It had been three days since Jack’s last visitor—a freshly divorced art teacher who’d barely made it out of his bed before crawling back in for “one more round.” Jack had spent the last day alone, shirtless and covered in sawdust, shaping a new dining table from thick slabs of cedar. The smell of fresh-cut wood filled his workshop, blending with the piney scent of the forest that surrounded his secluded home. His muscles flexed with every movement, glistening with sweat in the golden afternoon light.
That’s when he heard the crunch of gravel under boots.
He didn’t need to look. Jack had a sixth sense for when company was coming. And this particular set of footsteps… slow, deliberate, heavy… had a different rhythm. Masculine. Confident. Curious.
When he finally turned, Jack saw the park ranger standing at the edge of the clearing, leaning on the gate with one hand. Tall, tan, and built like he’d been carved out of the same trees Jack used for furniture. He wore the uniform well—dark green pants hugging thick thighs, boots muddy from a day in the woods, and that tight beige shirt stretched across a broad chest. His name tag read: Logan Rivers.
“Afternoon,” Logan said, eyes trailing down Jack’s bare torso. “Didn’t realize the town lumberjack worked with his shirt off.”
Jack wiped the sweat from his brow and smirked. “Only when it’s hot. You here on official business, Ranger?”
Logan stepped forward, one brow raised, mouth quirking in a half-smile. “I was doing my rounds. Got curious about the smoke I saw from your chimney last night. Figured you were either hosting someone… or burning the sheets.”
Jack chuckled, voice deep and gravelly. “Maybe both.”
There was a beat of silence—charged, electric. Logan’s eyes didn’t leave Jack’s. Neither of them looked away.
“You thirsty?” Jack asked, finally breaking the tension.
Logan nodded once. “Sure.”
Inside the cabin, Jack handed him a cold beer and leaned against the countertop, arms crossed, abs tight, not bothering to put a shirt on. Logan took the bottle but didn’t drink. Instead, he stepped closer, his eyes lingering over the sweat on Jack’s chest.
“You always this welcoming?” Logan asked, voice lower now.
Jack stepped forward too, closing the space between them. “Only to the ones who look like they can handle it.”
Their breath mingled—hot, sharp. And then Jack grabbed Logan’s shirt and yanked him into a kiss. Rough. Dominant. All tongue and teeth. Logan moaned into his mouth, his beer forgotten, bottle thudding to the floor as he grabbed Jack’s sides, feeling the thick muscle flex under his palms.
Jack spun him around and shoved him up against the cabin wall, pressing his body flush against the ranger’s. “You’ve been watching me, haven’t you?” he growled against Logan’s neck. “Every time you drive past here.”
Logan gasped, nodding. “Yeah…”
Jack nipped at his jaw, hands roaming down Logan’s chest, tugging his belt free. “Bet you imagined what I’d do to you.”
“I did,” Logan breathed. “And it wasn’t gentle.”
“Good,” Jack said, voice dark. “Because I don’t do gentle.”
With that, he dropped to his knees and yanked Logan’s pants down, exposing a thick, already-hard cock that slapped against his abs. Jack licked his lips and took him into his mouth with practiced control, swallowing him deep while his hands gripped Logan’s hips tight enough to bruise.
Logan’s head hit the wall, hands buried in Jack’s hair, gasping, groaning, riding the rhythm as Jack sucked him hard, deep, relentless. “Fuck—Jack—Jesus, your mouth…”
But Jack wasn’t done. He pulled off, eyes wild, beard damp, and stood back up, dragging Logan to the bedroom like a man possessed.
He stripped Logan completely, tossing his uniform aside piece by piece until the ranger stood naked, flushed, cock throbbing, chest heaving.
“Get on the bed,” Jack ordered.
Logan obeyed.
Jack stood over him, towering, muscles gleaming with sweat and arousal. He stroked himself slowly, watching Logan spread his legs and offer himself up—hungry, needy, and completely at Jack’s mercy.
“You ever been fucked by another man, Logan?”
Logan’s voice shook. “No.”
Jack climbed onto the bed, lining his cock up with Logan’s ass, teasing, rubbing the head against the tight ring of muscle. “You’re about to be ruined for anyone else.”
He pushed in slowly, letting Logan feel every inch, every thick, pulsing ridge. The ranger gasped, muscles clenching, but Jack held him still.
“Breathe,” Jack whispered. “Let me in.”
When he was fully seated inside, he paused, letting Logan adjust. Then he began to move—slow at first, grinding deep, letting Logan feel just how much cock he was taking.
“God—Jack—fuck—” Logan whimpered, nails digging into the sheets.
Jack grabbed his wrists and pinned them above his head, fucking him harder now. Deep, brutal thrusts that made the bed shake. Logan moaned louder with each one, his body trembling, legs wrapped around Jack’s waist.
“Look at me,” Jack growled, forcing Logan’s eyes open. “You’re mine now.”
“Yes,” Logan gasped. “Fuck yes—I’m yours—”
Jack kept going, sweat dripping from his forehead, muscles flexing with every savage thrust. He slammed into Logan, over and over, watching the park ranger come completely undone beneath him.
And when Logan finally exploded, untouched, spraying across his chest and abs, Jack grunted and drove in deep one last time, filling him with every hot, pulsing drop.
They collapsed together, bodies tangled, hearts racing.
But it wasn’t over.
Jack kept him there for the weekend.
The next few days were a blur of sex, sweat, and whispered confessions. Logan stayed in Jack’s bed, only pulling his pants back on to step outside and piss against the trees. Jack fed him meat and eggs, gave him coffee, then bent him over the workshop bench. They fucked on the couch, in the shower, on the porch in the early morning mist.
By Sunday night, Logan could barely walk.
He sat on the edge of Jack’s bed, legs trembling, pulling on his uniform with slow, aching movements.
“You’re gonna have to call in sick next time,” Jack teased from behind, sipping coffee naked by the window.
Logan turned, eyes dark. “Next time?”
Jack grinned. “Oh, you’re coming back. You think I’m done with you?”
Logan’s face flushed, lips curling into a satisfied smile. “You’re a fucking animal.”
Jack walked over, kissed him slow, possessive. “You love it.”
“I do,” Logan whispered.
And with that, the ranger walked out into the woods, sore, stretched, and marked.
But not broken.
Jack had a feeling he’d be back real soon.
Jacks’s Page
