Page 35 of Grizzly's Grump
His brow furrows, shadowed eyes scanning my face like he's searching for something he doesn't want to find. His voice is low and rough, like gravel dragged over stone. “You shouldn’t be here,” he says, but there’s no conviction behind it—justhesitation and something heartbreakingly tender beneath the gruffness.
I hold my ground, eyes locked on his. "Too bad. Because I am. And I’m not going anywhere unless you ask me to. Out loud."
When he doesn’t answer right away, I step closer. “You want me gone, Calder? Say it.”
His silence stretches between us, taut as a tripwire, daring me to move, to speak, to shatter whatever fragile thread is holding him together. I watch his eyes, dark and conflicted, and wonder how much longer he can hold back before everything snaps.
“No,” I say again, firmer now, my voice steady and resolute. “You keep doing this—shutting me out, pretending like pushing me away is for my own good. But I see through it, Calder. I see you. And I will not let you hide behind that carefully constructed wall anymore.”
He flinches. Just a flicker—barely more than the twitch of a muscle near his eye—but I catch it. A crack in the armor. A fault line in the stone facade he's spent so long maintaining. And in that split second, I know I’ve hit something real.
“You want me gone, Calder? Say it to my face.”
He doesn’t. Can’t. The air between us tightens, charged with something older than logic—something instinctual. My breath hitches as his back hits the wall, eyes locked on mine, tension winding tighter with each breath. I move in, drawn by the gravitational pull between us, needing answers, needing him, as everything else falls away.
“You keep saying you want to protect me, but that’s not what this is. You’re scared. Hiding. You think if you keep me at arm’s length, nothing bad can happen. But bad things happen anyway. Running won’t change that.”
“I’m trying to keep you safe, Cilla.”
“No, you’re trying to protect yourself.”
His jaw ticks, tension flaring in his eyes. "You don’t understand what it means to be bound to someone like me—to this place, this power. If I let myself want you fully, Cilla... it won’t just break me. It might break you, too."
"Then make me understand."
Something cracks open between us. In a blink, his mouth is on mine—rough, claiming, desperate, like weeks of restraint are collapsing all at once. I meet him beat for beat, letting go of the reins I’ve held too tightly, surrendering to the surge between us. His hands are everywhere, hot and urgent, as he lifts me like I weigh nothing and carries me through the open space of the cottage, past the flickering shadows and into the bedroom.
Clothes vanish in the blur of heated touches and breathless urgency, strewn across the room in a trail that marks our unraveling. His kisses are punishing and reverent, each one a contradiction that leaves my skin aching and alive. The low, primal sound that breaks from his chest rattles through me, not just heard but felt—like tremors echoing through stone.
As I lower myself to my knees, my hands find their place on his muscular thighs, providing balance as I peer up into his eyes. His gaze is fervent and intense, filled with a mixture of adoration and insatiable desire that sends a pulsing wave of longing throughout my body.
My fingertips travel along his legs, unhurried and intentional, experiencing the barely contained energy hidden just below the surface of his skin. A shudder courses through him when my lips tenderly press against the delicate area above his hipbone, his hands clenching by his sides as he resists the temptation to dominate the situation.
But he doesn't interrupt me. Not when I pull on his sweatpants, slowly lowering them down his legs. Not when my hand encircles his swollen arousal. And not when I gaze at himthrough half-closed eyes before taking him gently inside my eager mouth.
A deep moan breaks free from him—the guttural sound resonating in my ears—while his hand finds its way to the back of my head, fingers entwining softly in my hair with a sense of possessive tenderness that makes me liquefy inside.
I establish a slow and worshipful rhythm, relishing the sensation of his powerful muscles tensing beneath my touch every time my tongue glides over him. There's an undeniable sacredness to this moment—something that transcends lust.
As I pleasure him with focus and care, it becomes more than just physical satisfaction; I'm anchoring our bond in sensation and trust. Each flick of my tongue pulls another moan from his throat; he curses under his breath, his breathing ragged as he battles to stay present through the onslaught of sensation. I feel the pressure building inside him—and I welcome it.
When he reaches climax, it's accompanied by a feral growl that escapes his chest, and as I swallow everything he gives me, I maintain our eye contact. I linger there until his breathing steadies and the hand entangled in my hair relaxes its grip.
Only then does he sweep me up in his arms, his eyes clouded with an intense mixture of wonderment and something that just might be love. He holds me close to his chest as if I were the most precious thing in the world.
He carries me to the bed, and this time, I let him lead.
When my back hits the mattress, it's with a gasp, every nerve ending awake and reaching for him. He follows in a rush of heat and power, the storm of him cresting and crashing, claiming every inch of me with his presence. This isn't just sex—it’s surrender, it’s demand, it’s the wild promise of forever made flesh.
When he lays me down, it’s not with the same gentleness as before. There’s a different kind of urgency in the way he handlesme—commanding, unapologetic. This isn’t just possession; it’s a vow etched in heat and skin. A promise and a reckoning. His weight settles over me like a shield, a statement to the world that I’m his and he’s mine, and nothing is going to change that.
His mouth captures mine—hot, urgent, unyielding. There's no delay, just the solid weight of him pushing me down into the mattress, his hands gripping my wrists, pinning them above my head.
He pauses, eyes darkened with lust, and instead of staying above me, he slides down my body with slow, focused intent.
"I'm a bear. I need your honey," he whispers, voice thick with desire.
I might have giggled, but he sucks my nipple into his mouth and bites down firmly while he pinches the other. My breath catches as his mouth plants kisses across my stomach, each one lower than the previous until he's between my thighs, carefully parting them with a devotion that makes me tremble. He looks up, locking eyes with me, waiting. When I nod, his hands grip my hips with a tender ache, holding me in place as he lowers his tongue to me.
