Page 9 of Guarded By the Bigfoot (Mystic Ridge Monster Mates #1)

PARKER

T he kiss was desperate, hot and clumsy in the best way, as if we both knew the world was on fire and we wanted to burn with it.

Brock’s hands gripped my hips like he was afraid I’d disappear, and mine were already tugging at his shirt, hungry for more.

In one swift motion, he scooped me up, his hands cupping my ass, and carried me to the bedroom, our lips never parting.

He pulled me tighter and felt all of him. Muscle and heat and size making every rational thought flee. He was solid and overwhelming. A force of nature. A raw power that made him seem more than just a guardian. He was something wild and irresistible. And in that instant, he belonged to me.

We broke just long enough for him to pull my shirt over my head, his glowing eyes trailing down as if he was seeing me for the first time.

“You’re beautiful,” he said, voice rough and reverent.

I huffed, reaching for his belt. “Less talking. More undressing.”

He growled in agreement and we fumbled with buttons, fabric flying somewhere into the ether. I barely noticed as I peeled off his shirt, but the moment I looked up, my breath caught.

Oh, sweet merciful universe. No one had the right to look that powerful. My mouth went dry, fingers itching to trace every inch of him.

He stepped closer, and I reached out instinctively, hands brushing the thick fur along his chest and down over sculpted abs that looked carved out of something sinful. His breath hitched slightly.

“Oh wow,” I whispered. “Okay. What was that?”

His lips curled. “You.”

Then he lifted me like I weighed nothing, effortless, like I was a breath in his hands, and laid me down on the edge of his enormous bed.

He stepped between my legs, and the look in his eyes told me I wasn’t going anywhere.

He didn’t rush. He stood there, eyes glowing with something ancient, hands braced on either side of my thighs, unyielding and terrifyingly in control.

Every inch of my skin prickled with awareness.

“Lie back,” he murmured.

I did, slowly, because something in his voice said this wasn’t going to be frantic anymore. It was going to be deliberate, and devastating.

He reached out, one giant hand sliding under my thigh, lifting and spreading me a little. His touch was firm, claiming. And then he gripped.

Not gentle. Possessive. Commanding.

“These legs,” he growled, low and close to my skin, “are going to tremble for me.”

I was about to respond with something smartass, something witty, when he bit me. Just under my hip, enough pressure to make me gasp.

“Okay,” I whispered, wide-eyed.

I could feel the curve of his lips against my skin. Then his mouth began its slow, meticulous journey.

First, my hip. Then across my stomach, kisses and licks and small bites that made my body jolt and ache and twist toward him.

He paused at my ribs, lifting my arms gently and kissing along the underside of each. I was breathless, squirming, not just from what he was doing but from what he wasn’t doing yet.

Then his mouth found my breast. He groaned like he’d just tasted ambrosia and closed his lips around me, tongue teasing, one hand kneading while the other still gripped my thigh.

I arched. Moaned. “Brock,” I muttered, head spinning.

His mouth left me only long enough to growl, a sound that wrecked me more than the pressure of his tongue.

I reached for him without thinking, fingers trailing down his stomach, finding that thick V of muscle that led straight to?—

Oh. Yeah. Okay. That was definitely not what I was expecting.

He hissed through his teeth, eyes flashing molten gold as my hand brushed the hard length between us. His muscles tensed. His jaw clenched.

“I just wanted to touch,” I said innocently.

“Parker.” His voice was tight, ragged, dangerous.

But I didn’t stop. I stroked again, slow and curious, and the low growl that rumbled out of him made my toes curl. I looked up, smug, until he caught both my wrists in one hand and pinned them above my head.

The world tilted.

His body lowered over mine, heat and weight and wild tension pressing me down like gravity. His free hand slid over my thigh, holding me open without resistance.

“You’re all mine tonight,” he said, voice like thunder wrapped in velvet. “No distractions.”

He leaned down, his nose brushing mine. His fangs just barely grazed my lip as he whispered, “Now lie there and let me worship you.”

My brain short-circuited. Every thought that wasn’t yes please vanished.

I gasped as his grip tightened for a heartbeat longer, not enough to hurt, but enough to remind me who was in charge.

And then he let go.

But I didn’t move. I couldn’t. That voice, that look, that command pinned me more surely than any grip could have.

