Page 16 of Trusting Her Bear

Our homes are our sanctuaries, our safe places; we will guard them and the people we love to the death.

I reach for my plate and realize I ate both sandwiches while staring at Quinn.

“More?” he asks. His plate is also empty.

“No, thank you.” I smile slightly in appreciation. It was the best meal I have had for a very long time.

He nods and cleans off the counter. I watch. I watch the muscles of his back flex as he cleans the plates. If I could have pictured my mate, he would be what I would have wanted. I wonder if the universe knew I needed to come back here to meet Quinn.

The long silences feel natural and not strained. I feel the mating bond expanding. The more we are around each other, the more it will bind us. The goal is to make us unable to live without each other. It pushes us to complete the bond, the ultimate goal. We have to bite each other, leaving a mark for all the world to see and tying us together forever. Usually, this is done during sex, the male shifter leaving his seed and his bite in the woman.

The thought brings another wave of heat over my body. Just thinking about Quinn’s large body covering mine—fuck.

The heat doesn’t care if we know nothing about or even like each other. It demands acceptance.

“Are you tired?” My vision comes back into focus.

“A little,” I confess. The drive took so much energy.

“Come,” he says, holding out his hand.

I put my hand in his, and he pulls me around the counter. I love the feel of his skin on mine. It calms me. His hands are big and completely cover my smaller ones.

He stops inside my bedroom, and in that second, I realize I didn’t put the blankets back on the bed. My head slowly turns in horror to the closet where his attention is centered. Panic wells in my chest.

My eyes widen.

My secret.

My shame.

Now he knows.

Why would he want such a fucked-up mate?

“Steph,” he snaps. “Eyes,” he demands. His tone gives me no choice but to look at him. “I want to make a few things clear.” He steps close, his palm cupping the side of my neck, and I tip back my head. “You are my mate. I don’t care that we don’t know everything about each other. I feel the pull. I want you to be my mate. You will have a choice, but I became yours the minute I saw you and smelled you. We will have years to get to know everything we need to. I won’t pressure you to complete the bond, but if it were up to me, I would mark you tonight.” He squeezes my neck.

“I have things in my past that I will reveal over time. Some may be shocking, horrifying even. I will ask you to have an open mind and take me at face value when I say I will never leave you. I will accept all that you are. I will give you time to adjust to your new reality. I am yours. You are mine. However long it takes. I hope you believe that.” He eliminates the space between us. “I am demanding, in and out of the bedroom. I like the control. I like to be obeyed. We will have many conversations about that, but not tonight. I won’t fuck you tonight. If you need me to relieve the heat that I can feel and smell hitting you, I will, in another way.” He kisses my forehead and moves away. “For tonight, let our new relationship sink in. All I want to do is sleep next to you, so get ready for bed.”

I stare. The panic is gone. A confusing mix of emotions is swirling inside instead: desire, confusion, curiosity, eagerness, and hesitancy. But I don’t fear him.

He reaches for the neck of his shirt, and I scramble away.

I quickly find a pair of flannel pajamas and run into the bathroom. I shut the door and press my palms on it. I take several deep breaths. I remember the reason I was panicked—the closet. I have to prepare myself to sleep on the bed with him.

I throw my clothes in the laundry basket and hurry to get dressed. I go through my bedtime routine and am done way too soon.

I cautiously open the door and peek into the bedroom. The bed is still bare, and my heart thuds. The bedroom door is still shut, so he either left or—I look to the closet.

Would he?

My bear's eyes clearly see him lying on the floor, his arms under his head, and his eyes closed.

“Turn the light off,” he says, and I click it off. “I made sure the doors are locked.” The covers rustle as he pushes them to make space. “Come to bed.”

I want to cry. My chest is tight. Every word to describe how I’m feeling evaporates except one.

Safe.

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