Page 64 of Bear Naked Truth
Her nails dragged down his back. “Then feel me. All of me.”
He fucked her harder, deeper. The bed groaned beneath them. Her cries grew louder, less words, more sound. She met every thrust, sweat glistening on her skin, hair wild and tangled around her flushed face.
“Say it,” he grunted, driving into her. “Say you’re not leaving again.”
“I’m not,” she gasped. “I’m staying. Iwantto stay.”
That broke something in him.
He pinned her wrists above her head with one hand, the other gripping her hip as he slammed into her. Their bodies were a tangle of heat and emotion, skin to skin, no space between them.
Her pussy clenched around him, and he knew she was close again.
“That’s it,” he whispered against her lips. “Let go for me, baby. Come on my cock.”
And she did. Shuddering, crying out his name like it was a spell, her whole body going taut and then collapsing beneath him. The feel of her coming around him—tight, pulsing,his—pulled him over the edge.
He cursed low, biting her shoulder as he came, his cock jerking deep inside her as he spilled into her heat. His whole body trembled with the force of it.
They lay tangled in the aftermath, bodies slick and shaking, hearts thundering.
Dorian rolled them gently, letting her rest on top of him. His fingers wove into her messy hair, his chest still rising and falling like waves against the shore.
Her lips brushed his collarbone. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “For every time I ran.”
He kissed the crown of her head. “Just don’t run again.”
“I won’t.”
And this time, she stayed.
Her head on his chest.
Her fingers tangled in his.
Like she’d finally decided to stop being haunted, and start beinghis.
33
AUTUMN
Autumn stood barefoot in the middle of the garden, toes sunk into the cool dirt, the sky above stretching pale and wide as the morning bled into gold. Dorian’s necklace lay warm against her collarbone, the silver pendant he’d crafted for her earlier that morning from a smoothed piece of pine and an inlaid moonstone, threaded onto a leather cord. It was simple. Solid. Her fingers kept drifting to it like it was a compass pulling her forward.
It had been two days since she’d come back. Two days of working side-by-side with Dorian like they’d never fought, never shattered, never tried to undo what had been slowly sewing them together. They moved through the inn like two halves of the same body—comfortably quiet, occasionally teasing, frequently brushing fingertips and passing each other looks full of words neither of them had to say anymore.
But under it all, the air still pulsed with something unfinished.
The Hollow Man was still here.
And if she was staying—reallystaying—then it was time to help him leave.
Dorian stepped out from the porch, barefoot too, carrying the carved bowl filled with salt and ash. His hair was tousled, eyes heavy but focused, and he looked like the man she’d finally let herself love: strong, steady, and so full of heart it threatened to spill over.
“You sure about this?” he asked, voice low as he joined her in the clearing.
She nodded, not trusting her voice yet.
They’d planned it together.
