Page 24 of Befriending the Bear (Forestville Silver Foxes #6)

CALLOWAY

T he feel of Fraser under me, solid and warm and real, sent electricity through every nerve ending. My body, dormant for so long, had awakened with a vengeance. Every kiss, every touch, every breath against my skin felt magnified, like I was experiencing sensation for the first time.

“Is this okay?” Fraser murmured against my lips, his hands framing my face with tenderness.

“Y-yes.” The word came out breathless, desperate. “More than okay.”

We kissed again, slower this time, savoring. His beard scratched deliciously against my skin, a contrast to the softness of his lips. I ran my hands over his broad shoulders, down his back, marveling at the play of muscle beneath warm skin.

His chest was solid and powerful, covered in graying hair that felt coarse under my palms. I traced the web of old burn scars across his left shoulder, the raised tissue telling stories of battles with fire.

His arms were thick with the kind of strength built from years of physical labor, and I could feel the softness at his waist where muscle had relaxed into something more comfortable.

He was beautiful. Every scar, every imperfection, was a sign of a life fully lived. The fact that he was here, in my arms, felt like a miracle.

Fraser shifted, pressing kisses along my jaw, down my neck. He kissed, licked, sucked, and each touch sent sparks through me, building a heat low in my belly that I’d forgotten existed. When he found that sensitive spot where neck met shoulder, I gasped, fingers tightening in his hair.

“Like that?”

I could only nod, words temporarily beyond me for reasons that had nothing to do with my stutter.

He smiled against my skin and did it again, this time with a hint of teeth.

The sound that escaped me would’ve been embarrassing if Fraser hadn’t groaned in response, his hips pressing upward against mine.

The friction, even through our underwear, was exquisite torture. I could feel how hard he was, how much he wanted this, wanted me. The knowledge that I could still inspire this kind of desire, that my body could still give and receive pleasure, sent a thrill through me.

“May I touch you?” Fraser asked, his hand resting on my hip, thumb tracing small circles that made me shiver.

“P-please.”

His hand slipped beneath the waistband of my underwear, wrapping around my aching cock with perfect pressure. I arched into his touch, a broken sound escaping my lips. It had been so long since anyone had touched me like this, with intent and desire and care all wrapped together.

“You’re perfect…” Fraser stroked slowly, learning what made me gasp and writhe beneath him. “So perfect, Calloway.”

I wanted to reciprocate, to make him feel as good as he was making me feel. My hand found its way between us, palming him through his underwear. He was hot and hard beneath my touch, and the groan he let out when I squeezed gently made me feel powerful in a way I’d forgotten existed.

“Off.” I tugged at his waistband. “Want to f-feel you.”

We fumbled with clothing, laughing breathlessly at the awkward logistics of removing underwear while horizontal and entwined. But then we were skin to skin, nothing between us, and the laughter died in our throats.

“God, Calloway…” Fraser looked up at me with such heat in his eyes that it made me blush. “You have no idea how beautiful you are.”

I leaned down for another kiss, pouring everything I couldn’t say into the contact.

My hand wrapped around his cock. He was thick and heavy, his cock shorter than mine but with a girth that made something inside me clench with need.

I wasn’t ready for that yet, but I had no intention of stopping what we were doing now. It felt way too good.

He moaned into my mouth as I did an experimental stroke, twisting my hand upward at the end. His cock twitched in my grip, a bead of moisture appearing at the tip. I swiped my thumb over it, spreading the slickness, and Fraser shuddered under me. “Fuck, that feels good. Don’t stop.”

I had no intention of stopping. I set a steady rhythm, stroking him from root to tip, drinking in every gasp and groan. His own hand returned to my cock, and soon we were lost in mutual pleasure, hips rocking together as we chased release.

“Calloway…” My name on his lips ended in a moan. “Sweetheart, I… I’m so close already.”

“M-me too…” My own release was building at the base of my spine, coiling tighter with each slide of his hand. “Don’t stop, please d-don’t stop.”

He didn’t. His hand sped up, grip tightening just a fraction, and I did the same to him. A few more strokes and he was spilling over my fist with a guttural moan, his whole body tensing and then shuddering with the force of it.

The sight and sound of his pleasure pushed me over the edge, and I followed him into bliss. Pleasure crashed through me in waves, my vision going white at the edges.

We collapsed together, a tangle of heaving chests and trembling limbs. Fraser pressed soft, open-mouthed kisses to my shoulder as we caught our breath, murmuring praise and affection against my sweat-damp skin.

We lay there afterward, sticky and sated, trading lazy kisses as our breathing slowly returned to normal.

“Okay?” Fraser asked, pulling me against his chest. The weight of what we’d done, what we’d shared, settled over me like a warm blanket.

“M-more than okay,” I said, surprised to find I meant it. There was no guilt, no feeling of betrayal toward Marcus. Just a bone-deep satisfaction and a tentative joy that felt like spring after a long winter.

Was it strange to think of my dead husband while I was in another man’s arms? Maybe, but it felt right to me. Of course I would think of Marcus. I hadn’t been with anyone else since he’d passed, so this was a big step.

But even as I actively pictured Marcus, imagining how he would react, the guilt did not come.

He wouldn’t have wanted me to be alone. My conviction that I’d stay alone and celibate for the rest of my life had been mine, never his, never fueled by the thought that he would want me to mourn him forever.

