The Lumberfox (Geekrotica) Read Online Free Page A

button-down off his arms and stretched his shoulders as she tossed it aside. He was built, for a geek, but that went with everything else she'd seen of his life: thoughtful, beautiful, and not afraid of hard work. The tee stretched over his biceps, a few blank spaces on his arms showing skin still waiting for ink. She couldn't help herself—she traced fingers over his shoulders and down his pecs, dragging fingertips over ridged abs that thrilled her.
    She smirked. “Do you even lift, brah?”
    But before she could laugh, he'd yanked the cami up and over her head. With one muscled forearm behind her shoulders, he tenderly bulldozed her to the rug so that she lay on her back before the fire. His chest was even harder pressed on top of her, a hollow between his stomach and the soft curve of hers. One of his knees drug up between her thighs. Jesus, they were all lined up, and she was practically popping out of the demi cups of her bra as he devoured the skin from her throat in a straight line down to the cleft between her breasts.
    “No warning at all that time--”
    With a grunt of both satisfaction and want, he contracted away from her and flicked the button on her jeans, baring those two inches of flesh that were somehow the difference between Maybe and Oh, God, now .
    Putting his lips to her ear, he murmured, “The safe word is Wookiee.”
    With absolutely no irony, she cupped his jaw, fingers caught in his beard, likewise set her lips to his ear and whispered, “Laugh it up, fuzzball.”
    His growl was nothing like a Wookiee's, and he leaned full over her, lined up chest to feet, and took her mouth in a passionate kiss that somehow rendered all their previous kisses soft and sweet. She could barely breathe but for him, his breath and his skin and his scent surrounding her. Her leg clamped down over his and her hips pressed up against him. Her fingers searched under his tee shirt, climbing curves and hard ridges of muscle, tracing bones with heat and yearning. Goddamn, he was the hottest thing she'd ever seen and felt, the sexiest man she'd ever touched, and she could barely believe she'd ever assumed he was just a bad driver who didn't know how to deal with snow.
    Ryon Brubaker knew exactly how to deal with snow.
    And with bodies, considering how he was tracing the top curve of her breasts with his lips, slipping his tongue under the lacy edge of her bra as his cheek grazed her clavicles. She'd never made out with a guy with facial hair, and it was intriguing and erotic, the way the roughness scraped and enflamed in counterpoint to the softness of lips and tongue. The chill of the air, the heat of the fire, the strange place and her hunger: every sensation was heightened, combined, willing new nerves to fire and making her feel more alive than she had in forever. And that was before he edged down the bra cup and took her nipple in his mouth, grazing it lightly with his teeth.
    Tara's body arched up as jolts of pleasure burst and expanded.
    “Force lightning,” she moaned, and Ryon pulled away.
    “Are you... being clever?”
    Her smile curled up like a cat in a sunbeam. “Being cunning.”
    His eyes narrowed, his lips twitching into a wicked smirk.
    “I can be cunning, too—linguistically speaking. And you owe me another article of clothing...”
    Kissing down her stomach, he dipped his tongue into her navel for the briefest moment before grasping her zipper with his teeth and tugging it down. She gasped and arched her back as he tugged the tight jeans down around her hips and over her butt, lifting her legs straight up as he slipped them off and tossed them on the pile of clothes.
    “Ballerina?” he asked, massaging the arches of her feet as she pointed her toes.
    Tara snorted, lifted her arms overhead, and extended her body out flat so that her arms and legs hovered over the ground, stick straight. “Diving team.”
    She didn't remember that she was in nothing but bra and panties until he ran his fingertips