Page 14 of Mated to the Mountain Bear (Bear Protector #1)

ZARA

A knock on the bedroom door startles me from my book. I’ve been reading the same paragraph for twenty minutes now, unable to focus on anything except the memory of Ben standing naked in the doorway.

“Come in,” I call, expecting him to need something from his own room.

The door opens, and Ben fills the frame, holding a basket of folded laundry. My clean clothes sit on top, and right there, visible to both of us, are my white lace panties.

“Your things,” he says gruffly, not meeting my eyes. “Sorry. I thought I heard the shower running.”

So he was trying to avoid me. Planning to drop my underwear and escape before I knew he’d even been here. Not that I blame him. The atmosphere has been… tense, to say the least, all evening.

I scramble off the bed, hyperaware that I’m wearing another of his T-shirts and nothing else underneath as I yank down the hem and try keeping my knees pressed firmly together.

“I was going to shower, but I changed my mind.” The lie slips out easily as I reach for my clothes.

He shifts his grip, lifting out just my small pile. The delicate lace looks impossibly fragile in his large hands. Those rough, work-worn fingers that could snap the thin straps without effort, are holding my underwear with unexpected care. The white fabric seems to glow against his tanned skin.

“I...” My throat dries as our fingers brush during the transfer.

His hands are warm and callused, and for a moment, I imagine them touching me through that same delicate lace.

“Thanks,” I manage, clutching my things against my chest.

He nods, already backing out toward the door, his dark brows drawn down in a frown, and his beautiful lips pressed together in a hard line. “No problem.”

Then he’s gone, footsteps retreating down the hall.

I stand there for a moment with my heart pounding, looking down at the underwear in my hands. He washed these. Touched them. And for some reason, the thought of it makes me horny as hell.

It must be all the fresh air I’m getting.

I set them carefully on the dresser and return to bed, lifting the collar of his T-shirt to my nose. The fabric smells like him. Manly, with deep woodsy tones that make my stomach clench. I burrow deeper into it as I climb under the covers.

His bed. His sheets. His scent surrounds me completely.

I close my eyes, but all I see is him standing in the doorway. How the morning light and a sheen of perspiration made his skin glow. The way his chest heaved with each breath. The dark trail of hair leading down to...

My hand drifts to my stomach, fingers playing with the hem of his shirt.

I shouldn’t. He’s right there in the living room. It seems rude. Naughty, even. And these walls are probably paper-thin…

I squirm, pressing my thighs together to ease the ache building inside me. Painful. Everything about this is painful.

But the memory won’t leave me alone. The way he looked at me when I was on my knees. How his eyes darkened when I sucked his thumb. And the barely controlled hunger in his expression before he fled.

My fingers trace lazy patterns on my skin. Light touches, nothing more. But my body is already primed, has been ever since breakfast, when I felt exactly how affected he was. Like me.

He wants me. That much is undeniable.

The thought sends heat pooling between my thighs. Big, gruff Ben, who barely speaks more than one-syllable grunts and lives alone on a mountain. Ben, who fixes things with his strong, capable hands... hands that carried me so easily…

Ben wants me.

I bite my lip, hand drifting lower. I’m already wet, have been for hours, and the first touch makes me gasp. This will be so quick, it’ll barely count, I tell myself, giving me permission to indulge in my Ben-shaped fantasies. There’s no way I’d be able to sleep like this.

I need release.

Closing my eyes, I settle back against the pillows. In my mind, it’s his hand. Those rough fingers I watched folding my delicate underwear are now touching me through them. The white lace is the only barrier between his skin and mine.

“Ben,” I whisper, so quiet, it’s barely a breath.

I circle slowly, building the sensation, lost in the fantasy.

He’s here in bed with me. That massive frame is pressed against my back. His hand’s between my thighs while the other covers my mouth to keep me quiet.

“Shhh,” he’d rumble in my ear, as if there’s anyone on this mountain to hear us.

My fingers move faster, chasing the building pressure as he’s kissing my neck, his beard, rough against my sensitive skin.

Those brawny arms hold me in place, keeping me exactly where he wants me, while he takes me apart with patient, devastating touches.

I remember how he looked, pacing by the trees. Shirtless and powerful. How he turned to look at me through the window as if he could sense me watching.

The longing on his handsome face was… intoxicating.

My back arches off the bed as I get closer. The T-shirt has ridden up, cool air kisses my heated skin. I turn my face into his pillow and breathe him in, surrounded by his scent, as my pleasure builds. I feel wild and unleashed.

This coiled tension building inside me is stronger than anything I’ve felt before.

In the fantasy, he’s above me now. Those dark brown eyes burn bright gold as he watches me fall apart. His weight presses me into the mattress. His hands pin my wrists while he nudges my thighs apart with his knee...

“Oh,” I gasp, louder than intended, as the first wave hits.

I press my face harder into the pillow, muffling the sounds I can’t quite contain.

Ben’s mere feet away in the living room. The embarrassment should be overwhelming, but rationally, I know he can’t hear me, and all it does is fuel my excitement.

My body shudders with release, with Ben’s name a silent prayer on my lips, as pleasure crashes through me.

I feel languid. Satisfied in a way I haven’t been in years. Maybe ever.

For long moments after, I lie still, breathing heavily. The cotton shirt is twisted around my waist now. My skin is damp, flushed and oversensitive.

I pull the covers back up and close my eyes.

Tomorrow will bring new awkwardness, knowing what I did. But tonight, surrounded by his scent and the lingering warmth of release, I let myself drift toward sleep.

If I dream of dark eyes and capable hands, well... he’ll never know.