“Jesus Christ,” she managed.
“Eyes on the road, Tink.”
She didn’t dare look at him. She stared hard at the road and, for the first time in her life, wished she had one of those creepy self-driving cars. The Jeep’s tires hummed on the blacktop, but the only sound she could focus on was her own ragged breathing and Bear’s soft growl when he dipped a finger between her folds.
Hot sparks raked her spine. She bit down on a sound, focused so hard on merging out of habit that she signaled even though there was nobody for miles. She could barely operate her own goddamn body, let alone heavy machinery.
He pressed inside her. Just once, just enough to test, and then drew back to drag his wet finger up to circle again. He was going to make her come before they reached Summit.
King thrust his head between the seats, chin landing heavy on Bear’s shoulder, and Bear shoved him back without looking. “Down.”
King whined, affronted. Atlas, better trained and more dignified, stayed curled in the back, watching the proceedings with amber eyes that seemed to sayyou are both being extremely human right now.
Bear curled two fingers into her and then—then withdrew, only to slide them wet and slow around her clit until she was panting.
Focus on the road, Tink.
Impossible.
She caught the reflection of his face in the rearview: jaw locked, dark eyes fixed on her.
He liked watching her lose it. That bastard.
She wrenched the wheel to the right and skidded the Jeep into her parking spot behind the shop. She killed the engine. The silence was deafening, but the thundering in her chest nearly took its place. Every muscle in her legs trembled. It was a goddamn miracle she hadn’t crashed.
Bear’s hand stilled. He made no move to withdraw it.
She whimpered and bucked against his fingers. “Bear—” She meant for it to come out as a threat. Instead, it was a plea.
He ducked his head next to hers. His beard scraped against her cheek, and his breath tickled her ear.
“Still want me to stop?” The rumble of it vibrated her ribs, and she nearly bit through her tongue.
She couldn’t answer. Couldn’t think. His fingers were so thick she felt every inexorable suggestion of what was coming next—not that she’d let him know he had her undone. She clamped her mouth shut and glared straight ahead, refusing to give him the satisfaction.
He nipped the shell of her ear, then pushed two fingers deep. Her body tightened around him, and she hated herself for making the keening sound that escaped her throat.
Bear exhaled hard, that growl again, softer than before, but with an edge that hit somewhere between her legs.
King barked.
“Back door,” she gasped, and scrambled out of the seat, her knees nearly buckling when his fingers slipped free. The cold air hit her like a slap, a shock so sharp she almost came on the spot.
Atlas leaped out after her and immediately circled to check the perimeter of the yard, obviously disgusted by having to chaperone his owner’s sex life.
Bear let King out into the yard, then rounded the Jeep, took one look at her face, and just—picked her up. She wasn’t light. She was muscle, not fluff. But he handled her like she was no heavier than a sack of feathers.
The parking lot was grimy and the security light barely worked, but none of it mattered. Her world shrank to the crush of Bear’s hand on her ass, the other holding her by the back of the neck.
His mouth found hers, devouring, tasting, owning, and she wrapped her legs around him as he carried her toward Summit.
They almost made it to the door, but she wanted to maul him and tore at the hem of his shirt. Needed skin, needed to touch all of him just to confirm he was real, not a hallucination brought on by years of deprivation and grief and rage.
He pinned her to the cinderblock wall behind the shop. She should have been cold, but every nerve was on fire.
She reached down and fumbled with the zipper of his jeans. Got it halfway open before he stopped her, grabbed both her wrists, and pinned them above her head.
“Impatient, Tinkerbell.”
