Bear heard his bedroom door open and close, and then the house went quiet again.
He turned back to the bed.
Greta was still asleep. Her hair spread across his pillow in a fall of orange gold. One hand had come out from under her cheek and lay open on the mattress like she was waiting for something.
I think she’s good for you.
Christ. He did not deserve that kid.
Logan’s light went off around one-thirty, the thin strip under his door disappearing, and the house went fully quiet. But Bear still sat in the corner chair with his forearms on his knees and watched Greta breathe.
He hadn’t gotten into bed. Hadn’t changed his clothes. He’d pulled his boots off and sat down, and that was as far as he’d gotten.
She stirred around two, one hand moving across the quilt as if she was searching for something. She lay still for a moment with her eyes open, scanning the geography of the room— ceiling, curtains, the nightstand, the boots on the floor. Then she found him in the corner.
She looked at him for a long time without speaking. “How long was I out?”
“Couple hours.”
She pushed herself upright, pushed the hair off her face with both hands, and swung her legs off the bed. She crossed the room and stopped in front of him. He didn’t stand up. She put one knee on the chair arm, then the other on the opposite side, and settled into his lap, facing him.
He was instantly hard.
She kissed him like she hadn’t seen him in a year, and her hands roamed over him like she was checking for damage. A shudder moved through her, a full-body exhale, and then she was pushing his flannel off his shoulders. His hands circled her hips, then her waist, then found their way under the fleece, needing her skin in his palms. He’d spent nearly two years not touching her, and now he couldn’t get enough.
She rolled her hips, impatient. “Bear, I need you.”
“Take what you need, Greta.”
She shoved both hands under his T-shirt, dragging it up until she could get her palms on his chest, then she sank her fingers into the muscle there like she meant to leave indentations. He put his hands around her waist, felt the ridges of muscle under the fleece, the heat radiating out of her even though she must have been half-frozen less than an hour ago. She rocked into him, feeding the ache that had been knotted up in his gut since the firehouse, since the bank of the flood ditch, since she’d said fuck you, Dane and then kissed him like she’d never forgive him.
She bit his jaw, just below the hinge, and he hissed. “Not going to be gentle?” he rumbled, the words catching in his throat.
She grinned against his face. “You like when I hurt you a little.” Her tongue traced the mark she’d left. “And you deserve it.”
Not wrong.
She reached between them, worked the button of his jeans with one hand, and freed his cock, stroking him with long, hard pulls.
He grunted. The pressure was almost a relief, but he wasn’t going to last if she kept doing that. “Greta…”
She lifted herself up to pull her leggings down, then lined herself up. She slid onto him, so… fucking… slow, and it felt sofucking good he had to dig his hands into the arms of the chair to keep from moving.
She rode him with her eyes open, pupils huge and dark, hair falling around her face. The freckles across her nose stood out in the low light, and her mouth was parted, panting. Every time she bottomed out and circled her hips, she made a sound that was almost a growl.
The chair creaked, the old wood protesting as she picked up the pace, but she didn’t let up. She locked eyes with him and rode him until the world narrowed to the heat of her, the pull of her body, the way her pussy clamped down on him tighter every time she rocked forward. He wanted to last. He wanted it to never end. But she had him right at the edge, and she knew it.
She came first, the orgasm threading through her whole body, and she bit his shoulder to keep quiet. The feel of her coming on his cock nearly undid him. She slowed for a minute, catching her breath, then started moving again, slow and deep, working him until he couldn’t hold back. He grabbed her by the waist, pulled her down hard, and came so hard he thought he might black out.
When it was done, she went soft against him, her face in the crook of his neck, her arms around his head. He was still buried inside her, and every little move she made sent shock waves through his system.
He didn’t know how long they sat there, wrapped around each other in the dark. His mind was blank, every part of him wrung out, but in the best possible way—there was nothing left in the world except the warmth of her and the faint, distant sound of King snoring from Logan’s room.
When she finally shifted, it was only to press her lips to his ear and whisper, “Bed, Teddy Bear. I need your whole body on me.”
He picked her up, carried her the three steps to the bed, and laid her down on top of the quilt. She reached for him, and he came down, crushing her, careful but not careful enough to hold back all his weight. She wanted it. She hooked her ankles behind him, wrapped her arms around his neck, and let him press her into the mattress.
He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt this alive.
