Page 46 of Mated to the Mountain Bear (Bear Protector #1)
ZARA
I wake to dawn’s pale glow filtering through the curtains and the feeling of being watched.
Ben’s sitting up against the headboard, my body curled into his side, his arm wrapped possessively around me.
The sheets are tangled around our waists, evidence of hours of passion.
His fingers trace lazy patterns on my bare shoulder as he watches me stirring.
“How long have you been awake?” I murmur against his chest.
“A while.” His voice is deep, rougher than usual, from the night’s exertions. When I look up, his bear is close to the surface but controlled now. Watching. Waiting.
I shift to face him better, the movement making me aware of every delicious ache. A scan of my body reveals skin marked by his mouth, his hands. His gaze follows every mark with satisfaction, a possessive smug smile creeping onto his face.
Ben slides down until we’re face to face on the pillows. His hand cups my jaw, thumb brushing over my bottom lip, before he kisses me softly. Each touch is gentle, almost reverent, and very different from the desperate claiming of the night.
I lean into his touch, my hand exploring the scratches I left on his chest. Some are already fading with his shifter healing, but others remain, proof of how wild we were.
He catches my hand, bringing it to his lips to kiss each fingertip.
The tenderness makes my breath catch. This is Ben, the man, not the beast, though I can still see his bear lurking in those dark eyes, although he’s letting the man lead for now.
He rolls me onto my back with careful hands, hovering over me. The shards of sunlight coming through the window play across his broad shoulders, highlighting every muscle. I reach up to trace the line of his jaw through his beard, and he turns to nip gently at my palm.
“Beautiful,” he murmurs, his gaze travelling slowly down my body. His lips follow the path of his eyes, pressing soft kisses to my throat, my collarbone, the curve of my breast. Each touch is deliberate, unhurried. He’s taking his time now, savouring instead of devouring.
When he reaches my hip, he pauses at a dark mark, the remnants of a bruise, his thumb stroking over it gently, before he continues his exploration, mapping every inch of skin with his mouth and hands.
I thread my fingers through his hair, and he looks up at me from where he’s kissing the inside of my thigh, and the heat in his eyes makes me shiver despite the warmth of the morning sun now streaming through the windows.
“Ben,” I breathe, and he knows what I need without me having to ask.
He moves back up my body, settling between my thighs with a controlled grace so different from last night’s frenzy.
When he enters me this time, it’s slow, careful.
We both groan at the sensitivity after hours of passion, but neither of us can resist this last connection before we let reality creep back in.
He stays still for a moment, forehead pressed to mine, just breathing me in.
Then he moves with long, deep strokes, that build a different kind of fire.
This isn’t about claiming or possession.
This is about memorising. About imprinting this moment, this feeling, this connection into our very bones.
I wrap my legs around him, pulling him deeper, and he captures my mouth in a kiss that says everything we don’t need words for. His hands frame my face as he loves me thoroughly, completely, until we’re both trembling on the edge.
When we fall, we fall together, my name on his lips, and his on mine. He stays inside me as we come down, both of us reluctant to separate, even for a moment. His weight presses me into the mattress, but I welcome it, running my hands down his back in long, soothing strokes.
The morning sun is fully up now, painting golden stripes across the bed. Soon, we’ll have to get up, shower, then face the day and all its complications. But for now, we just hold each other, skin to skin and heart to heart, complete in this perfect moment.