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Timber couldn’t take it anymore. He smelled her sex, her skin, the array of perfumes and lotions and essence blended into some divine potion made personally for his ingestion.
He bent down to her, watched as her eyes fluttered to his mouth, then pushed his lips against hers.
“Mmm.”
Lyra moaned the second they touched, which sent Timber into a frenzy. He lifted her by the waist to sit on the countertop, making their heights more even. She immediately wrapped her legs around his waist like an octopus, pulling him into her wet glory, which had started leaking through her pants.
Timber tangled his fingers in her locks as they both grunted, the sensation of her bound tits about to send him off the deep end. He sucked on her lower lip and immediately traced his teeth down her supple nape, following the magnificent pathway that led to her bursting treasures.
“God, Timber,” she said, panting and moaning. “What took you so long?”
The anguished and fervid bear was ready to give her nipples a light nip for her remark, but then Marigold began to wail from the other room. He groaned, continuing down to the top of her breasts, ready to dive in deep and drown.
But Lyra was a compassionate professional. He hated that at that moment.
“Wait, something could be wrong,” she said, lightly pushing him away.
Timber wanted to rip off her jeans and fuck her until she saw God, but he couldn’t while his daughter cried out in potential pain. So he reluctantly pulled himself away from her like peeling a Band-Aid in one fell swoop.
Lyra jumped off the counter, smirking and adjusting her shirt. They would have to get back to that later.
EIGHT
LYRA
Lyra’s body was on fire the night Timber finally laid his hands on her. A frenzy had been unleashed like someone had flicked a switch, letting her lust loose all over him as he tossed her casually onto the kitchen counter. If it hadn’t been for Marigold’s desperate cries, Lyra would’ve let him take her right then and there.
Marigold had been in a particularly nasty mood that night, not calming down easily the way she normally would when Lyra came into the room to soothe her. She had checked her diaper, given her a back rub, and even rocked her in her arms as they gazed out the window at the black velvet night. Lyra checked the infant’s temperature just in case, but it had been normal.
Finally, after hours of attempts at comfort, little Marigold dozed off in her arms. The adrenaline scorching through Lyra’s body had evaporated, leaving her taut and spent. She carefully laid the child in her crib with extra effort to be stealthy.
It was only when she snuck out of the bedroom, leaving the door slightly ajar, that she remembered the carnal embrace they’d had in the kitchen.
The house was dead quiet. Lyra lifted her hand to her lips, running two fingers over their plumpness, trying to summon the memory of his taste. It felt so recent, yet, so long ago. Her entire attention had been on a disturbed Marigold, and then, standing there in the darkness, she remembered how badly she had wanted him.
She hadn’t wanted anyone like that in a long time.
She sauntered down the hall and stopped at his door. She bit her lip, imagining him in bed, pleasing himself just to keep the naughty thoughts at bay. She wanted to be the thing that pleased him, that felt him tense and release deep inside her.
Lyra sighed through her teeth, then headed toward her bedroom. She was satisfied knowing that he wanted her, too, but some of her confidence had been drained taking care of Marigold. She would wait until the juices flowed naturally again.
Lyra fell asleep quickly and deeply, waking up rested just as the sun began to rise. That was Marigold’s hour, too, and she had gone back to the placid, dreamy little girl Lyra had known and loved before.
Lyra went about her usual routine, getting Marigold changed and dressed for the day, feeding her breakfast while she made her own, and considered what they would do together to bond even further. But lingering on Lyra’s mind that morning was Timber and his weird bear obsession.
She had been willing to accept it as a strange, flirty image, but they had gone past the stage of flirting. He was a thick hulk of a man who had likely been compared to a bear several times. Thus the whole Grizzly Adams association. She got the picture, but why was he so adamant about it, especially when it came to what he did for a living?
Once Marigold was finished eating and ready to move around, Lyra set her on the living room rug to play as she cleaned up the room. When wiping down the coffee table, she picked up Timber’s iPad, and the screen popped on.
She wasn’t a nosy person, but his email app was open with a half-typed message on the screen. Her eyes bulged as she read the names, none of which did anything to settle her curiosity about his “group.”
“Wayne Burlington … BS Canada … Southern Furs … Minne Claws … BS?”
Marigold was gnawing on her finger, looking around passively. Her eyes had begun to droop already with morning fatigue. Lyra felt a wash of guilt, then set the pad back on the table, screen untouched.
Later in the evening, Timber returned, looking exhausted. Lyra sat by the fireplace reading, though she could barely absorb the words she had been reading. She was ruminating about the names on the tablet.
“Evening,” she said, looking over the book’s pages.
