounced free, nipples hard and begging for his mouth, and she arched into him as his hands roamed over her curves.
“You’ve been mine since the second you sassed that carnie,” he growled against her neck, his teeth grazing her pulse point. “You just didn’t know it yet.”
She laughed, breathless, her fingers digging into his shoulders. “You’re still mad about that?”
“I’m not mad,” he said, his eyes glowing with a hunger that made her pussy ache with need. “I’m proud. You gave me hell, Rosie. But you’re mine now. And I’m gonna show you what it means to be taken care of.”
What followed was a slow, relentless fucking that left her trembling and desperate. His mouth was everywhere—on her tits, her neck, her thighs—his tongue licking and sucking until she was a writhing mess beneath him. He worshipped every scar, every freckle, like they were his personal fucking treasures, and when he finally pushed into her, it was with a possessive growl that sent shockwaves through her body.
“Mine,” he snarled, his thrusts deep and deliberate, each one hitting that sweet spot that made her scream. She clawed at his back, her nails leaving marks as she begged for more, and he gave it to her—every inch of his thick cock stretching her, filling her, making her feel things she didn’t even know were possible.
Hours later, when they were both spent and sweaty, he held her close, his large hand splayed across her back, covering the constellation of freckles she’d always been self-conscious about. With him, she felt beautiful, seen in a way she’d never experienced before.
“Still feel like running?” he murmured against her hair.
She looked up at him, her eyes glassy but clear. “No. I want to stay. Always.”
“Good,” he said, his voice a low rumble that promised forever. “Because I never planned on letting you go.”
But Harry wasn’t done with her yet. Not even close. His cock was already hardening against her thigh as he rolled her onto her back once more, his mouth claiming hers in a filthy kiss that left her gasping. His hands roamed her body with a possessiveness that made her shiver, his touch igniting every nerve ending. He slid down her body, his tongue tracing lazy circles around her nipples before sucking them into his mouth with a hunger that made her moan.
“Harry,” she whimpered, her hands tangling in his hair as he continued his slow descent.
When he reached her pussy, he didn’t hesitate. His tongue swiped through her folds with a precision that made her cry out, his lips closing around her clit as he sucked and teased until she was trembling on the edge. He fucked her with his tongue, delving deep before pulling back to focus on her clit, alternating between soft flicks and hard sucks until she was begging for release.
“Come for me,” he growled against her pussy, and she obeyed, shattering in a wave of pure ecstasy as he continued to devour until every last drop had been wrung from her.
But Harry wasn’t content to leave it there —oh no. As soon as she had come down from her high, he flipped onto his back, pulling her atop him so she sat atop him. "Ride me." He rasped gripping onto hands and hips and guiding them onto his throbbing cock before sinking down inch by excruciatingly delicious inch until she sat flush against him filling herself entirely with all of girth.
Rosie moaned loudly, throwing her head back, arching her chest forward, hands clutching onto shoulders for balance began moving hips rolling them slowly at first savoring the sensation thick length stretching walls hitting places inside never knew existed began increasing pace bouncing up down impaling herself onto him over again creating lewd symphony slapping skin moans filled air around them.
"Fuck yes," Harry groaned through gritted teeth bucking hips meeting thrusts holding onto waist tightly ensuring took every single millimeter within himself watching expression pure ecstasy painted across face knew exactly what doing driving wild with pleasure.
Rosie rode him like possessed animal demanding giving nothing less everything power strength endurance had until finally screamed out name clenching tightly around cock milking every drop seed from depths core collapsing atop exhausted spent bodies trembling aftershocks coursing through both them still connected intimately huddled together beneath covers warmth shared between entwined limbs listening rain patter outside knowing nothing else mattered but moment together now forevermore bound by passion love desire unbreakable bond forged through fire lust eternal union souls intertwined hearts beating rhythm one never separate always belong each other till end time itself ceased exist...
As the storm raged on, Harry cradled Rosie against his chest, his heartbeat a steady rhythm beneath her ear. His fingers traced lazy patterns along her spine, each touch a silent claim. She'd never felt so utterly possessed, so completely cherished.
"I never thought I'd be here," she whispered against his skin, her voice soft in the darkness. "In this cabin, with you—married."
His hand paused its gentle exploration of her back, moving to tilt her chin up until their eyes met. Even in the dim light, she could see the intensity in his gaze.
"Having second thoughts already, Mrs. Cole?" There was a hint of teasing in his voice, but something deeper lurked beneath—a vulnerability he rarely showed.
Rosie smiled, pressing her palm against his cheek. "Not a single one. Just... processing. I spent so long running, never staying anywhere long enough to matter. And now..."
"And now you're stuck with me," Harry finished, his lips curving into that devastating half-smile that had first caught her attention at the carnival. "In this cabin, in these woods, for good."
Have you Read book 1? The Lumberjack's Wild Bride: Timber Creek Discipline
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