Page 26 of Rose's Untamed Bear
He smiled—a little, sad twist of his lips—and set his cup down. “You could, if you wished. But I think you’d find it more burden than blessing. Gold breeds curses. I’d melt the lot if it would break the spell.”
I picked at the edge of one gold-threaded blanket. “I can’t… I couldn’t… this isn’t real. Not for us. When we get out, we’ll go back to our house and garden. We don’t need any of this.”
Derrick’s hand brushed mine, and the heat of it startled me. “You don’t have to take it,” he said. “But you should ask Snow. She has a right to decide too.”
He was right, of course. Snow would be horrified, or maybe she’d just try to give it all away to the nearest orphanage or convent. I could almost hear her voice now, soft and trembling,We’re not dragons, Rose. We can’t keep a hoard.The thought made me smile, just a little. Maybe it would be enough to know the wealth was here if needed. Or maybe we’d leave it, walk away, and let the wilds reclaim it as they had every other kingdom that rose and fell in these woods.
That was a problem for tomorrow. Tonight, there were only the two of us, the fire, and a strange sort of peace that appeared to be brought on by successfully running for one’s life. I curled up in the nest of gold cloth, and Derrick stretched out on the far side, close enough that I could feel his body’s warmth radiate through the night air.
He patted the spot next to him, and that was all the invitation I needed. I snuggled in close, putting my head on his chest and listening to the strong beating heart underneath. His fingersmoved slowly up and down my arm. The touch was light, but it created a fire underneath my skin that began to spread. I remembered the kiss by the creek. Remembered how it had consumed us until Derrick had broken it off and run away.
The memory still stung, the way he had pulled back, leaving me hollow and aching. A part of me feared he might do it again, that he would put distance where my heart begged for closeness. But his touch… gods, even the whisper of his fingers across my arm was enough to set me alight. The fire he left in his wake spread deeper, until every part of me throbbed with the need to be closer, to be his.
I tilted my head, searched his face, and found his gaze already fixed on me. Gold-brown eyes burned into mine, bright even in the dark. There was a question there, a plea he hadn’t voiced, and it unraveled my fear.
Before I could stop myself, I pushed up, closing the space between us. He met me halfway. Our lips touched, soft at first, almost reverent, and the world stilled. The vault, the treasure, the shadows, all of it vanished. There was only Derrick. Only us.
The kiss deepened; heat rose until my whole body trembled with it. His hand slid to the back of my neck, steadying me, pulling me into him as though he couldn’t bear to let me go.
I had been afraid of this moment, of wanting too much. But as his mouth moved against mine, tender and hungry all at once, I knew there was no fear left in me. Only longing. Only love.
He was the first to break for air. His forehead pressed into mine, and for a moment, he just breathed me in, as if the world had gone thin and I was the only air left. His fingers traced my jaw—one rough knuckle, slow and gentle—and in his eyes I saw nothunger but awe, a wonder so raw I felt my insides clench around it.
“Rose,” he said, voice frayed with need. “If you want me to stop?—”
I shook my head fiercely. “I want… I want all of you. If you’ll let me.”
He closed his eyes like the words wounded him, but his mouth cut any protest short. The next kiss was ferocious. My hands found his shoulders, the corded muscle bunched tight beneath the old shirt, and I clung as we tumbled back across the blanket, a tangle of arms and longing.
He moved like he was afraid I’d break, but there was no gentleness in the way my heart hammered, no fragility in the ache that throbbed between my legs. He laid me out in front of the fire and hovered above, gold eyes solemn as a vow. I thought he might pull away, might force patience on this fever, but instead he ran a hand up my side, from hip to ribs, making me shiver and arch beneath his touch. I was shaking and shameless, already begging for more.
His lips left a burning trail from my mouth to my neck, over my collarbone, down into the hollow between my breasts. He worked loose the laces of my shift, slow, never looking away from me. The garment slipped down, and my skin pebbled against the sudden chill. I tried to cover myself, stupid with sudden embarrassment, but he caught my wrists.
“Don’t,” he whispered, “please.” Like I was the miracle, not him.
The way he looked at me—naked, hungry, reverent—banished every last ghost of shame. He pressed his mouth to the curve of my breast, and then lower, lower, dragging the hem of theshift down my hips, revealing me inch by agonizing inch. I was exposed and trembling, but there was nothing wolfish or crude in his kiss. He honored me with every graze of his lips.
He undressed then, quickly, as if ashamed of how mortal he still was. I let my eyes devour him—every scar, every sun-kissed limb, every line and plane of muscle—wanting to memorize the man as fiercely as I’d carved the bear into my dreams. His cock sprang proud and perfect, and something in me wanted to laugh and cry and taste it all at once. The fire caught the gold of his skin and turned us both to creatures of myth.
He knelt between my legs, hands braced on either side of my hips. I thought he would take me then—gods, I’d have let him, I was so ready—but instead he bent and pressed his mouth to the inside of my thigh. I jerked in surprise, then melted as his tongue traced heat across skin. He licked upward, circling, teasing, until I was writhing, shameless now, hands fisted in his hair.
“Derrick,” I gasped, “please?—”
He grinned, wicked and delighted. “I want to taste you first.” And then his mouth was on me, his tongue drawing soft, endless spirals around the spot that ached most, his every breath a prayer to my body. Each flick sent velvet-dark fireworks through my blood, each slow suck drew a new sob from my throat. He worked me with patience, with devotion, like he had all winter to memorize every sound I made.
I’d never thought any of what I was feeling could have been possible. Never before had I been so aware of every nerve, every inch of skin, every ache and thrum in my body. I couldn’t catch my breath, couldn’t think straight with the way his tongue circled me, teased and worshipped me. Where my shame and fear might have once knotted together, there was only a kind ofburning, frantic delight—so much I almost couldn’t bear it. He didn’t rush, didn’t let up for a second, only looked up through his lashes to watch my face as he played me, relentless, holy, a man made to know my every secret.
“You taste delicious, little Rose. The most exquisite nectar.”
The world blurred. I dug my heels into the blanket, my hips bucked, my hands twisted in his hair. The sounds that left my throat were wild, undignified, and I loved them, loved how he grinned when I gasped and cursed his name.
The pulse started deep, a trembling that built and built until I thought I might shatter with it. My fingers left raw grooves in the blanket, my neck arched helplessly. I barely recognized my own voice as it broke on a cry—Derrick’s name, a sobbed blasphemy—and the heat inside me ripped loose. I shook apart, vision flooded with gold and dark, and for one suspended moment, I knew what it was to come utterly undone.
He slid up, kissing the tears from my lashes. “Beautiful,” he murmured. “Gods, Rose, you’re beautiful.”
I was still trembling, still riding the waves of my first orgasm, but I already knew I wanted more. Always more. “I want you,” I managed, desperate and unraveled. “I want you inside me.”
He hovered above me, and his hands trembled slightly where they braced on either side of my shoulders. Even now, after everything, he asked, “Are you sure?”