Page 30 of Befriending the Bear (Forestville Silver Foxes #6)
CALLOWAY
T he day after Thanksgiving, Forestville had returned to its familiar quiet. A delicate frost coated the streets, making the sidewalks glisten and the windows fog over just enough to lend a cozy feel to the inside world.
I spent the morning tucked away in my reading chair, losing track of time in a new poetry collection.
By afternoon, an inexplicable urge had driven me into the kitchen, coaxing a cranberry orange loaf into existence.
I liked to pretend I wasn’t baking it for Fraser, though deep down, I knew better.
The prospect of making something for someone else, the anticipation of sharing, was rekindling a warmth I had missed for the last seven years.
Fraser had stayed the night, leaving mid-morning to work out, shower, and grab fresh clothes. He’d converted one of his spare bedrooms into a personal gym. A dedication I admired but had no intention to imitate. Fortunately, my fast metabolism spared me the need for cardio.
He returned around three, bundled in his navy coat and wool scarf, cheeks kissed rosy by the cold. In his hands, he had a bouquet of pine sprigs tied with twine—a simple gesture that somehow set my heart into a stuttered rhythm.
He brushed his cold lips softly against mine. “For you.”
“You’re r-ridiculous,” I said, grinning so wide it almost hurt.
We had a bounty of leftovers from yesterday’s feast—roasted vegetables, stuffing, slices of turkey soaked in gravy that had somehow retained its richness overnight.
We ate curled up on the couch, our knees brushing, each with a wine glass on the coffee table between us.
The fireplace crackled warmly nearby, and for the first time since Marcus had passed, I felt a complete ease in companionship over a holiday weekend.
No lingering guilt. No ghostly echoes by my side.
Just Fraser.
After we finished eating, I nestled into him, my cheek finding its familiar resting place over his heart as we watched a movie. Outside, the wind rustled gently against the windows. Inside, the room was drenched in warmth, the kind of comfort that only settles in when you stop expecting it.
The movie flickered on, a romantic comedy I’d seen before but always enjoyed.
My attention, though, was elsewhere. Fraser’s fingers traced idle patterns on my arm, and I was keenly aware of every point of contact between us—my cheek on his chest, his leg pressed against mine, our socked feet tangled together on the ottoman.
I tilted my head to look up at him and found his gaze already on me, his eyes soft and warm in the TV’s flickering light.
He smiled so endearingly that I leaned up to nuzzle into the crook of his neck, breathing in his clean, masculine scent.
He hummed softly and wrapped his arm around me a little tighter.
Emboldened, I pressed a kiss to the pulse point on his neck, feeling it jump beneath my lips.
Fraser’s fingers found my chin, gently tilting my face up to his.
Our eyes met in a charged moment before he claimed my mouth in a searing kiss that left me breathless.
The movie all but forgotten, I turned fully into him, sliding my hands into his hair as the kiss deepened.
He pulled me closer until I was practically in his lap, our bodies perfectly aligned.
We kissed languidly for long moments, the world around us fading from consciousness. Fraser’s hands traced up and down my back, slipping beneath the hem of my sweater to caress the bare skin at the small of my back. I shivered, pressing closer, and slid fully into his lap.
He groaned softly, his hard cock straining against his pants. Desire coursed through me, and I rocked my hips experimentally. His fingers tightened on my hips, voice low. “Sweetheart, if we take this further…”
“B-b-bedroom?”
Fraser didn’t need to be told twice. In one fluid motion, he stood, lifting me with him. I let out an undignified squeal, instinctively wrapping my legs around his waist. “Fraser! Y-you can’t carry m-me. Y-your knee!”
His face tightened momentarily, but then he let out a deep sigh and gently set me down. “I know. I want to though.”
“I ap-p-preciate the thought.”
Instead of carrying me, Fraser held out both his hands. I took them, threading our fingers together, and he walked me backward, our eyes never leaving each other. Once in my bedroom, I let go briefly to turn up the thermostat and switch on some soft lights.
Fraser watched me with eyes full of want, a need that humbled and uplifted me.
I stepped close to him, and our mouths met again.
