Page 85 of Dream Weaver

I gasped, though the mattress muffled the sound.

He backed away immediately. “Too fast?”

I slapped a hand blindly over his hip, begging him to come back. “Just right.”

He kissed my shoulder, then pushed back in. And, oh. That angle was heavenly — a blacksmith’s version of heaven, powerful and pounding.

The sounds I unleashed must have made that clear, and Cooper soon settled into a rhythm. Slow, but powerful, like giant bass drums that boomed, then let the sound vibrate through space before booming again…and again.

My hands went from clutching the sheets to braced against the headboard. That was even better, giving me leverage to push back into his thrusts.

Cooper groaned, while I howled into the sheets. Again and again, until, overwhelmed by lust and pleasure, I came. Cooper tensed and shuddered, exploding a few heartbeats after me.

We froze, unmoving, a statue carved from stone — the kind museums didn’t always display.

How long we stayed there, I had no idea. But at some point, my muscles unwound, and Cooper melted over me. His short, hard breaths tickled my hair. He stretched his legs slowly, and I hooked my ankles over them, keeping him close.

The weight of his body pressed mine into the mattress in the best possible way. My heartbeat slowed, and I’d never felt so happy, warm, or fulfilled. So protected. So loved.

A good thing we weren’t face-to-face. I could keep my face firmly against the pillow and fight the flood of emotions, telling myself it was okay not to think straight at a time like this — or not to think at all.

Cooper nuzzled my shoulder, bringing our statue to life, then murmured apologetically. Slipping away, he disposed of the condom, then hurried back. I waited, not budging, until he returned to exactly the same place. Getting smushed into a mattress shouldn’t feel good, but it did.

I patted his hand, then the mattress. “This bed gets a ten out of ten.”

Cooper got an eleven out of ten, but I kept that to myself.

“I agree.” He wove his fingers through mine, telling me I was a ten — or eleven — too.

The fire crackled behind us, and I gradually worked up the nerve to turn and face him. I hated letting my guard down, yet there I was, totally at his mercy — emotionally and physically.

But when Cooper — sweet, silent Cooper — cupped my cheek, I couldn’t help smiling back, and my pounding heart settled down again.

Neither of us said anything for a long time, and my eyelids drooped. Cooper tugged at the sheets, then softly cursed the tangle.

I helped him straighten them, then tuck us in together. With a flickering fire, a comfortable bed, and a bear shifter to snuggle with, I’d never been cozier.

“Oh. Am I stealing your side?” I asked. “Do you even have a favorite side?”

He shook his head. “No. Just inside.” Then he broke out in a crimson blush. “I mean, inside my bed. With you.”

I grinned at the rare chance to watch a big, confident guy get all tongue-tied.

“Better watch out. I might be hard to get rid of, you know,” I warned.

I meant it as a joke, but maybe it wasn’t.

He slid a hand down to my waist. “Maybe I don’t want to get rid of you.”

I patted his hand, fervently wishing he never would. Because this feeling — of love, acceptance, and possibility — was pretty damn good.

So good, my mind filled with dangerously blissful dreams.

I laced my fingers through his and listened as his breathing slowed and stretched into sleep.

Chapter Twenty-One

COOPER

---