Page 104 of Bearly Out Loud

“I’m a performer. Everything I do is on purpose.” She leaned down. Bit his shoulder—the same spot where he’d marked her. “Turnabout.”

“You’re not a bear.”

“You sure? I can be pretty territorial.” She rolled her hips again and his hands tightened and the sound he made was caught somewhere between human and animal, a growl that traveled through her thighs and her belly and the mark at her shoulder that burned warm in response.

She rode him at her own pace. Set the rhythm. Told him—toldhim, because she was Nari and she did not hide what she wanted, how it felt, that she loved him. Her voice in his ear undid him completely. She could see it: the moment his control frayed, his jaw tightening around whatever was left of his patiencebefore it broke, his hands abandoning it and gripping her hips and pulling herdown.

He flipped them. One motion—because he was a bear and patience had limits—and she was on her back, and he was above her, and the mark on her shoulder glowed where their skin touched. Everything amplified. His pleasure layered on top of hers, doubled, feeding back in a loop that tightened with every movement. She could hear his heartbeat—not with her ears but with the mark, as if her body had grown a second pulse.

He buried his face in her neck. Mouth on the mark. Moved deep, deliberate, the rhythm building until she was gripping the sheets and gasping and the dual sensation—hers and his, tangled, cresting—sent her over the edge so hard her voice cracked on his name—loud and unrestrained, the sound that bounced off walls and rattled the bees and would absolutely be audible two floors below.

He followed. Body curved around hers, mouth gentle on the mark he’d made. Loud and messy and earned and perfect.

She was drapedacross his chest like a throw blanket with opinions. His fingers traced slow circles on her hip. His breathing had settled. The vibration in his chest had not—steady, deep, rumbling through her ribcage in a way that was either medically concerning or profoundly romantic.

“Dojin.”

“Hmm.”

“The sleuth definitely heard that.”

“The sleuth is two floors down.”

“I wasveryloud.”

“Bear hearing.”

“So theydidhear.”

“Probably.”

“Are you embarrassed?”

“I’m proud.”

“That’s worse.”

“My mate is loud. I’m a bear. Bears show off.”

“You’re ridiculous.” She pressed her smile into his chest. He was doing the thing—the vibration—and neither of them mentioned it by name because naming it had become their longest-running argument and she intended to win it eventually but not tonight.

She traced a line from his collarbone to the center of his chest. “The sketches are extraordinary. You know that.”

“They’re rough.”

“Rough is where every great world starts. Grandpa’s first Celestial Ronin sketch was on the back of a grocery list. Suki still has it.” She lifted her head. Rested her chin on his chest. “We’re going to build this. And it’s going to be ours. Not mine. Not yours. Not a Wixx legacy or a Keiser project.Ours.”

He looked at her. The garden light through the window caught the amber in his eyes and for a moment, he was very still—not bear-still, not the stillness of a predator. Human-still. The stillness of a man hearing a word he hadn’t known he needed.

Ours.

He pulled her up. Kissed her. Long, unhurried, a kiss that tasted like honey and sweat and a future neither of them had planned but both of them wanted.

His phone buzzed on the nightstand. He ignored it. It buzzed again. And again.

Nari reached over him, grabbed the phone, and held it up.

Reo, to the group chat:She said yes. Rooftop shook. Bees confused. Everyone to the kitchen. There’s cake.