Page 79 of Twisting Twilight (Homesteader Hearth Witch #9)

CHAPTER FIFTY

He cupped my face like I was something precious and breakable. Leaning down, he pressed his lips tenderly against mine. This wasn’t one of those kisses stolen under a maple tree or in a farmhouse window, something fleeting and desperate. This was thoroughly unhurried and deliberate.

Sliding my arms around his strong neck, I leaned into him and stroked my tongue against his.

That single stroke sparked something with him, and his kisses became hotter, eager.

My hands found the thick fabric of his shearling coat and gave it a fierce tug.

Grinning against my mouth, Arthur rolled his shoulders and shrugged out of the coat.

Heat and strength and so much muscle. My hands spread wide, wishing to touch all of it at once. Explore. Revel. Just absorb every sensation and lose myself in this man that was mine. That craving couldn’t be satisfied by my hands alone.

“Let me take this off,” I said breathlessly, going for the buttons on my nightshirt. My fingers trembled with the effort, the need, to shed this last barrier between us.

“Don’t you dare.” He seized my hands and placed them back on his chest. “That pleasure is mine, wife.”

He allowed me to trace the tattoo on his chest, to bathe its ink with my tongue, to inhale his scent of old-growth forest and sunlight and honey before he knotted his fist into my hair and pulled my head to the side.

With a soft moan, I tilted my chin away as his lips trailed down my neck.

The graze of his teeth, the scratch of his beard— I arched up on tiptoe and gasped, “Are you going to bite me?”

Arthur lifted his head, eyes half-lidded and smoldering. “What?”

“I saw those silvery marks on Lilac and Allen’s necks. I just thought…”

“Not all shifters mark their mates with bites.” Arthur returned to my neck, the other side this time.

He sucked hard on that spot right below my jaw, wrapping his arms around me as my body bended into his.

“Wolves and foxes do it.” His lips whispered against my skin.

“Bobcats and cougars like to get identical tattoos, mustangs wear matching jewelry…”

“And bears?”

Arthur pulled away this time, running his hands over my shoulders to the buttons of my nightshirt.

His shirt. “Bear women wear their men’s clothes.

” His large fingers deftly undid the first two buttons.

He didn’t rip this shirt from me like I had him.

Arthur’s movements were methodical. Worshiping.

“A ball cap, a bandana, a hoodie, a shirt .” Another two buttons.

“Something that keeps their man’s scent with them always.

Imagine my delight when you came out of my bedroom wearing this. ”

It was hard to form the question when all I could think was Arthur Greenwood is undressing me. My whole body tingled. “A-and the men?”

“Their women make them something—a knit hat, a scarf. It’s usually cold where bear shifters live. Not always so in Southern Indiana.” He finished with the buttons and lifted his gaze to meet my eyes. His own were almost wholly amber. “You’ll have to find another way to keep your scent on me.”

That smoldering spark within me fanned into a wildfire. Air sawed out of my lungs, the halves of the unbuttoned shirt swaying in rhythm of my frantic breathing. But Arthur’s hands remained at his sides.

“Touch me,” I whispered. Begged.

He stepped close, pressed a single hand to the base of my throat.

I fought to remain still, to relish this feeling instead of yanking his hands to the places I craved his touch.

There was no reason to hurry this, to spoil what we had both ached for for so long, but thistle thorns, I was impatient.

Needy. The timid witch hiding under the covers in the bedroom was long gone.

A whimper escaped my lips as his fingertips grazed my skin, curling until only the backs of his knuckles trailed softly, reverently down the valley of my breasts.

The flannel parted before his touch, revealing more and more but his gaze remained on my face.

Savored the cascade of emotions elicited by his touch.

My body rolled forward onto the balls of my feet on its own accord, seeking.

“I’ve dreamed of this.” His whisper was a low rumble, vibrating like a tangible thing in the air between us. “When I first realized you were mine, I couldn’t get you out of my head. This look on your face. The moment you finally let me?—”

His callused hand swept beneath the fabric and cupped my breast, wedging the pearled peak between thumb and forefinger. His mouth plunged down on mine, swallowing my moan. Before I could curve into him, demand he take more of me into his hands, Arthur dropped.

He landed on the raised hearth, yanked me between his legs, and reclaimed by breast with his mouth. His tongue swirled and his teeth bit down and I bucked at the onslaught of delicious sensation.