Brock slid his hands down my thighs again, slower this time, his touch focused, worshipful, like I was something holy and he was about to sin.

And then he spread me.

Slowly.

Like he had all the time in the world.

My legs trembled against his grip, and I felt air hit skin that had never felt so exposed. He looked up at me from between my thighs, his eyes glowing and hungry, his expression unreadable.

“Okay,” I breathed. “Just for the record, this is already wildly unfair.”

He didn’t answer. He lowered his mouth and tasted me like he had been starved for it.

My back arched off the bed.

“Oh my goddess.”

His tongue moved in slow, deliberate strokes at first. Long and deep and unhurried, like he was learning the shape of me. Then he circled, flicked, sucked with perfect, devastating pressure.

I gasped, hands fisting in the quilt beneath me. “Holy shit, okay, what the hell?”

He chuckled, his mouth still on me.

“Not legal,” I panted. “Pretty sure this violates forest code.”

His response was to tighten his grip on my thighs and pull me closer, his mouth sealing over me again. His tongue moved faster now, more confident, and just as I thought I couldn’t take another second, his fingers joined in.

One thick finger slipped inside me with aching precision. Then another.

I moaned, loudly. I didn’t care. He didn’t stop.

His fingers curled at the perfect angle, finding a spot that made my vision go dark.

“Brock,” I gasped.

I shattered into pieces.

Hard.

My body arched, legs shaking, cries muffled by the arm I threw over my face because I was not going to scream.

He didn’t stop until I sagged back against the bed, boneless, drenched in sweat, gasping like I had just been resuscitated.

“Holy hell,” I breathed, staring at the ceiling. “That was... I think you broke something vital in my brain.”

He kissed my thigh, then bit it, gently.

My body was still humming with aftershocks when I caught the look in his eyes, predatory and possessive, not satisfied yet.

“Oh,” I whispered, understanding dawning. My pulse quickened again.

He rose up slowly, licking his lips, gaze burning with satisfaction and hunger.

“We’re just getting started,” he said, voice low and sure.

He loomed over me, glowing and wild. And mine.

I was still catching my breath from the wreckage of his mouth when he kissed me again, deep and slow, then pulled back just enough to look me in the eye.

“You sure?” he asked, voice low and velvet rough.

I arched an eyebrow, then deliberately shifted my hips against him. “Are you seriously asking me that question right now? Yes, Guardian. Very, very sure.”

His chest rumbled. Not a growl this time, but a groan, surrender and hunger and reverence all tangled together.

He shifted, lined himself up, and braced one hand beside my head. The other found my hip, his grip spreading fire across my skin.

The first push made my breath catch.

He was thick. Hot. Stretching.

“Oh wow,” I gasped, my hands scrambling to grip his arms. “That’s a lot of Bigfoot.”

He stilled immediately. “Too much?”

“No,” I breathed. “Just give me a second to appreciate the situation.”

His eyes burned. “You’re perfect.”

He moved slow, every inch dragging fire through my veins as my body adjusted, opened, welcomed him in. Full and holy hell, I nearly came apart all over again.

My hands found his fur-covered back, pulling, anchoring.

Then he began to move.

Every thrust was deep, measured, precise, like he was memorizing how I responded.

“You feel,” he groaned against my neck, “so damn good.”

I couldn’t speak. I couldn’t think. I just felt. Every stroke wound me tighter, every breath dragged me closer to the edge. This wasn’t just sex. It was cosmic, ancient, fated, and way too good to survive.

His pace quickened. My breath caught.

We were panting, gripping, moving like we would never separate again. And in the back of my mind, I knew I was gone.

Gone for him. Gone for this.

Gone for us.

My nails raked down his chest and he groaned, feral and wrecked. His movements turned frantic, desperate, his control snapping like a live wire.

I came apart this time, everything inside me calling to him, his body crashing into mine like we had been on a collision course from the moment we met.

He followed seconds later, teeth at my shoulder, a roar buried in my skin as he let go completely and utterly with me.

We twisted together, breathless and dazed, like two survivors of a very sexy natural disaster.

I wasn’t sure what we had just done to each other, emotionally, spiritually, maybe even cosmically.

But I knew one thing.

I wasn’t going anywhere.