Page 72 of Bear and Order

"Soon," I agree, and then I stop agreeing to anything at all, because she's pulling the shirt off my shoulders and pressing her mouth to my chest, and every rational thought I have dissolves into the simple, overwhelming fact of her hands on my skin.

I fumble and get her dress off somewhere between the door and the bedroom, the fabric pooling at her feet, and she's stepping out of it without breaking the kiss, her fingers already at my belt.

We've done this enough times now that there's no hesitation — just certainty, two people who know exactly what they want and have finally stopped pretending otherwise. We fall onto the bed, both bare, both desperate, her nails already dragging down my back hard enough to leave marks I'll feel tomorrow and won't mind at all.

"I want to feel you," she says against my ear, her legs already wrapping around my hips. "All of you. Now."

“Not yet. I want to admire you.”

I trace my fingertips down her body, teasing her nipples that instantly rise. I brush over her pussy which makes her gasp and I smile, knowing I’m torturing her. I place the tip of my tongue on one nipple, and my fingertip on the other, circling in opposite directions. She moans with great pleasure, and reaches to touch herself.

I stop her, and put my two fingers there instead, rubbing her already wet pussy. She gasps, her head tilts back, and she pushes into me for more.

I stop making her wait, and sink into her on one long, unbroken stroke, and the sound she makes goes straight through me like a current. She's ready and impossibly tight around me. I have to hold myself perfectly still for a second just to keep from coming straight away.

"Move," she begs, her heels digging into the small of my back. "Brock, please, I need you to move."

I do, slow at first, deep, and I drag almost all the way out every time before thrusting back in. I watch her face for every flicker of pleasure crossing it — the way her lips part, the way her brows draw together, the way her hands scramble for my shoulders. Every place our skin meets feels less like touch and more like recognition, like coming home to a place I never knew I was looking for.

"Brock—" Her nails bite into my shoulders. "Harder."

I groan low in my chest, and give her exactly what she's asking for. I brace one forearm beside her head and drive into her harder, deeper, with a rhythm that climbs faster with every thrust. When I hook her knee higher against my ribs and change the angle, she cries out loud.

"Right there," she gasps, her whole body clenching around me. "God, Brock, right there, don't stop⁠—"

My bear is right under my skin now, golden-eyed and roaring, every instinct in me narrowed down to the woman beneath me, gasping my name, clawing red lines down my back, clenching tighter around me with every stroke. I drop my head to the curve of her throat and bite down gently — just enough pressure that she shudders hard, her whole body bowing up off the bed — and growl the word MINE against her skin without entirely meaning to say it out loud.

"Yours," she chokes out, like she's been waiting for me to say it.

That one word rushes through, and I pound deeper, listening to the lewd noises, enjoying how far the edge it pushes me toward. I feel the tension coiling tight, building up inside.

“I can't control myself,” I groan.

That's what breaks her. She crumbles around me, her whole body clenches harder than it ever has before, and it drags me right behind her, my release tearing through me like something that's been waiting its whole life to finally, finally come home.

We collapse together, tangled and breathless, her heartbeat slamming against my chest as ragged as my own. I don't move for a long time. Don't want to. I just lie there with her wrapped around me, feeling the bond settle into something steady and permanent, like a foundation finally set after years of unstable ground.

And I know I'm exactly where I'm supposed to be.

Home. Finally, completely, forever home.