With his death being so sudden and at such a young age, we’d never had a chance to discuss it, but I knew him. I’d been with the man for fifteen years, and all he’d ever wanted was for me to be happy.

Fraser’s arms tightened around me, and he pressed a kiss to the top of my head, pulling me out of my thoughts. “That was…”

“Yeah.”

Fraser shifted, his hand tracing patterns on my hip. “What do you say we get cleaned up?”

I nodded, suddenly very aware of the stickiness between us. “A shower s-sounds perfect.”

We untangled ourselves and made our way to my bathroom, still trading soft touches and glances.

Under the bright lights, I felt a flicker of self-consciousness.

My body was softer than it used to be, bearing the marks of grief and time.

But when Fraser turned to me, his gaze held nothing but affection.

I turned on the water, adjusting the temperature until steam began to fill the small space.

When I remodeled my bathroom two years ago, I opted to take out the bathtub and create a luxurious shower with plenty of room.

Right now, I was grateful for that flash of brilliance as we never would’ve fit in the old one.

He stepped into the shower first, holding out a hand to me in invitation. I took it, letting him pull me under the warm spray. The water sluiced over us, washing away the evidence of our lovemaking.

Fraser reached for the shower gel, working up a lather between his palms. “May I?”

At my nod, he began to wash me, his hands gliding over my skin with reverence.

He started at my shoulders, massaging away the tension that always seemed to linger there.

His hands moved lower, soaping my chest, his thumbs brushing over my nipples and making me gasp.

He smiled at my reaction, repeating the motion before continuing his exploration.

I leaned against the tiled wall, letting the sensations wash over me.

Fraser’s hands were strong and sure as they mapped my body, leaving no inch untouched.

When he reached my hips, he paused, meeting my gaze with a questioning look.

I nodded, not trusting my voice, and he continued his exploration, circling and teasing until I was panting.

“You’re so responsive,” he murmured, sounding awed. “I love how you react to my touch.”

I could only moan in response as his hand dipped lower, skimming over my hip to trace the crease of my thigh. He washed me thoroughly, intimately, his touch both arousing and soothing.

When he’d cleaned me all the way down to my feet, he rose again, looking at me through water-spiked lashes. “Good?”

“Perfect.” I took the gel from him. “Your t-turn.”

I returned the favor, lathering his broad chest, fingers tangling in the wiry hair. I loved the feel of him under my hands, solid and real. My hands drifted lower, over the softness of his belly, the sharp cut of his hip bones.

His cock grew half-hard, but not beyond that, and he looked down with a rueful smile. “One of the downsides of getting older. My recovery time ain’t what it used to be.”

I chuckled, pointing at my own, which was soft as well. “Same.”

We both shrugged, smiling.

We finished washing each other, hands lingering and caressing, maintaining that intimacy even as the water began to cool.

Finally, Fraser reached behind me to turn off the spray.

He grabbed a fluffy towel and began to dry me off, his touch as reverent as it had been in the shower.

I returned the favor, running the towel over his damp skin, memorizing the feel of him.

Once we were both dry, Fraser pulled me into his arms, nuzzling into my neck. I sighed contentedly, melting into his embrace. We stood there for a long moment, holding each other, breathing each other in.

“Stay,” I murmured finally, pulling back enough to meet his gaze. “P-please. I d-don’t want you to go.”

Fraser’s eyes softened, his hand coming up to cup my cheek. “I’d love to.”

Another slow kiss, and the last bit of tension seeped out of me.

I handed him a spare toothbrush, which he accepted with a smile. There was something so comfortable about brushing our teeth side by side, hips bumping as we jostled for space at the sink.

Clean and dry, we slipped under the covers of my bed. Fraser pulled me close, my back to his chest, and I sighed contentedly at the feel of his warm skin against mine. His arm draped over my waist, hand splayed on my stomach. I laced my fingers through his, marveling at how well they fit together.

“Fraser?”

“Mmm?”

“Thank you. For tonight. F-for…all of it.”

He kissed me softly, just a gentle press of lips. “One day, you’ll stop thanking me for things like this. It was my pleasure, sweetheart. Sleep well.”

“G-goodnight,” I whispered back, squeezing his hand.

But sleep didn’t come immediately. Instead, I lay there in the darkness, acutely aware of every point where our bodies touched.

Fraser’s chest rose and fell steadily against my back, his breathing already evening out into sleep.

The man could fall asleep anywhere, a skill probably honed by years of catching rest whenever possible during fire seasons.

My mind, however, wouldn’t quiet. It wasn’t anxiety or regret, but a kind of wonder.

When had I last felt this content? This safe?

Even before Marcus died, we’d been together so long that intimacy had become routine, comfortable but not electric.

Tonight with Fraser had been both—the comfort of being truly seen and accepted, combined with the electricity of new discovery.

I shifted slightly, and Fraser’s arm tightened around me automatically, pulling me closer even in sleep. The gesture made my throat tight with unexpected emotion.

I tucked my head under his chin, pressing close, and closed my eyes again.

Tomorrow would bring questions. Questions from others, who’d see his truck parked in my driveway during the night, again.

Question from ourselves. There would be complications and negotiations and the general messiness of two lives trying to intertwine.

But tonight, I would revel in Fraser’s heartbeat against my skin, his arms around me, and the quiet joy of choosing hope over fear.

For the first time in seven years, I fell asleep feeling whole.