Page 80 of Twisting Twilight (Homesteader Hearth Witch #9)

Arthur’s eyes fluttered shut as I leaned forward and kissed across his collarbone.

I squeezed that perfect ass again with both hands, then stroked up his back with fingers splayed wide.

He held still as I explored him, drinking in the pleasure of my touch and humming and rumbling his desire when I discovered sensitive, tantalizing spots.

My fingers threaded into his thick brown hair, nails grazing against his scalp.

His mouth dropped open as his breath came in short, and I arched up on tiptoe to capture his bottom lip.

Let it drag slowly from between my teeth as I lowered back to the ground.

I’d dreamed of this too, in my wildest fantasies, of making love to Arthur Greenwood. Never a one-night stand, but something enduring as it was carnal. Everlasting. My body ached to seek its own satisfaction, but I pushed that selfishness aside.

‘This is something I need. To be equally chosen.’

You are, I whispered to that memory. Proved it with every caress, every kiss, every brush of my body against his.

Arthur’s hands molded around my waist as I adored the rest of him, nipping the hard muscle of his shoulder and sucking the tight bud of a nipple and dragging my fingertips against the ridges of his abs. A low groan escaped him as my lips followed the trail of my hands below the V of his hips.

He seized my shoulders and guided me upright. “Another time,” he said hoarsely. “W-when I’m not on a hair trigger.”

“Alright,” I said, stroking my hand along the length of him instead.

Gasping, his hips bucked after the teasing touch. Arthur tangled his hand into my hair at the base of my neck and yanked me close. His mouth crashed against mine, hungry and impatient and promising every wicked delight?—

Suddenly he pushed me away to arm’s length, fingers pressing into my skin. He heaved in a breath. “Spirits, wait a sec. We’re not ready for cubs yet. Lemme get?—”

I caught his wrist before he could run off. “Lilac gave me some contraceptive tea. I had some in the shower. We’re, um, good.”

With a growl, my husband pounced.

The lover I’d known before this was nothing compared to the Arthur who now left trails of fire with every touch.

His hands and body moved possessively, but he wasn’t domineering.

He just couldn’t believe that this beautiful-souled and ravishing witch was his.

Or something like that I’d gleaned from the bond.

Arthur knelt upon the fur pelts, guiding me down with him.

He kept me close, encouraging my body to slide down his so he could kiss every inch as it passed.

My insides coiled tight as the backs of my thighs brushed the tops of his.

He slipped a hand between us, positioning himself in such a way that it was all I could do not to scream with excitement.

“Whenever you’re ready, sweetheart,” he panted, eyes glazed. His pulse raced under my hands holding on to his shoulders for dear life. “We have?—”

No time like the present. I’d learned that lesson the hard way, and I was never going to make that mistake again.

I sank down upon him with a roll of my hips.

There was a sharp moment of pain, an almost unbearable fullness, but it was all easily forgotten with a burst of magic and the sound of the deep, guttural groan that rose from Arthur’s throat.

It was the very definition of satisfaction, the bone-deep relief of an ache finally addressed.

I couldn’t wait for him to make that sound again.

Another roll of my hips, and Arthur’s head dropped back. Another groan that released an explosion of sparks through my body. Quick and sneaky, I darted in and nipped his neck. His hands clamped down hard on my hips as he rose up on his knees, his hips thrusting in reply. I shrieked in surprise.

“That’s what you get, naughty girl,” he rumbled.

I barely heard his teasing reprimand. With his single thrust, I’d suddenly become obsessed with screwing my eyes shut and grinding my hips against his in such a way that earned me more of those.

Spreading my thighs, rocking on the balls of my feet, grazing my breasts against his hard chest, it all persuaded him to reward me again and again.

Arthur’s breath blasted hot and shallow against my neck.

I flung my head back, letting my long brown hair dangle and sweep across my butt with every frantic undulation.

It felt like a storm was building inside me, thunderclouds roiling and darkening and swelling and consuming the entire sky.

Each zing of friction between us was a zap of electricity.

Not lightning, but charged and spurring and catalytic.

“Arthur,” I moaned from somewhere deep, clinging to him as the storm reached a fevered boiling.

“Yes, Meadow. Yes .”

Strain in his voice pulled me back from the consuming darkness of the storm. I forced my eyes open to find his gaze lowered, his jaw set. Like he was concentrating. Denying himself.

