Page 13 of Mated to the Mountain Bear (Bear Protector #1)

BEN

T he bedroom door slams behind me with more force than necessary. I lean against it, chest heaving, trying to get control of myself. Of my bear.

She was on her knees.

The image burns behind my eyelids. Zara kneeling on my kitchen floor, wearing nothing but my shirt, looking up at me with those wide, green eyes. Her lips parted. That pink tongue darting out to wet them. The way she bit down on that plump bottom lip…

And her scent. Fuck, her scent.

My bear claws at my insides, wanting to go back out there, to claim what he insists is ours.

It’s everywhere in this cabin now, but concentrated in here, where she’s been sleeping in my bed. And now, it fills my head, mixed with arousal so thick, I can taste it in the air.

When she looked at me like that, positioned perfectly to...

I growl, pushing off the door to pace the small room.

My cock throbs, still hard from her accidental touch at breakfast, and now, so stiff, it aches.

I stalk to the bed, hands clenched into fists.

The sheets are still rumpled, the pillow still holding the indent of her head.

Without thinking, I sit on the edge of the mattress and grab the pillow, bringing it to my face.

The combination is intoxicating. My soap from her shower last night, mixed with her natural scent. Clean and sweet and utterly devastating.

My bear rumbles possessively at the evidence of our scents mingling.

Mine , he insists.

She’s not ours, I argue back. She’s human. And she’s here temporarily.

But even as I think it, I know the truth. The moment I heard her cry out, and heard those pots crashing, pure terror shot through me. Not a normal level of concern, and not the protectiveness I’d feel for any other guest.

This was raw, primal fear that something had happened to my mate. And the overwhelming urge to kill anyone or anything that hurt her.

I’d shifted back mid-run, not even thinking about clothes, only about getting to her. And when I saw her there, unharmed, the relief nearly brought me to my knees.

Then she looked up at me like that.

My blood stirs with the memory of her mouth, warm and wet, and her tongue sliding against my skin as she sucked the honey off, the sensation travelling straight to my cock.

I bring my thumb to my mouth, chasing her exquisite taste, but it’s already faded.

A poor substitute for what I really want to taste.

“Fuck.” I growl, squeezing the pillow tighter.

My claws extend without warning, shredding through the fabric like tissue paper.

Great.

Feathers explode across the bed, and I stare at the destroyed pillowcase in my hands. Evidence of how completely she’s destroying my control, having invaded every part of my home, and now, my mind.

I strip the ruined case off then wad it into a ball.

Two days. She’s been here two days, and I’m already coming apart at the seams.

I shove the torn fabric to the bottom of the laundry basket in the corner, then grab the rest of the bedding to cover it. May as well wash everything while I’m at it.

As I gather the sheets, her scent rises again, stronger where she’s slept. My bear practically purrs at the thought of her in my bed. Where she belongs, he insists.

Where she’ll never stay, I remind him grumpily.

Because she will leave. The moment Beau gives the all-clear, she’ll go back to her life. Back to civilisation, with coffee shops and Wi-Fi, and men who don’t live like hermits on a mountain.

Men who don’t turn into bears and keep secrets.

The thought makes me want to break something else.

I need to get out of this room. I need to distance myself from the scent of her desire before I do something stupid. More stupid than bursting in naked, like some kind of caveman.

Grabbing the full basket, I march down the hallway and head for the door, determined to ignore the fact that I know she’s dripping wet beneath my flannel.

For me.

I groan in frustration, pausing before I storm out. I’m determined to act like an adult and not some teenager who can’t control his hormones.

She’d mentioned something about needing to do laundry.

I find her in the living room, curled in the corner of the couch with one of my books. Her hair is pulled back, exposing the elegant line of her neck.

She looks up when she hears me, colour immediately flooding her cheeks. “Ben, you’re... dressed.”

“Generally am,” I mutter, hefting the basket. “Doing laundry. Do you have anything else that needs washing?”

Her eyes flick to the basket, then back to my face. “No.”

I growl. “Just give them to me. I’m putting in a load.” And hiding the destroyed bedding.

“I was trying to figure out how to heat water earlier, so if you just show me, I can do it myself.”

The rosy colour in her cheeks is adorable as she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, fingers shaking, giving away her nerves.

“The machine does a cold wash fine.” I’m trying to be normal. To pretend like neither of us is humming with need. Why is she making this so hard?

“Right. Of course.” She sets the book aside and stands with obvious reluctance. “I’ll just... get my things.”

I follow her to the bedroom and hover in the doorway as she gathers clothes from a hiding place under a towel on the chair. She’s moving stiffly, like she’s as aware of me as I am of her in this small space.

“The rest are covered in garbage juice or got torn,” she says, not looking at me. “These are pretty much all I have left, the only things that were salvageable…”

She turns, holding a small bundle, and takes a shaky breath before dropping the clothes on top of my pile. Delicate white lace. A bra so sheer, I can see her fingers through it. Matching panties that are more suggestion than actual fabric.

My mouth waters at the thought of her in them.

Fuck me. What did I do to deserve this?

Her face goes crimson.

“Do you…” I swallow. “I have some boxers you can borrow…”

She looks between us…

My waist is about twice the size of hers.

“It’s okay. They’ll just be too big, like the sweatpants. Thank you, though.”

My bear is thrilled, but I tell him to shut up.

“I’ll get these back to you soon.” I manage, backing toward the door.

“No rush,” she says faintly. “I’m not exactly going anywhere.”

She’s trapped here. With me. And despite everything, despite the danger that drove her here, I can tell that she’s not entirely unhappy about it.

That makes two of us.

Which makes me realise what the biggest problem is… Eventually, she will leave.

And I’ll be a broken man when she does.