God, he was such a good kisser. His lips were soft yet insistent against mine, his tongue tracing the seam of my mouth before delving in.
I opened for him with a soft moan, my tongue sliding against his in return.
Fraser’s hands roamed my back, pulling me flush against him. I could feel every hard plane of his body, the way his muscles flexed and shifted beneath his clothes. Desire thrummed through my veins, hot and needy. I clutched at his shoulders, rising on my toes to press even closer.
His large hands cupped my face, tilting my head to the perfect angle as he explored my mouth thoroughly, fusing us together with every movement of our lips, our tongues, and our mouths until I wasn’t sure where I ended and he began.
After what seemed forever yet too soon, Fraser gentled the kiss before drawing back slightly. We were both breathing hard, our chests heaving in tandem. His eyes had changed to a darker green, pupils blown wide with arousal.
“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, one hand coming up to cup my cheek. His thumb brushed over my kiss-swollen lower lip, and I shivered. “I can’t believe I get to have this with you.”
“S-same.”
Our mouths met again, as if we couldn’t bear being apart for long.
Lost in the drugging pleasure of the kiss, I barely registered Fraser walking me backward until the backs of my knees hit the bed.
We tumbled onto the mattress in a tangle of limbs and seeking hands, our lips never parting.
Fraser’s solid weight settled over me, and I reveled in the delicious feeling of being pinned beneath him.
I could feel the hard press of his cock against mine, and I arched into him, needing more contact, more friction.
His mouth left mine to blaze a trail of hot, open-mouthed kisses along my jaw and down the column of my throat.
I tipped my head back with a moan, giving him better access.
He found my pulse point and laved it with his tongue before sucking hard enough to leave a mark.
A bolt of white-hot desire shot straight to my balls.
Needing to feel his skin against mine, I tugged impatiently at his sweater. He broke the kiss just long enough to sit back and pull it over his head, tossing it aside carelessly. While he was at it, he got rid of his pants too, and inspired, I did the same, leaving us both in our underwear.
My hands roamed the broad expanse of his chest, fingers tracing the defined muscles, reveling in the warmth of his skin. Fraser’s eyes fluttered shut as I explored, his breath coming faster. When I brushed a thumb over his nipple, he let out a soft groan that sent a shiver down my spine.
I loved the way he looked half-dazed with pleasure, the way his normally ironclad self-control began to slip away the more I touched and tasted him.
There was something heady and powerful in being the one to undo this man, and I was more than willing to see how far I could push him before he snapped.
I started slow, mapping the broad swell of his chest with my palms, my fingertips drawing idle shapes in the coarse salt-and-pepper hairs that trailed down his sternum.
Fraser shivered, the muscles of his stomach twitching beneath my hands.
I pressed my lips to the hollow at the base of his throat, lingering there, feeling the deep rumble of his voice as he exhaled.
“Calloway,” he said, and the sound vibrated straight through me.
I grazed his left nipple with my teeth, and he arched, the low sound he made somewhere between a groan and a growl. I grinned against his skin, suddenly bold. It was shocking and intoxicating, the freedom to touch him how I wanted, to make him feel good.
My hands wandered lower, sliding to his waist where the softness of his belly drew me.
I adored his round belly, a gentle curve that contrasted with the rest of his robust physique.
His strength was palpable, each muscle defined and taut, yet there lay that one tender spot, a delightful imperfection that made him all the more endearing.
He truly embodied the essence of a bear—soft and cuddly, inviting affection, yet exuding a potent aura of formidable strength.
He tensed, and I realized with a start that maybe he was self-conscious about it.
I cupped it in both hands, reverent. Pressed my cheek to it, breathing him in before peppering kisses across the gentle curve.
He opened his eyes, and for a moment they glittered with something both wild and vulnerable. “What’re you?—”
I cut him off with a kiss, mouth lingering at the seam of his navel. “B-beautiful.”
In response, his fingers curled around the back of my neck, threading into my hair.
He was stunning, every inch of him, from the dense muscle of his biceps to the roundness at his middle, to the scars that criss-crossed his body. I traced the line of one on his lower belly with my tongue, and he shuddered, hissing in a breath.