Page 64 of Grin and Bear It (Enchanted Falls #2)

SIXTY-FOUR

A rtair broke free of her loosened grip, his hands coming up to tangle in her hair, angling her head to deepen the kiss. The taste of him—honey-sweet with an underlying wildness—sent heat spiraling through her core. She rocked against him instinctively, drawing a growl from deep in his chest that vibrated against her lips.

Her sabertooth stretched and purred, recognizing his bear as worthy—strong enough to match her, powerful enough to challenge her, gentle enough to treasure her.

In one fluid move, he flipped their positions, pressing her into the mat with delicious weight. His mouth traveled from her lips to her throat, teeth grazing the sensitive skin where her pulse hammered.

“The gym—” she gasped as his hand slipped under her tank top.

“Private facility,” he murmured against her collarbone. “Security override engaged when we started sparring.”

The fact that he’d anticipated this—had wanted this as badly as she did—sent another rush of heat between her thighs. She arched into his touch as his palm cupped her breast, thumb circling the sensitive peak through thin fabric.

“Always thinking ahead, aren’t you?” she teased breathlessly.

His laugh rumbled against her skin. “Bear instinct. Always prepare a den before winter.”

“Is that what this is?” Her fingers traced the ridges of muscle along his back, memorizing the topography of his body. “Preparing for winter?”

Artair lifted his head, golden eyes meeting hers with startling intensity. “Preparing for a future. Hopefully one with you in it.”

The simple honesty in his voice stole her breath. No games, no manipulation—just straightforward desire for a shared path forward.

Three weeks ago, such a declaration would have sent her running for the nearest exit. Now, it kindled something warm in her chest. She’d spent so long convincing herself that permanence wasn’t for her, that roots would only lead to pain when they were inevitably torn up.

But what if they weren’t torn up? What if, for once, she allowed herself to imagine staying? To build something lasting with this man who saw her—really saw her—and wanted her anyway?

The thought should have terrified her. Instead, it felt like the first deep breath after swimming underwater too long.

When he shifted to create space between them, she nearly growled in protest. But his intentions became clear as he tugged her tank top upward. She lifted to help him remove it, then reached for his in return.

The sight of his bare chest, powerful and sprinkled with dark hair, sent a jolt of pure want through her. This wasn’t her first encounter with a male shifter, but it was the first time she’d felt this bone-deep certainty—a rightness that transcended physical attraction.

As they shed remaining clothing, Artair’s eyes darkened to molten gold, pupils expanding until only a thin ring of color remained. He looked at her with such raw appreciation that Thora felt beautiful rather than exposed.

“You’re stunning,” he murmured, hands tracing reverent paths along her curves.

No one had ever looked at her that way—as if she were precious and wild simultaneously. Not a trophy to be conquered or a weapon to be wielded, but a woman to be cherished.

The gym’s harsh lighting suddenly seemed too clinical for what was unfolding between them.

“Shower,” she suggested, voice husky with desire.

Understanding darkened his eyes. With surprising gentleness, he helped her to her feet, though his hands never left her body as they moved toward the attached facilities.

Steam billowed as hot water cascaded over them. Thora stepped backward into the spray, watching with feminine appreciation as rivulets traced paths down Artair’s muscled torso. He followed her into the enclosure, crowding her against the tile wall with delicious intent.

Their bodies came together with primal certainty, instinct overriding hesitation. The slick slide of skin against skin, enhanced by steam and water, intensified every sensation. Thora’s nails scored his shoulders as his fingers found the center of her need, circling and stroking until she trembled.

“Artair—” His name became both plea and promise on her lips.

He understood, lifting her against the wall with bear-strong arms. Her legs wrapped around his waist, and then he was pressing into her—slowly at first, giving her time to adjust to the fullness, then with increasing urgency as her body welcomed him.

Their joining transcended physical pleasure. With each thrust, each gasp, each moment of shared ecstasy, something shifted between them—a connection that went beyond bodies to something fundamental. Her sabertooth and his bear recognized what their human sides had resisted—they belonged together.

The realization pushed Thora toward the edge. She clung to him as tension coiled tighter, inner walls clenching around him. When release finally claimed her, she cried out his name, the sound echoing off tile walls.

His climax followed moments later, his powerful body shuddering against hers as he buried his face in her neck. Their hearts thundered in matched rhythm, neither willing to separate despite the water beginning to cool.

Eventually, practicality prevailed. They washed each other with tender attention, punctuated by lingering kisses and playful touches. By silent agreement, they retreated to the plush couch in Artair’s private office adjoining the gym, wrapped in soft towels.