Page 32 of Bear Naked Truth
Dorian’s heart beat a little faster, but he kept his voice low. “I’m countin’ on it,” he said, resting his forehead lightly against hers.
Thunder rolled closer, low and steady.
She didn’t lean in again. But she didn’t step away, either.
When she spoke next, it was a whisper tinged with something raw. “You’re gonna ruin me, aren’t you?”
He wanted to say no. Wanted to promise her safety, and ease, and love without risk. But she wouldn’t believe that. Not yet. So instead, he said what he meant.
“Not if I can help it. I’m aiming for keepin’ you.”
Autumn pulled back, just enough to meet his eyes. Her expression flickered—hope battling habit, fear whispering to trust. “You’re sure about this? About me?”
“I’m as sure as I am about this rain falling,” he said quietly. “And the ghosts still watching us from that attic.”
She snorted softly, though her smile was tight. “You really know how to romance a girl.”
“I’ve got layers.”
That earned a huff, maybe half a laugh, and for a second it felt like she might relax into him. But her hands lingered at his sides instead of wrapping around his back, and her eyes kept drifting to the porch floor, like she was trying to memorize a way out.
Still, she didn’t move. Not entirely.
So Dorian did what he always did. He gave her space without making her feel it. Let his arms slip just a little looser around her waist, let his presence be solid but not suffocating.
They stood like that until the rain eased to a whisper, her shoulder barely brushing his chest, his cheek tilted toward the top of her head.
He closed his eyes, breathing her in.
Maybe the ghosts weren’t gone yet.
The house still held secrets and sorrow.
But this moment—frail and fleeting—was real.
And even if she wasn’t ready to let herself believe in it, he was.
He’d hold the space for both of them. For as long as it took.
17
AUTUMN
Autumn couldn’t sleep.
The rain had long since stopped, leaving the air heavy and wet, clinging to the eaves. Her room smelled like damp cedar and lavender—comforting, if she didn’t already feel like she was suffocating under the weight of her own thoughts.
The kiss had changed things.
Dorian had changed things.
And that scared the ever-loving hell out of her.
She stared at the ceiling, covers twisted around her legs, one arm tucked beneath her head, the other resting over her chest where her heart refused to beat calmly. It had been slow, the way he’d gotten under her skin. No big moments, no grand declarations. Just warmth. Steadiness. His big, bear-sized presence folding gently around her world until it felt natural.
Which was the problem.
Nothing about this should feel natural.
