Page 48 of Bear Naked Truth
Autumn gasped, hips jerking. “Oh—God.”
He worked her gently at first, letting her get used to the sensation, but soon he was devouring her like she was his last meal—tongue firm and flat one moment, then teasing circles around her clit the next. She fisted the sheets, thighs trembling.
“You taste like heaven,” he said between licks, voice gravel and hunger.
She whimpered, one hand tangled in his hair. “Dorian—please. I need you.”
He pulled back, his lips wet with her, eyes now a shade darker—earthy brown muddled with gold. His bear was bleeding through, pacing behind his eyes, but still Dorian stayed in control.
He crawled up over her, kissed her slow and deep, letting her taste herself on his tongue. His cock brushed against her thigh, hard and aching.
“You’re sure?” he asked again, breath fanning her lips.
“I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life,” she whispered.
He lined himself up, the head of his cock nudging her entrance, and pushed in slow—inch by inch—stretching her until she cried out, hips rising to meet him. He was thick, the stretch exquisite.
“Shit,” he gritted out, forehead pressed to hers. “You feel like you were made for me.”
Autumn’s arms wrapped around him, nails dragging down his back. “Youweremade for me.”
He began to move—slow, deliberate thrusts that rocked the bed in gentle waves, the room filled with nothing but their mingled moans, the rhythmic creak of old wood, and the soft slap of skin against skin. Each movement was worship, each thrust a question and a promise all at once.
“Dorian,” she gasped, legs tightening around him. “I feel… it’s like I’m unraveling.”
He kissed her cheek, her jaw, the space beneath her ear. “Let go. I’ve got you.”
She came first, with a cry muffled against his shoulder, her body clenching around him like she never wanted to let go. That was his undoing.
He thrust once, twice more, then groaned low and deep as he spilled inside her, warmth flooding between them. His entire body trembled with the force of it.
They stayed tangled, breathless and raw, sweat cooling between them.
He rolled them gently, letting her rest atop his chest, his hands stroking her back in slow, grounding circles.
“You okay?” he whispered.
She lifted her head, eyes shining. “More than okay.”
Her fingers traced idle patterns along his chest. “You know what I said earlier, about not knowing what to do with this?”
“Yeah,” he said softly.
She smiled, then leaned in close, pressing a kiss to his heart. “I think I just figured it out.”
And in the quiet that followed, her breath warm on his skin, Dorian finally understood what it meant to be claimed in the most human, sacred way.
She was his.
And he was home.
25
AUTUMN
The morning sunlight crept through the old curtains in soft, sleepy lines. It painted golden stripes across the wooden floor of Dorian’s room, gently coaxing the shadows away. Autumn lay awake, still tucked against his side, his heartbeat a slow, steady rhythm beneath her cheek. She hadn’t moved. Didn’t want to.
He smelled like cedar and warmth. Her fingers were curled lightly into the blanket, one bare leg tangled with his beneath it, and his arm still rested around her waist like he would never let go.
