Page 51 of Sweet Heart for the Bear

Her eyes meet mine. Beautiful, velvet orbs that are so trusting, so damn sweet as she opens herself up and gives me everything.

She is so gorgeous as she comes undone.

Carina’s pleasure is contagious. I chase mine while she is still in the throes of hers, and it is better than anything.

Before I know what I’m even doing, I have her wrapped in my arms and my fangs are embedded in her flesh.

I should be panicking, but I’m not. Because this feels so right.

Claiming her as my mate is what I was born to do. But I didn’t tell her. And I have to.

“Oh, wow. That was so good,” she whispers, and I can sense her shyness returning.

Her hands press against my shoulders, but I can’t speak yet. I just grunt and squeeze her tighter.

She thinks she’s too heavy, but she isn’t.

She’s just right. Soft in all the ways that make me crave her, strong in the ways that matter, and completely unaware that she’s been mine since the moment I first saw her.

I’m built to protect and cherish her. To worship her with my body and covet the perfection of hers. Every single curve, every inch of her, was made for me. She just doesn’t see it yet.

Now, I just have to convince her of that fact.

Oh, and there’s the small matter of my secret.

Probably should have told her already.

Definitely should have told her before she said I could have her.

Before I touched her, kissed her, let her skin warm beneath my hands like she was meant to be mine forever. But she is.

Mine. All mine.

Before I get into that. Before I tell her about the claws and fur and fated mates—I’m going to make her see stars for the rest of the night.

Then, when she’s breathless and wrecked and finally starting to believe she’s everything, I’ll explain it all to her.

That I’m hers.

That I’ve always been hers.

That I turn into a nine-foot-tall Bear when my mood is right.

And that she is my one true and fated mate.

If nothing else, I have Uncle Uzzi’s app to prove it.

I just can’t fuck this up.

Chapter17

Carina

After Horace rocks my world, he proves he’s superhuman by scooping me up—all hundred and ninety-seven pounds of me—like I weigh nothing and carrying me into his luxury shower.

It should be illegal to look this good, to be this effortlessly powerful. Especially after doing the things he just did to me.

But no, there he is, broad shoulders flexing, muscles taut as he holds me against his chest like I’m the most precious thing he’s ever touched.

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