Page 15 of Grizzly’s Grump (Shifters of Redwood Rise #1)

He lifts me without breaking the kiss. My legs wrap around his waist on instinct, my clogs thudding softly against the cabinet as he carries me in a rush of need.

We don’t make it far—he turns, slams me up against the cold metal wall, and the shock of it punches a gasp from my throat.

His hands are greedy, roving, gripping my hips like he owns them, sliding up to the small of my back and down my thighs like he’s memorizing every inch.

I cling to him, breath ragged, my fingers tangled in his hair as the metal of the wall bites into my spine in the best possible way.

There’s no rhythm to his touch, just hunger and desperation and the crackling, near-violent chemistry we’ve been pretending didn’t exist.

"This is crazy," I pant against his lips.

"Then stop me."

"Not a chance."

The heat between us spikes. His mouth moves down my throat, teeth scraping lightly against my pulse.

I moan, fingers digging into his shoulders.

He smells like pine, damp earth, and something wild I can’t name—like wind through untouched forest or rain hitting warm stone.

My apron gets tossed somewhere. Shirt, gone.

He tears it open as if it offended him. My bra follows, as do the rest of my clothes.

His mouth closes around my nipple, and I nearly scream.

"God, Calder?—"

He growls against my skin, rough and low, and the sound sends a tremor through me. I tug at the waistband of his sweats, desperate, and he finally sets me down long enough to strip.

I look. I cannot help but look.

He’s gorgeous. Carved muscle, scars, and heat. His eyes burn when he looks at me—like I’m the only thing he’s ever wanted. And I want to believe that. Just for now.

His hands explore every inch of my body—grasping at my hips, cupping my breasts, and pinching my nipples before gliding downward with deliberate intent to grip the soft flesh of my thighs.

His fingers dig into my skin as if he is afraid I'll escape from his grasp.

The rough texture of his palms sends tingles down my spine, each touch sending a wave of heat through every nerve.

He presses me back against the wall, spreading my legs apart and pressing his knee in between them. The rigidity of the surface behind me contrasts with the firmness of his touch; there's nothing tentative about it. He hungrily kisses me, our tongues dancing together in a desperate rhythm.

His fingers trace teasing circles around the sensitive bud at the apex of my thighs, causing me to gasp for breath as pleasure builds within me.

The anticipation is almost unbearable, and I buck against him, wanting more.

His lips curl into a knowing smile, his teeth grazing against the delicate skin of my neck as he sucks on it possessively.

He slips one finger inside me, gently stroking and curling it while adding another—both moving in unison.

I can barely hold on to any rational thought as he continues to play with me, igniting an inferno deep within that threatens to consume us both. My moans grow louder, echoing off the walls and mingling with his own grunts and growls of passion.

He takes my hand and guides it to his throbbing erection, allowing me to feel its pulsating heat before urging me to wrap my fingers around it.

Every vein is tense under my touch as I begin to stroke him along with his rhythm inside me.

Our eyes lock together, our shared desire evident even through the haze of lust.

It's not just about physical release for either of us; this is a dance—a battle waged between two bodies striving for dominance and submission. And in this moment, we are both lost within the firestorm of pleasure, our bodies crashing together like waves against the rocky shore.

We stumble onto the only actual seat in the truck—the driver’s side—still locked together in a frenzy of mouths and hands. He drives into me, his cock burying deep with each hard, hungry thrust. It’s raw and unrelenting, the kind of need that doesn’t ask, just takes.

Yet woven through that carnal demand is something tender—an unspoken reverence in the way he kisses the edge of my jaw, the curve of my shoulder, like he’s memorizing me.

Each push, each groan, each inaudible whisper against my neck is a confession—one he can’t voice but pours into every inch of my body instead.

"I shouldn’t want you like this," he rasps against my collarbone as he pounds into me.

"Then don’t," I bite back, clawing down his back. "Just take me."

He does... again... and again until we're both wrecked.

Afterward, we lie in a tangle of limbs and heat.

My head is on his chest. His arms around me like a fortress.

His heart is still thundering beneath my ear.

And underneath it all... a vibration. Subtle, then growing.

Like something beneath us is waking up. I press closer to him, and the hairs on my arms rise.

It's not just afterglow. It's something more.

"I’m not leaving," Calder whispers. "Not unless you tell me to."

He’s silent for a long moment. Then, "I don’t want you to go."

I close my eyes.

The truck gives a faint shudder.

He moves beneath me. "Did you…?"

"No..."

Another tremor. Subtle, but real. The food truck gives a soft creak, the driver’s seat vibrating faintly beneath us. A low, humming vibration buzzes up through the floor.

We both go still.

"Tell me that was just an earthquake," I murmur.

He doesn’t answer... he doesn’t have to.

We both feel it—the truth humming through the floor, undeniable and raw, vibrating in the air between us like a warning... or a summons.