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He kissed her again, his hand wrapping around and holding her firmly against him. He was taking her breath away.
She leaned into it, wanting him. But she also knew that Marigold was right behind them, asleep.
She leaned free with a giggle. "We need to get Marigold inside and in bed first, Timber."
He smiled back at her. "That won't take long."
He unbuckled and got out of the car in a few seconds. She watched him move, biting her lower lip. She looked forward to what the future held for them.
THIRTY-THREE
TIMBER
Lyra was a very responsible and professional woman. It was one of the many reasons why Timber had fallen so hard for her, other than the mate aspect, obviously … which his bear would not let him forget. She always put Marigold first, which meant something to him, something he wanted to express not only in words but with physical expression for the rest of their lives.
Marigold was Timber’s daughter, his charge, his entire soul, even if taking care of a little being wasn’t something he had planned on. Or even wanted, for that matter. So having Lyra come into his life and sweep him off his feet through loving Marigold, well, there was no other way than he could think of it other than entirely cosmic.
It was the way she moved toward him. The way she touched him, so gentle, tender, yet firm and formidable. The way she gazed up, fluttering her lashes in an unconscious gesture of attraction. That was when he could sense her heartbeat through the thin, supple veil of skin over her jugular; her delicious skin thumping up and down, pacing the rhythm of their inevitable coming together.
She had put Marigold to sleep, and he was waiting for her in what was now their bedroom. He hadn’t realized how desperately he had missed her until coming upon her in the barn, bound and bruised in ways he could only fathom. He had tried to put Marigold to bed on account of her sore wrists, but she had insisted.
“These ham hocks are very capable,” she had quipped, then gave him a playful and sultry wink.
“Oh, I am very aware,” he snarled into her neck.
She had groaned with a brief release, then peeled herself from him to take the child to bed. The process was often an hour at least, getting the little girl into her pj’s, brushing her teeth, then finally, reading her into sweet slumber. Sometimes Timber contributed, but Lyra had insisted on account of her own exhaustion.
She had also missed the child deeply; he could see the flicker of love like a candle in the dark every time Lyra regarded her.
So he waited in the bedroom for the sound of Marigold’s bedroom door to shut softly. He was sitting on the bed, wearing only his underwear, waiting for his beloved to return to him. He also had an ice pack sitting on his thighs, which he had retrieved about a minute before she opened their bedroom door, sneaking in quietly.
Lyra had changed into the tank top she usually wore to sleep in, which fit tightly due to her generous bust. Though, it was still sexy, the way the fabric strained against her chest and arms.
When she turned to him, her smile was dim, her blinks slow and arduous. She gazed at the ice pack, continuing to smile in the fatigued way that made Timber’s heart ache.
“Give me your hands,” he said, holding his own out to her.
“Yes, sir.”
She held them out to him, palms up. Timber touched them delicately, analyzing them like a clinician with tiny brush strokes of his fingertips. The glow of the bedside table illuminated only faint bruising.
He sighed with relief.
“Not as bad as I had anticipated,” he murmured.
Lyra turned her hands and laid them on his bare chest, tucking herself between his legs as she remained standing. They were almost the same height that way, with her breasts pushing against his skin and her fingers lacing themselves around his neck.
Though she had appeared worn out initially, she was peering at him with a conviction that gave her eyes a refreshing gloss. She spoke firmly but still with that velvet layer of sensuality.
“Claim me.”
Timber groaned, hands coming to her thighs and waist, then cupped around her ass. He pulled her to him, a fun smile painted across her lips.
“Your wrists …” he whispered.
“Oh, stop that,” she asserted. “You know I’m okay and that I can handle it. I don’t want to wait any longer; I refuse to be some secret mistress. I want to be yours. Completely."
Timber had never heard anything more profoundly romantic in his entire life. It made him hard instantly, and he knew that she could feel it under the fabric of the tiny pants she wore to bed. Her eyes sparkled, and she craned her neck to him, pushing her tongue inside him and shoving him by the shoulders onto the bed.