He started when I moved my hand from his shoulder to his bearded cheek. “No,” I panted. “Don’t hold back.”

He started to shake his head, but I seized a fistful of brown hair and forced him to meet my ivy-green stare.

How many times had he told me how strong I was?

So much of my body was soft compared to his—my breasts, my skin, the curves of my hips—but that was where the softness ended.

At least here, in this world that existed between the two of us.

I held his gaze and punctuated every word with a thrust of my hips, “Give. Me. My. Bear .”

Arthur’s growl was that of a chained beast breaking free.

Faster than my mind could comprehend, his arms cradled me close as he pitched forward.

Suddenly my back was cushioned against blankets and pelts, hair spread in a messy halo above my head.

Arthur yanked my stunned legs around his waist, prompting me to hook my ankles, and plunged into me.

The stalled storm roared to life. My hips arched to receive every exquisite inch of him, a sharp, aching cry escaping past my lips.

“Sweetheart,” he said, panicked.

My legs clenched, forbidding him from retreating. “Again,” I rasped. “Do that again.”

With a rumble of pure pleasure, Arthur obeyed. It was all I could do to hang on as he set a vigorous rhythm.

Fingernails clawed down his back. Teeth dug into the meat of his shoulder.

I writhed beneath him like I was trying to shed my skin.

I wanted to explode, the thunderstorm turning black as the butterflies inking my forearms. Sparks of white zapped from cloud to cloud, flashes of illumination that revealed the swollen storm threatening to burst.

I didn’t know I was thrashing and moaning until Arthur shifted his weight to cup my cheek. “Meadow, sweetheart, open your eyes. Look at me.”

With a frantic whimper, I forced myself away from the storm— so close —and was immediately swallowed in that wild amber-hazel gaze.

“Seize the bond,” he said hoarsely. “Hold it tight.”

I obeyed, my consciousness flooding down that tether and eyes bulging as my chest arched for a breath that would not come.

Suddenly I could feel him . His mind. Every emotion, every sensation.

I saw myself through his eyes, the all-consuming pleasure he felt at our joining, the way his heart wanted to burst with happiness.

The satisfaction of seeing me sweat and writhe beneath him, and so much love.

The kind that would spend all night holding you after a weary day, the simple consideration of taking a mug down from the top shelf of a cupboard where I couldn’t reach, the easy silence found wrapped up in blankets watching the snow fall.

Deep in the core of him, there was one thought, one word.

His .

I was his mate. His wife. His to protect, to provide for, to cherish. My dreams were now his to encourage, my goals his to support. My life was his to nurture and flourish.

And his name would be the only one on my lips whenever ecstasy took me.

My bear had a storm inside him, identical to mine.

When he witnessed the boiling thunderclouds within me, I felt him tremble.

Because just as I was his, he was mine. Mine to honor with my body and heart.

Mine to encourage, support, and uplift. He might be my protector, but I was his rock.

His foundation. One that would never crack.

Lightning struck.

The black thunderclouds burst apart with his roar, my scream.

Electricity ripped through our combined sky, chasing away the darkness.

There was nothing but light reflected in crystal-like rain.

Overwhelmingly bright and dazzling. I was weightless, as simple as a mote of light, and swept away on Arthur’s current to wherever this euphoria led.

So slowly, the crystalline drops winked and disappeared. The light dimmed but did not fade to black. Just cleared like clouds swept away on the wind.

Redbud Cottage returned.

Arthur’s arms shook, sweat dribbling through the chiseled furrows of his muscles.

Beads of moisture dripped from his hair, soft pit-pats echoing as they splattered onto my skin.

The lower lip of his panting mouth was blissfully red and swollen.

The amber had faded from his eyes, those greens and golds popping, and as they met mine, they widened in surprise.

“What?” I whispered.

“Look.”

Keeping my arms linked around his neck, I slowly turned my head to the side in the direction of his gaze. What the— I looked to the other side, finding the exact same thing.

A forest in the height of its springtime glory had sprouted inside the cottage with us at its epicenter.

There were bluebells and whiskered pansies, moss and lady ferns, young aspens that fluttered their coin-like leaves in a breeze.

Golden motes danced on that breeze, and I could’ve sworn I heard the music of a creek skipping over stones.

“I swear,” Arthur murmured, shaking his head, “you’re my wife for less than an hour and you’re already redecorating the place.”