Page 91 of Mated to the Mountain Bear
I lean into his touch, my hand exploring the scratches I left on his chest. Some are already fading with his shifter healing, but others remain, proof of how wild we were.
He catches my hand, bringing it to his lips to kiss each fingertip.
The tenderness makes my breath catch. This is Ben, the man, not the beast, though I can still see his bear lurking in those dark eyes, although he’s letting the man lead for now.
He rolls me onto my back with careful hands, hovering over me. The shards of sunlight coming through the window play across his broad shoulders, highlighting every muscle. I reach up to trace the line of his jaw through his beard, and he turns to nip gently at my palm.
“Beautiful,” he murmurs, his gaze travelling slowly down my body. His lips follow the path of his eyes, pressing soft kisses to my throat, my collarbone, the curve of my breast. Each touch is deliberate, unhurried. He’s taking his time now, savouring instead of devouring.
When he reaches my hip, he pauses at a dark mark, the remnants of a bruise, his thumb stroking over it gently, before he continues his exploration, mapping every inch of skin with his mouth and hands.
I thread my fingers through his hair, and he looks up at me from where he’s kissing the inside of my thigh, and the heat in his eyes makes me shiver despite the warmth of the morning sun now streaming through the windows.
“Ben,” I breathe, and he knows what I need without me having to ask.
He moves back up my body, settling between my thighs with a controlled grace so different from last night’s frenzy. When he enters me this time, it’s slow, careful. We both groan at the sensitivity after hours of passion, but neither of us can resist this last connection before we let reality creep back in.
He stays still for a moment, forehead pressed to mine, just breathing me in. Then he moves with long, deep strokes, that build a different kind of fire. This isn’t about claiming or possession. This is about memorising. About imprinting this moment, this feeling, this connection into our very bones.
I wrap my legs around him, pulling him deeper, and he captures my mouth in a kiss that says everything we don’t need words for. His hands frame my face as he loves me thoroughly, completely, until we’re both trembling on the edge.
When we fall, we fall together, my name on his lips, and his on mine. He stays inside me as we come down, both of us reluctant to separate, even for a moment. His weight presses me into the mattress, but I welcome it, running my hands down his back in long, soothing strokes.
The morning sun is fully up now, painting golden stripes across the bed. Soon, we’ll have to get up, shower, then face the day and all its complications. But for now, we just hold each other, skin to skin and heart to heart, complete in this perfect moment.
39
BEN
“Ben.” Beau’s voice carries through the bedroom door, followed by three sharp knocks that echo in the morning stillness. “Lisa…eh, Detective Harris is here. She wants to check on Zara.”
I briefly close my eyes, not ready for the real world to intrude yet. The air still smells of sex and satisfaction flows through my veins. Zara’s pressed against my side, her breath warm against my skin, and her body, soft and pliant after our night together.
“Give us a minute,” I call back, my voice rough. Beau’s footsteps retreat down the hall, the old floorboards creaking under his weight.
Zara stirs, pressing a kiss to my chest before lifting her head. Her green eyes are still hazy with sleep, her hair, a wild tangle of golden silk. She looks thoroughly loved, and my bear puffs up with pride.
“Detective Harris is here?” she asks, immediately more alert. “Do you think it’s about Amber?”
“Let’s find out.” I press a kiss to her forehead. “Get dressed. I’ll handle this.”
We dress quickly, the easy intimacy of the night giving way to the business of the day ahead. I pull on jeans and a henley while she borrows one of my shirts and her pants from yesterday. The sight of her in my clothes satisfies something primal in me.
The living room feels too bright after the dim cocoon of the bedroom.
Detective Lisa Harris stands near the fireplace, her sharp blue eyes taking in every detail of my cabin. Her fiery hair is pulled back in a no-nonsense bun. Her blazer doesn’t quite hide the bulge of her service weapon. She turns when she hears us, her expression filled with genuine concern.
Mason and Maddox flank the windows like guards. Beau leans against the kitchen counter, arms crossed over his chest. The coffee maker gurgles behind him, filling the air with its bitter scent.
“Zara,” Harris says, her tone professional but warm. “When I heard about the incident at your apartment, I wanted to check on you. Beau didn’t tell me he’d taken youhere. I thought you were holed up in a fancy hotel.”
She glares at Beau, who doesn’t look remotely apologetic, mumbling something about it not being a great hiding place if you tell everyone where it is.
“I’m okay,” Zara says, moving to the couch. “Really. Ben’s been taking good care of me.”
My bear is smug.Good careis an understatement.
Harris’s eyes flick between us, cataloging every detail. The possessive way I hover behind Zara’s seat. The way she unconsciously leans back toward me. Nothing escapes the detective’s notice.
