Chop Me Down: Chapter Two - Chipping Away

Work is supposed to be productive, but it’s hard to focus on timber when Silas is standing close enough for me to count the flecks in his eyes. The bickering has officially shifted from "I hate you" to "I’m going to lose my mind if you don't touch me." The wood isn't the only thing catching sparks today, and honestly? My defenses are officially splintering.

Chapter Two 

Sloane 

Chipping Away

f there was an Olympic sport for "Holding Your Breath While a Huge Man Stands Entirely Too Close," I’d be on a cereal box by now.

Silas hasn’t moved. He’s still a wall of heat against my back, his hands firm on my waist, and his breath ghosting over the shell of my ear. The clearing is silent except for the distant chirp of a bird that clearly isn't dealing with a hormonal crisis, and the heavy, rhythmic thud of my own heart.

"You're overthinking it again, Sloane," he murmurs. His voice is a low rumble that I can feel vibrating through my own spine. "Stop trying to curate the moment and just feel the weight of the axe."

"Hard to feel the axe when I'm being used as a human kickstand," I manage to say, though it comes out breathier than I intended. I try to lean forward, away from the intoxicating scent of cedar and sweat, but his grip on my waist tightens. Just a fraction. Just enough to let me know he isn't letting go until he’s done with me.

"I'm stabilizing you," he says, and I can hear the smirk in his voice. "You're top-heavy. Bad center of gravity."

I scoff, finally finding a spark of my usual fire. "I am not top-heavy. I am perfectly balanced. You’re just looking for an excuse to put your hands on the 'content-obsessed tourist.'"

He chuckles, and the sound is rough, like sandpaper on silk. He lets go of my waist, but before I can even register the loss of contact, he’s moved in front of me. He reaches out, his fingers brushing against my damp collarbone as he hooks the neck of my denim shirt, pulling me an inch closer.

"Trust me, Sloane. If I wanted an excuse to touch you, I wouldn't need a pile of wood to do it."

His eyes are dark, stormy and unreadable, as they track the movement of my throat when I swallow. The air between us is thick, heavy with the kind of humidity that has nothing to do with the weather. It’s the kind of tension that makes your skin itch and your blood hum.

"Then why are you still here?" I whisper. "The lot is halfway cleared. You’ve made your point. I’m a disaster with a blade. You can go back to your cave and brood in peace now."

"I'm not finished with you yet," he says. The words are simple, but the way he says them, slow and deliberate, like a promise, makes my knees feel like they’re made of wet sawdust.

He takes the axe from my hand, his fingers lingering over mine as he pulls the tool away. He tosses it aside like it’s a toothpick. It hits the soft earth with a dull thud, and suddenly, the only thing between us is three inches of heated air and about six months of repressed frustration.

"You've been poking the bear for weeks, Sloane," he says, stepping even closer, forcing me to tilt my head back until I'm looking up at the canopy of trees. "Every time you walk into the hardware store, every time you post those little pictures of 'the simple life,' every time you look at me like I'm a problem you can't solve... you're asking for this."

"Asking for what?" I breathe, my hand instinctively reaching out to steady myself against his chest. His heart is hammering just as fast as mine. The discovery sends a surge of triumph, and terror, through me. He isn't as unaffected as he pretends to be.

"For someone to finally shut you up."

Before I can retort, before I can tell him that nobody shuts Sloane Miller up, his hand is at the back of my head. His fingers tangle in my hair, tilting my face up, and then his mouth is on mine.

It isn't a sweet, slow-motion Hallmark type of kiss. It’s a collision.

It tastes like coffee and heat and everything I’ve been trying to pretend I don’t want. He’s rough, his beard grazing my sensitive skin, his tongue sweeping against mine with a hunger that tells me he’s been thinking about this just as long as I have.

I moan into his mouth, my fingers digging into the fabric of his henley, pulling him closer until there’s no daylight left between us. I want more. I want the heat, the weight, the way he makes me feel like I’m finally being leveled, not by an axe, but by him.

He breaks the kiss just long enough to growl against my lips, "The truck. Now."

If there was an Olympic sport for "Holding Your Breath While a Huge Man Stands Entirely Too Close," I’d be on a cereal box by now.

Silas hasn’t moved. He’s still a wall of heat against my back, his hands firm on my waist, and his breath ghosting over the shell of my ear. The clearing is silent except for the distant chirp of a bird that clearly isn't dealing with a hormonal crisis, and the heavy, rhythmic thud of my own heart.

He doesn't wait for an answer. He hooks an arm under my knees and hauls me up, my legs instinctively wrapping around his waist. I’m dimly aware of the axe lying forgotten in the dirt, but as Silas marches toward the black pickup, I realize the "work" has only just begun.

We reach the truck and he wrenches the door open, practically shoving me inside the cab before climbing in after me. The space is suddenly tiny, filled with the scent of leather, pine-scented air freshener, and the frantic, heavy breathing of two people who have reached their breaking point.

Silas doesn't waste a second. His hands roaming over my body with a desperate kind of hunger. He tugs at my denim shirt, the snaps popping like gunfire in the quiet cab. I’m just as bad, my fingers fumbling with the buttons of his henley, needing to feel the heat of his skin against mine.

"You have no idea," he growls against the pulse point in my neck, his hands sliding up my thighs, "how long I've wanted to do this."

"Show me," I pant, arching my back as his mouth finds the sensitive skin of my collarbone.

His touch is everywhere, rough, certain, and completely overwhelming. He pulls me onto his lap, my legs straddling his hips, the friction of our jeans a torturous reminder of everything we’re about to lose. The bickering, the rivalry, the "stay on your side of the line" energy, it’s all burning up in the heat of this cab.

My hands tangle in his hair, pulling him closer, deeper. Every touch is a claim. Every gasp is a confession. He’s not just "chopping me down" anymore; he’s taking me apart, piece by piece, and I am more than willing to let him.

He growls, a deep, primal sound, and his hand reaches for the buckle of his belt. I’m leaning back against the steering wheel, my head spinning, my body feeling like it’s made of nothing but live wires and wanting.

"Sloane," he breathes, his eyes locking onto mine, dark and blown wide. "There’s no going back after this."

"Good," I whisper, reaching down to cover his hand with mine. "I've always hated the view from my side of the fence anyway."

He leans in, his forehead against mine, his hand finally clearing the last of our barriers. Just as the tension reaches a screaming pitch, just as I’m about to find out exactly what it feels like to have him finally break through—

The heavy, metallic thud of someone slamming a car door echoes through the clearing.

We both freeze.

"Silas? You out here?"

The voice is loud, cheerful, and definitely not alone. It’s his younger brother, accompanied by the distinct sound of a second truck pulling into the gravel lot.

"Shit," Silas hisses, his eyes snapping to the window as a pair of headlights sweeps across the trees.

My heart is nearly leaping out of my chest. My shirt is open, Silas is half-undressed in his own driver’s seat, and his entire family is currently thirty yards away and closing fast.

"Don't. Move," he whispers, his jaw tight enough to snap.

Come back tomorrow for another chapter

Copyright © by LS Phoenix

No portion of this story may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the publisher or author, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law.

Published by LS Phoenix

New Hampshire, USA

https://linktr.ee/authorlsphoenix

First Edition: January 2026