Chop Me Down: Chapter Three - Timber

The job is finished, the lot is cleared, and yet... I’ve never felt more stuck. Silas Vance finally stopped talking, and let’s just say he found a much better use for his mouth. We were supposed to be rivals, but as the dust settles, I’m starting to realize that some things are worth falling for. Timber, indeed.

Chapter One 

Sloane 

Timber

The engine of the second truck cuts out, leaving a ringing silence in the clearing that feels ten times louder than the noise. Through the fogged-up glass, I can see the dull, ambient glow of their idling headlights reflecting off the leaves, trapping us in our dark little sanctuary behind the brush.

"Silas! You still got that chainsaw? Dad needs the extra chain!" Toby’s voice carries easily through the damp air.

I’m frozen, my heart a frantic bird trapped in my chest. Silas’s hands are firm and warm on my skin as I straddle his lap, and all I can think about is the fact that his brother is probably looking right at this truck. I open my mouth to whisper a panic-fueled oh my god, but Silas is faster.

"Shh," he breathes. It isn't a request. It’s a vibration against my lips, dark and demanding.

He doesn't pull away. He doesn't reach for the door lock or try to fix his shirt. Instead, his gaze holds mine, pinning me in place with a look that says he’s forgotten the rest of the world even exists. While his brother is shouting into the trees, Silas reaches down between us. I gasp, the sound caught in my throat, as his hand slides into the waistband of my jeans.

His rough, warm palm slides directly down the front of my jeans, the friction of his callouses against my sensitive skin making my toes curl as his fingers finally find their target

The first touch of his fingers inside me makes me gasp, my forehead dropping forward to rest against his as I let out a shaky, broken breath. It’s too much. The risk, the heat, and the sheer audacity of what he’s doing while his brother is standing just a few dozen feet away. I arch my back, my breath hitching in a way that’s dangerously loud as his hand begins to move.

A choked sound starts to climb up my throat—a mix of a sob and a moan—but Silas catches it. He smothers my mouth with his, his tongue sliding deep into my mouth in a kiss that is pure possession. It’s a silent, frantic war. He’s tasting me, claiming me, all while his brother’s voice cuts through the air again.

"Maybe he’s in the shed?" Toby’s voice is closer now. I can hear the jingle of keys.

"Quiet," Silas growls against my lips, his fingers moving with a slow, torturous rhythm. He knows exactly how to move, exactly where to put pressure, and he’s doing it with a focus that is absolutely terrifying. "Don't make a sound, Sloane. Let them think I’m not here. Let them think the woods are empty."

I’m gripping his shoulders so hard my nails are probably leaving marks through the gray fabric of his henley. Every time Toby shouts, Silas pushes deeper, his thumb finding the perfect spot to make my entire body vibrate. I’m a live wire, a string pulled so tight I’m about to snap, and Silas is the one holding the blade.

"Guess he’s gone," another voice—his dad—grumbles from the distance. "Truck’s here, but he probably walked back to the house. Come on, let’s go before the rain starts back up."

We sit in agonizing silence. I can hear the blood rushing in my ears. I can hear the rustle of the leaves. Finally, a pair of heavy truck doors slam. Two engines roar to life, and the sound of gravel spraying tells us they’re finally pulling away, their tail lights disappearing into the tree line.

The second the sound fades, the silence of the woods rushes back in, heavier and hotter than before.

"They're gone," I pant, my forehead dropping onto his shoulder. "Silas, they almost—we almost—"

"I don't care," he rasps, and the sheer hunger in his voice makes my breath catch all over again.

He pulls his hand back just long enough to finish what he started with his belt, while I frantically shove my jeans down my hips, kicking them onto the floor of the cab. His movements are fast, focused, and primal as he pushes his own denim out of the way. There’s no more brooding lumberjack. There’s just the man who has been trying to get under my skin for six months, and he’s finally done waiting.

He hoists me up, his hands like iron on my waist, and adjusts my position until I’m hovering over him. For the first time, the 'enemies' part of our story feels like a distant, dusty memory. There is no snark left. No blog-worthy captions or clever hashtags. Just the raw, staggering heat of him as he finally, finally pushes into me.

I cry out, the sound echoing in the small, fogged-up cab. I don't care who hears it now. I’ve spent months trying to keep him at arm's length, trying to prove that I was too city, too modern, too me for a man like him. But as he moves beneath me, his hands gripping my hips with a strength that leaves no room for doubt, I realize I’ve been lying to myself for the sake of the 'gram.

The truck rocks on its suspension, a slow, steady rhythm that matches the fire in my veins. The windows are completely opaque now, a private, heated sanctuary in the middle of the clearing. Silas is a force of nature, a landslide of heat and muscle that I can’t escape, and God help me, I don't want to.

"Look at me," he commands, his voice breaking.

I open my eyes, seeing the man behind the mountain. He isn't the Grumpzilla who laughed at my boots. He’s completely undone, his face tight with a pleasure so intense it’s almost painful. He looks at me like I’m the only thing that’s ever mattered, like the wood and the timber and the legacy were just a placeholder for this moment.

"You're mine," he growls, his pace quickening, his hands dragging over my skin, driving me toward a cliff I’ve been leaning over since the moment I saw him in that hardware store. "Say it, Sloane."

"Yours," I sob, the word catching in my throat as the world starts to splinter and blur at the edges. "I'm yours, Silas. I've been yours since the first time you told me to shut up."

The world finally gives way, a crushing, breathless collapse that sends us both crashing down and leaves us tangled together in the quiet of the truck. The lot is still messy, the wood is only half-cleared, and my hair is a disaster that no amount of dry shampoo can fix.

But as Silas wraps his arms around me, pulling my head into the crook of his neck and breathing me in like I’m the air he needs to survive, I realize I don't mind the mess.

I’ve been chopped down to my very foundation, and for the first time in my life, I like the view from the ground. I don’t need a filter for this. I don’t need a caption.

I just need him. Like they say when a tree falls, timber.

The End

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Copyright © by LS Phoenix

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Published by LS Phoenix

New Hampshire, USA

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First Edition: January 2026

Cover Design by LS Phoenix