Chapter 21
Twenty-One
Big Sexy Grizzly Bear
Beck
As I unbutton Forest’s shirt with fumbling fingers, I’m trying to decode—for the millionth time—the intense expression in his dark-brown eyes. This man confuses the hell out of me.
He ignores my texts for days like he couldn’t care less about me, but now, when we’re together, he’s kissing me like he’s memorizing the taste of me, filing it away in some secret part of his brain labeled Things Worth Keeping.
What’s a guy supposed to do with that?
Luckily, my brain shuts off again when he drops his mouth to my neck and starts sucking on it. It’s a whole-body experience—like he’s figured out the exact heat and pressure that makes my brain melt, weaponizing his mouth to prevent all coherent thought.
This must be how addiction feels—like there’s only one important thing in your life and you know it’s probably killing you, but it doesn’t matter. You’ll do anything for one more taste.
Can you blame me, though? Forest is slipping a hand into my sweatpants, with a hungry gleam in his eye. And now he’s kissing me like we just invented it.
“Bedroom,” I hiss between kisses. “Now.” I yank us both into a standing position.
Forest’s shirt hits the floor somewhere between the couch and the hallway, my sweatshirt following close behind. We’re a disaster of hands and mouths, bumping into walls as we stumble toward my room like we’re drunk on each other.
“Left,” I gasp when Forest pins me against the wrong doorframe—that’s Rigsy’s room. Forest’s laugh rumbles against my throat as he redirects us, his hands rough against my hips.
My socks get kicked off somewhere near the bathroom door. Forest’s pants follow a few steps later, along with his socks, because apparently, we’re both the kind of people who can’t leave socks on during sex.
By the time we make it into my bedroom, we’re down to boxers and desperation. Forest backs me toward the bed, and I catch a glimpse of us in my dresser mirror—hair messed up, lips swollen, chests flushed, looking like we just survived some kind of beautiful disaster.
I catch Forest looking back at me in the mirror, and his expression is feral. “Jesus, Beck,” he breathes, and then shoves me down on the bed.
The roughness of it makes my heart leap. He leers down at me, grasping my hips in two hands and flipping me like a pancake. And I am not a small guy. “Hands and knees,” he growls.
Fuck yes. I push up off the mattress, and he’s on me like a bumper sticker. I feel his cock line up against my ass, while his muscular arms wrap around my body. The sense of being captured by him lights me up, as if a big, sexy grizzly bear has claimed me for his own.
I’ve always wanted to wrestle a bear, though, so I lock my muscles and push back against his bulk. His answering groan makes me leak against my briefs.
“Fuck,” he whispers. He releases me, which ought to be a bummer, but he’s yanking down my underwear, and I happily shift my knees to help. Forest is so impatient I hear the sound of fabric tearing as he scrapes the cotton from my body.
“Spread,” he orders, knocking my knees farther apart with one of his.
Yowza. He roughly spreads my cheeks, exposing me. I let out another shaky breath as his thumbs slowly tease the sensitive skin of my crease. “Yes, go on,” I babble. “There’s lube in the bedside table.”
But he doesn’t reach for it. He palms my leaking cock, and then? He sinks to his knees. Oh wow. Is he…?
The next sensation is the pleasant scrape of his beard against my skin. Followed by the unhurried glide of his tongue at my rim.
“Ohhh,” I gasp as he does it again. It’s hot and dirty and perfect, and I forget to let out another breath, until my balls tighten and I exhale an unholy moan.
That naughty tongue. It’s exquisite. It's like he’s found a nerve ending I didn't know existed, and now he’s writing his name on it with his tongue.
I begin melting against the mattress, like an ice rink being hit by the summer sun. And then Forest gets even trickier, stroking my cock as he rims me. And I feel…
…
…
Never mind. It turns out there's a whole category of sensation that doesn't have words in English, probably because people’s brains would spontaneously combust trying to describe it. All I can do is ride the wave of Forest’s tongue, the blunt slide of his fingers, the scrape of his palm, and the brush of his beard against my back.
“Don’t come,” he says eventually, possibly after I’ve just threatened to do that very thing. “Condoms?”
“Um…” I honestly don’t recall most of my vocabulary, and I sure as hell don’t know where the condoms are. “Do we really need one?” I’m pretty sure Forest has been off the market a while, and I was never on it in the first place.
Apparently, Forest agrees, because there’s a lubed-up cockhead pressing into me a beat later.
I take a deep breath and push it out again, willing my body to take him.
There’s always a moment when it seems impossible, but then Forest presses a hand to the center of my back, fingers spread wide.
The touch anchors me, and I steady myself in time for him to bottom out, soul deep.
I’m swimming in pleasure. Somebody makes a keening noise, and I think it might be me.
“Good boy,” he says. “That’s it.”
The praise lights me up, and I flex back against his bulk, listening for his answering groan.
We find our rhythm immediately. I might be socially awkward, and Forest might be terrible at returning my texts, but our bodies communicate on a higher plane. It’s so good that I have to squeeze my eyes shut. “I’m so close.”
“Go on,” he says. “I’ve got you.”
Those are the sexiest words I’ll ever hear.
I’ve got you.
If only.
I drop my head and roar with pleasure. I thought “seeing stars” was an exaggeration until I met Forest. His body does something to me that makes me question the fundamental laws of science, and I tilt forward onto the mattress.
Everything gets impossibly better when Forest’s burly arm clamps around my body. He buries his face in the back of my neck and makes a noise of deep gratitude. I feel him shudder inside me, and every one of my muscles relaxes.
We end up in a sweaty heap on my bed. I’m still face down, my greedy heart thumping away against the mattress. I hold very still, hoping he won’t get up and leave.
I know he has to. But just… not yet.