Page 25 of Holly's Grizzly

Holly props her feet up on the coffee table, clad adorably in her thick woolen socks. From the corner of my eye, I see the movement shift the shirt higher on her thighs. Though I don’t dare fully look over at her, in my mind’s eye I can more than imagine just how much of her it puts on display. I can imagine all that fire-gilded skin, soft and so damn touchable.

What was I worried about earlier? Holly having to leave in a day or two?

At this rate, I should be more concerned about my ability to survive that long. Because the way things are going, I might just expire of sheer, pathetic longing well before that.

My grizzly agrees, grumbling his displeasure at the distance between us, the fact that my hands stay firmly in my lap instead of reaching for her, every last instinct whispering temptation in our ear.

Holly stretches her arms over her head and shifts a little on the couch to get more comfortable. She probably doesn’t realize it puts her even closer to me. It’s probably innocent, the way she’s near enough now for me to feel her warmth, near enough that I could reach over and tug her into my lap in half a heartbeat.

I can scent her from this distance—the freshness of my soap and shampoo that smells so damn good on her, the under-notes of her natural essence, something like spring meadows and crisp, clean air.

If sunshine had a scent, it would smell like her.

But I can’t think about that. I can’t act on any of those impulsive, reckless instincts that would have me reach for her and bury my face in the soft waves of her hair, tug that shirt even higher so I could—

Holly’s fingertips brush against my thigh—just one gentle touch—but it ricochets all the way through me. My entire body goes rigid and my grizzly roars his protest, demanding to touch her, hold her, keep her close.

“Holly.” Her name comes out lower and rougher than I intended. A warning.

I’m about to apologize, or maybe just get up and leave before I do anything else so unbelievably stupid. I’m probably scaring her. She’s probably ready to bolt from this room, from this cabin, to head back out into the elements where she doesn’t have to deal with me and my idiotic, desperate need for her.

Only, when I meet her eye, it’s not fear I find there.

It’s more of that soft, wicked teasing, another smile that’s just for me. Knowing, so endlessly knowing, like she’s more than aware what that one small touch did to me.

If I was fucked before, I’m obliterated now, breathless in the silence and the waning light of the fire, not daring to hope she’s feeling the same.

9

Holly

I think I’ve pushed this grizzly to the edge of his good manners.

Finally.

Irving’s gone absolutely still at my light touch against his thigh, a faint rumble kicking up deep in his chest.

“Holly,” he says, voice low and gruff, rougher than I’ve ever heard it.

And damn, do I like the sound of my name when he says it like that.

He looks over at me, and I know I’m not imagining the hunger in his eyes, the want, the need. My breath hitches, my heart races, and an aching anticipation settles itself between my thighs.

Irving takes a deep, shuddering inhale, his body tense. “I need you to tell me if I’m misreading things. I didn’t ask you to stay because I wanted to… fuck, I don’t want you to feel like I expected… just… please say something and I’ll back off. I won’t do anything that you don’t—”

“You’re not misreading things,” I murmur just before I move, shifting off the couch and swinging one leg over his lap.

Irving is almost too big for me to straddle.

All that broad strength beneath me spreads my thighs wide, stretching my muscles to a delicious edge and sending a pulse of desire straight to my aching core. I press myself into the soft contours of his chest and stomach, loop my arms around his neck, and tangle my hands in his hair as I savor the warmth and the size of him.

He holds himself absolutely still while I get comfortable, hands hovering in the air on either side of my hips but not touching me, like he’s still not sure if he’s allowed.

“Irving,” I whisper, leaning in and brushing my cheek to his, trailing my lips over his bearded jaw, then lower to the column of his throat. “Touch me.”

It’s all the permission he needs. I kiss his Adam’s apple as it bobs in a harsh swallow, and murmur my approval when his big hands land on my hips. Gripping firmly, he presses his thumbs into the divots where my thighs meet my stomach, fingers digging into soft flesh that yields immediately.

He pulls me flush against him, bucks his hips up to meet mine, and the press of his thick cock makes my pulse leap and my pussy throb.

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