Page 52 of The Bear's Matchmaking Mix-up Mate
As the crowd finally dispersed and they continued their leaflet distribution, Wren felt lighter than she had in years. She’d faced her fear head-on and discovered it wasn’t nearly as terrifying as she’d imagined.
Finn’s hand found hers, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “You okay?” he asked quietly.
Wren laced her fingers through his, squeezing gently. “More than okay.”
Her hiding days were over. Tomorrow, social media would buzz with sightings of Wren Hayes in a small mountain town. Reporters might come. Questions would certainly follow.
But as she held Finn’s hand, feeling the solid strength of him beside her, Wren knew with bone-deep certainty that she didn’t want to go back. Ever.
Chapter Twenty-One – Finn
Morning light streamed through the kitchen window, warming Finn’s shoulders as he leaned against the counter, coffee mug cradled in his palms. The rich aroma filled his senses, but it was Wren who truly held his attention, the way her fingers curled around her own mug, the soft hum that escaped her lips as she gazed out at the garden beyond.
“It’s beautiful outside today,” she said, turning to face him. “We should get out there while the morning’s still cool.”
Finn took another sip of his coffee, savoring both the bitter warmth and the moment of domesticity. It had been a week since she’d agreed to be his, three days since they wentpublic, and each morning felt like a gift he’d never expected to receive.
“I’ve got about an hour before my first appointment,” he said. “And since I promised Mrs. Abernathy I’d redesign the garden here at Rowan Cottage, I’d love to join you outside.”
“An hour to spare?” Wren murmured, setting her coffee cup down with deliberate care. She moved toward him with a slow grace that made his pulse quicken, her eyes holding his with an intensity that hadn’t been there when they first met. Gone was the cautious woman who’d opened the door that first day, replaced by someone who knew exactly what she wanted.
His bear stirred, a satisfied rumble in the back of his mind.Because she is ours, and this is.
Finn cocked his head, watching as she slid her arms around his neck, her body pressing against his with delicious warmth.Her playfulness ramped up his desire, blood rushing hot beneath his skin.
“I can think of a few ways to spend that hour,” she whispered, her lips finding the sensitive spot just below his ear.
Finn ran his hand along her waist, feeling the curve of her body beneath the thin cotton dress she wore. Her fingers traced the stubble along his jaw, sending shivers down his spine as her mouth continued its exploration of his neck.
“Is that so?” he managed, his voice rougher than he intended.
Her answer was a soft bite at the junction of his neck and shoulder that made him groan. His hands moved lower, cupping her bottom through her dress, pulling her tighter against him. The friction made them both gasp, the kitchen suddenly too warm, too small to contain the heat building between them.
Wren’s fingers found the buttons of his shirt, slipping them open one by one until she could slide her hands inside, her touch setting fire to his skin. Finn captured her mouth with his, tasting coffee and desire as her tongue met his. He walked her backward until she hit the edge of the table, his body pressing hers against the solid wood.
Without breaking the kiss, Finn lifted her onto the table’s edge. He dropped to his knees before her, pushing her skirt up to expose her thighs—smooth, pale skin that made his mouth water.
Her panties were simple cotton, and he pushed the fabric to one side, sliding a finger along her slick heat before dipping inside. The sound she made—half gasp, half moan—sent a bolt of need straight to his groin. He leaned forward, replacing his finger with his tongue, tasting her with an insatiable hunger.
Wren’s fingers tangled in his hair, holding him closer as her thighs trembled on either side of his head. He licked and sucked,adding a second finger inside her, curling them to find the spot that made her cry out his name. Her hips rocked against his mouth, chasing the pleasure he offered.
“Finn,” she gasped, her voice breaking. “Oh, don’t stop.”
He had no intention of stopping. His fingers hooked inside her, grazing her inner walls as his tongue circled her clit with increasing pressure. Her thighs began to shake, her grip in his hair tightening to the edge of pain. He could feel her getting closer, her body tensing around his fingers.
When she came, it was with her head thrown back, spine arched, a sound somewhere between a sob and his name torn from her throat. The sight of her flushed face and eyes closed in ecstasy was more beautiful than any garden he’d ever designed.
As the tremors subsided, Finn kissed his way up her inner thighs, gentle now, reverent. He straightened her panties, pulling her skirt back down over her thighs before rising to his feet. His own need throbbed insistently, but it could wait. This had been about her.
“Now,” he said, unable to suppress the smile of pure devilry that spread across his face, “I think it’s time we did the garden.”
Wren stood on shaky legs, her cheeks flushed and eyes still hazy with pleasure. She smoothed her skirt, but the gesture did nothing to hide what had just happened between them. It was written in the flush of her skin, the slight swelling of her lips, the way her breath still came a little too fast.
“You’re wicked,” she murmured, but the smile playing at the corners of her mouth told him she didn’t mind at all.
“Are you complaining?” he asked with an arched eyebrow.
“I didn’t say that,” she said as she trailed her fingers across his groin.
