Page 45 of Befriending the Bear
He didn’t. His hand sped up, grip tightening just a fraction, and I did the same to him. A few more strokes and he wasspilling over my fist with a guttural moan, his whole body tensing and then shuddering with the force of it.
The sight and sound of his pleasure pushed me over the edge, and I followed him into bliss. Pleasure crashed through me in waves, my vision going white at the edges.
We collapsed together, a tangle of heaving chests and trembling limbs. Fraser pressed soft, open-mouthed kisses to my shoulder as we caught our breath, murmuring praise and affection against my sweat-damp skin.
We lay there afterward, sticky and sated, trading lazy kisses as our breathing slowly returned to normal.
“Okay?” Fraser asked, pulling me against his chest. The weight of what we’d done, what we’d shared, settled over me like a warm blanket.
“M-more than okay,” I said, surprised to find I meant it. There was no guilt, no feeling of betrayal toward Marcus. Just a bone-deep satisfaction and a tentative joy that felt like spring after a long winter.
Was it strange to think of my dead husband while I was in another man’s arms? Maybe, but it felt right to me. Of course I would think of Marcus. I hadn’t been with anyone else since he’d passed, so this was a big step.
But even as I actively pictured Marcus, imagining how he would react, the guilt did not come. He wouldn’t have wanted me to be alone. My conviction that I’d stay alone and celibate for the rest of my life had been mine, never his, never fueled by the thought that he would want me to mourn him forever.
With his death being so sudden and at such a young age, we’d never had a chance to discuss it, but I knew him. I’d been with the man for fifteen years, and all he’d ever wanted was for me to be happy.
Fraser’s arms tightened around me, and he pressed a kiss to the top of my head, pulling me out of my thoughts. “That was…”
“Yeah.”
Fraser shifted, his hand tracing patterns on my hip. “What do you say we get cleaned up?”
I nodded, suddenly very aware of the stickiness between us. “A shower s-sounds perfect.”
We untangled ourselves and made our way to my bathroom, still trading soft touches and glances. Under the bright lights, I felt a flicker of self-consciousness. My body was softer than it used to be, bearing the marks of grief and time. But when Fraser turned to me, his gaze held nothing but affection.
I turned on the water, adjusting the temperature until steam began to fill the small space. When I remodeled my bathroom two years ago, I opted to take out the bathtub and create a luxurious shower with plenty of room. Right now, I was grateful for that flash of brilliance as we never would’ve fit in the old one.
He stepped into the shower first, holding out a hand to me in invitation. I took it, letting him pull me under the warm spray. The water sluiced over us, washing away the evidence of our lovemaking.
Fraser reached for the shower gel, working up a lather between his palms. “May I?”
At my nod, he began to wash me, his hands gliding over my skin with reverence. He started at my shoulders, massaging away the tension that always seemed to linger there. His hands moved lower, soaping my chest, his thumbs brushing over my nipples and making me gasp. He smiled at my reaction, repeating the motion before continuing his exploration.
I leaned against the tiled wall, letting the sensations wash over me. Fraser’s hands were strong and sure as they mapped my body, leaving no inch untouched. When he reached my hips, he paused, meeting my gaze with a questioning look. I nodded, not trusting my voice, and he continued his exploration, circling and teasing until I was panting.
“You’re so responsive,” he murmured, sounding awed. “I love how you react to my touch.”
I could only moan in response as his hand dipped lower, skimming over my hip to trace the crease of my thigh. He washed me thoroughly, intimately, his touch both arousing and soothing.
When he’d cleaned me all the way down to my feet, he rose again, looking at me through water-spiked lashes. “Good?”
“Perfect.” I took the gel from him. “Your t-turn.”
I returned the favor, lathering his broad chest, fingers tangling in the wiry hair. I loved the feel of him under my hands, solid and real. My hands drifted lower, over the softness of his belly, the sharp cut of his hip bones.
His cock grew half-hard, but not beyond that, and he looked down with a rueful smile. “One of the downsides of getting older. My recovery time ain’t what it used to be.”
I chuckled, pointing at my own, which was soft as well. “Same.”
We both shrugged, smiling.
We finished washing each other, hands lingering and caressing, maintaining that intimacy even as the water began to cool. Finally, Fraser reached behind me to turn off the spray. He grabbed a fluffy towel and began to dry me off, his touch as reverent as it had been in the shower. I returned the favor, running the towel over his damp skin, memorizing the feel of him.
Once we were both dry, Fraser pulled me into his arms, nuzzling into my neck. I sighed contentedly, melting into his embrace. We stood there for a long moment, holding each other, breathing each other in.
“Stay,” I murmured finally, pulling back enough to meet his gaze. “P-please. I d-don’t want you to go.”
