Page 62 of Asking Fur Trouble

The look that crossed his face was worth every terrifying moment she had endured—pure, unbridled joy and triumph. He pulled her into his lap with a growl that was more bear than man, his hands spanning her waist.

“My queen,” he rumbled against her lips before claiming them in a kiss that promised forever.

They finally arrived at the castle, its towering spires and ancient stone walls a stark contrast to the chaos they had just left behind. Charov guided her through the grand entrance, his hand firm in hers. The staff bowed as they passed, but Charov didn’t pause to acknowledge them. His focus was entirely on her, his piercing blue eyes dark with a mix of relief and something far more primal.

“Let’s get cleaned up,” he murmured softly as they ascended the sweeping staircase.

When they reached his royal chambers, he closed the heavy wooden door behind them with a soft click, sealing them off from the world. The space was as opulent as she remembered—the massive four-poster bed, the rich tapestries, the scent of cedar and something uniquelyhimthat lingered in the air. But tonight, it felt different. More intimate. More theirs.

FORTY-THREE

Charov didn’t waste time. He led her straight to the en suite bathroom, a sprawling space of marble and gold that could have doubled as a spa. He turned the shower on, the sound of rushing water filling the room as steam began to rise.

“Let me take care of you,” he said, his voice leaving no room for argument. His hands moved to the straps of her yellow sundress, his fingers brushing against her shoulders as he slid them down. The fabric pooled at her feet, leaving her standing in nothing but her bra and panties. His gaze raked over her, hot and possessive, and she felt her cheeks flush under the intensity of it.

“You’re so beautiful,” he said, his voice rough with admiration. His hands moved to the clasp of her bra, and she held her breath as he unhooked it, letting it fall away. His eyes darkened as he took her in, his hands skimming down her sides to her hips. “Every inch of you.”

Her heart pounded as he stepped back to undress himself. His borrowed clothes were gone in moments, revealing the powerful, sculpted body she’d come to know so well. His muscles rippled as he moved, his skin marked with faint scars that told stories of battles fought and won. The sight of him made her knees weak.

He took her hand and led her into the shower, the warm water cascading over them both. Bess gasped as the heat hit her skin, the tension in her body beginning to melt away. Charov reached for a bottle of soap, pouring a generous amount into his hands before lathering them up.

“Turn around,” he instructed, his voice soft but commanding. She obeyed, her back to him as his hands began to move over her shoulders, kneading the tight muscles there. His touch was firm but gentle, and she let out a soft moan as he worked the knots out of her back.

“Just relax,” he murmured, his lips brushing lightly against her ear.

She closed her eyes, letting herself sink into the sensation of his hands on her skin. He moved lower, his fingers tracing the curve of her spine before sliding around to her stomach. His touch was electric, sending sparks of pleasure through her body.

When he reached for the shampoo, she turned around to face him, her hands resting on his chest. “My turn,” she said softly. She took the bottle from him, pouring a dollop into her hands before working it into his dark, wet hair. His eyes never left hers as she massaged his scalp, her fingers moving in slow, deliberate circles.

“You’re good at that,” he said, his voice husky. His hands settled on her hips, pulling her closer until their bodies were pressed together. The water streamed over them, but Bess barely noticed. All she could focus on was the heat of his skin against hers, the way his breath hitched as her fingers moved through his hair.

When she was done, she reached for the soap, lathering her hands before sliding them over his chest. His muscles tensed under her touch, and she could feel the rapid beat of his heart beneath her palm. She moved lower, her hands gliding over his abs, and he let out a low growl that sent a thrill through her.

“Bess,” he warned, his voice thick with desire. But she didn’t stop. She wanted to explore every inch of him, to memorize the feel of his body under her hands.

When her fingers brushed against the hard length of him, he groaned, his hands tightening on her hips. “Careful what you’re doing,” he said, his voice a rough whisper.

She looked up at him, her eyes meeting his. “I know exactly what I’m doing. I want you, Charov,” she said, her voice steady despite the heat coursing through her.

Charov’s eyes darkened, and before she could blink, he had her pinned against the shower wall, his body pressing into hers. The water streamed over them as he claimed her mouth in a searing kiss, his hands roaming over her body with a possessiveness that left her breathless.

“You’re going to be completely mine after tonight,” he growled against her lips.

His hands slid down her back, gripping her hips, and he lifted her effortlessly, pressing her up against the tiled wall. Her legs wrapped around his waist instinctively, her breath hitching as she felt the hard length of him press against her.

His mouth left hers, trailing hot, wet kisses down her neck, each one sending a jolt of electricity through her. When his mouth found her breast, a gasp escaped her as he began circling her hard nipple with his tongue. “Charov,” she whispered, her voice trembling with need. Her fingers tangled in his wet hair, pulling him closer, needing more.

He pulled back just enough to meet her eyes, his gaze dark with hunger. “You’re mine, Bess,” he breathed. “Say it.”

“I’m yours,” she whispered, her heart pounding. The words felt like a vow, one she was more than willing to make.

His lips crashed back onto hers, fierce and demanding, and she moaned into his mouth as he positioned himself at her entrance. He entered her slowly, achingly so, and her nails dug into his shoulders as she adjusted to the feel of him. He was big—so big—but the stretch was delicious, filling her in a way that made her gasp.

“Are you okay?” he asked, and she nodded, her breath coming in short, uneven pants.

“Yes,” she managed. “Don’t stop.”

He didn’t. His thrusts started slow and measured, but as she began to move with him, meeting him stroke for stroke, he picked up the pace. His hands gripped her hips, holding her steady as he drove into her, each thrust deeper, harder, and more primal. The sound of their bodies meeting filled the steamy air, mingling with her soft moans and his guttural growls.

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