“ Arthur! ” My fingers knitted into his hair, pulling, tugging, using his long brown locks to guide his head to where I wanted it most.

His lips rained kisses upon my bare flesh, his beard scratching me in the most electrifying way.

Large hands roamed my body, gripping, caressing, learning every shape of me.

His mouth worked lower and lower, and lower still until I was trembling with anticipation as to where those soft lips would kiss next. Then his tongue dragged?—

With a surprised cry, I lurched away, but his hands on my hips didn’t let me go far.

Arthur gazed up at me, hazel eyes patient. “Do you want me to stop?”

I released a shuddering breath, willing my toes to uncurl and stop cramping. “N-no, it’s just, uh, wow .”

His smile was quick and mischievous. “Mm-hmm,” he agreed in a hum, returning.

My eyelids fluttered shut as tremor after tiny tremor of pleasure rocked me forward. Built. Cascaded.

Just as I was about to throw my leg over his shoulder, he pulled away.

“No—” I gasped.

But he stood, a blur of movement, spun me around, and shucked his shirt from my body.

The whisper of wind left in the wake of the falling fabric threatened me with goose bumps, but then my mate was there.

Arthur pressed me flush against his chest, my back warming.

With a quick step, he angled me towards the fire and snaked a hand under my arm to band across my chest. His hand molded firmly against my breast while the other hooked my leg over his bent knee.

Balancing on one foot and braced against him, I was open, vulnerable.

His hand slid up the inside of my leg with agonizing, tantalizing slowness.

With steady, deliberate strokes, his strong fingers resumed what his tongue had been doing between my thighs.

Arthur held me strong and fast, utterly at his mercy and his pleasure.

But he wasn’t taking any, he was only giving.

My mind was spinning. The warmth of the fire, the muscled mountain of my husband, his pistoning fingers, that furnace in my belly turning everything molten, his arm banding me so tight I thought my ribs would crack.

It was all I could do to remember to breathe, to stay upright and not puddle onto the floor.

His teeth dragged sharply across my shoulder. “All those little sounds you’re making—you’re driving me insane, Meadow,” he whispered hotly against my ear. “The bear wants to dominate you, but the man wants to worship you. Help me, Meadow. What do you want me to do?”

“Claim me,” I gasped, hips chasing after the rhythm of his hand. “Claim every inch of me.”

His low growl was one of pleasure as he slid his damp fingers back up to my hip and squeezed tightly.

The hand on my breast loosened and glided down my sweat-streaked stomach to the opposite hip.

Arthur gave me a gentle push away. “To do that I’m going to have to remove my belt. Don’t you dare faint on me again.”

I spun around from the fire with a laugh.

It vanished at the sight of him standing a few feet away, hands working his belt buckle.

Hands that had just been appreciating my most intimate places.

By the Green Mother, he was stunning. The broad range of his shoulders, that muscled chest, abs like oranges rolling down to a chiseled V above his waistband. All mine.

His eyes never left my face as he kicked off one carpenter boot after another, snapped that belt from his waist with a single sharp crack , and shucked his jeans.

I’d seen Arthur Greenwood naked at least half a dozen times, but I’d never ogled.

You never ogled in the heat of battle. A body was just a composite of bones, muscle, and skin—commonplace.

Now, in the privacy of his cottage with nothing between us but fire-warmed air and the scent of fresh-split pine, I realized there was nothing commonplace about him.

A flush crept up my cheeks and my arms wrapped around my stomach. By the Green Mother, he was so stunning and I… I didn’t deserve this beauty. This generous heart. This?—

“You are my wife,” he said sternly. He’d obviously felt my self-critical thoughts through the bond. “You deserve everything .” He approached, gently took my wrist, and brought my hand up to his mouth for a kiss on my palm. “I’m yours, every piece of me.”

I lifted my gaze from my toes, emboldened by his declaration. “I want you.”

A mischievous glint danced in his eyes, a lopsided smile on his lips. “I know.” His chest expanded with a deep inhale. “I always know. You seriously thought crushing that rosemary when we first met could throw me off that easily?”

“Beast,” I laughed, smacking him with the back of my hand.

He caught that hand and slapped it against one bare ass cheek. He molded my fingers to give it a squeeze. They didn’t need the persuasion. “ Your beast.”

“Stay still, beast.”