Chapter 10
BEAR
Her soft curves melded against me, warm skin pressed so perfectly it felt like she’d been crafted to fit every inch of my body.
My self-control was a fragile thread, unraveling fast, teetering on the edge of breaking.
She shifted slightly—barely a movement, yet enough to draw a sharp hiss through my gritted teeth.
I was trying to be good. But no one ever warned me how impossible that becomes when the woman you’ve craved for what feels like forever is tangled in your sheets, half-naked, sleepy, giggling, and pressing into you as if gravity itself conspired to bring her closer.
This was new—uncharted territory. I’d never had a woman in my bed like this. Not her. Becca.
My hands roamed her back, fingertips grazing the edge of her bra, igniting a fire under my skin.
Her thigh draped over mine, and my breath caught, every sense honed to her—the soft sighs escaping her lips, the silken warmth beneath my palms, the heat radiating from her like a furnace in the dead of winter.
She felt exquisite beneath me, her softness a perfect counterpoint to my restraint, as if she’d been designed for this closeness.
Instinct took over. My hand slid down the curve of her spine, deftly unclasping her bra with a familiarity that surprised me.
Her hand found me, stroking my cock with a rhythm that sent a moan tearing from my throat as pre-cum slicked her palm.
My mouth sought her skin—trailing from the slope of her shoulder to the hollow of her collarbone, then lower.
When my tongue found her warm nipple, she shivered, arching closer, her breath hitching.
We were lost in a frantic dance now, dry humping through the thin silk of her panties, a flimsy barrier that did little to stop my cock from seeking her.
I pressed in, the tip dipping half an inch into her heat and wetness, drawing another hiss from me as my hands fisted the sheets on either side of her head.
Her breasts pressed against my chest, nipples hardening against the coarse hair, craving the friction.
“Baby, I want you so bad…” I groaned, the words rough with need. “Damn, girl, you feel so good already, and I’m not even inside you… but we can’t.”
“Shush,” she murmured, silencing me with a press of her body, her hand still working my shaft, a whimper escaping her lips as she urged me closer, desperate for more.
Every fiber of me screamed yes, a primal urge pulsing through my veins. But a deeper instinct whispered: not like this. That quiet voice held me back, teetering on the edge, just barely.
Then, because I’m a fool, I whispered, “Baby… all I want for Christmas is you.”
The words hung heavy in the air. I blinked, realizing what I’d said. She looked up at me, her eyes wide—and then she laughed. A full, breathless sound that lit up her face like the most beautiful, ridiculous Christmas tree I’d ever seen.
I groaned and dropped my head to the pillow. “Shit, I can’t believe I said that out loud.”
She kept laughing, and I couldn’t help it—I started laughing too. The heat between us broke just enough to let something else in. Something lighter. Easier.
We rolled around a little, tangled in sheets and each other, grinning like idiots. She buried her face in my chest. I kissed her hair. And for a second, I forgot how complicated everything was supposed to be.
Then I kissed her lips—slow, deep, and just enough to remind her I wasn’t pulling away because I didn’t want her.
I pulled back. “We’re not doing this. Not like this.”
Her fingers curled into my side. “Come back here,” she whispered, eyes half-lidded, smile lazy.
“Nope.” I was already swinging my legs off the bed. “Not happening, sugar plum.”
She groaned like I’d just ruined her life.
I grabbed a T-shirt off the floor, threw it on, and headed for the kitchen. “Coffee and bacon. Then we talk.”
Behind me, she flopped back onto the pillows with a dramatic sigh.
And me?
I was grinning like a fool.
The smell of bacon filled the cabin fast. I didn’t bother being quiet with the pan. If she was going to sneak into my bed and nearly break my brain, she could deal with a little clatter.
I stood there barefoot, shirt half-wrinkled, flipping bacon while my brain replayed every single second of the last half hour on a loop.
Her skin. Her laugh. The way she said my name like it meant something.
I blew out a breath, leaned on the counter, and stared at the wall like it might offer answers. What the hell was I doing? I’d told myself not to let it get here. But now it was here. And it was too late to pretend I didn’t want her. I wanted her more than I wanted my next breath.
Footsteps. Slow. Bare.
I didn’t turn around. Just kept flipping bacon like it was life or death.
“You’re mad at me,” she said softly.
I shook my head. “Not mad.”
She stepped in closer. I could feel the heat of her behind me.
“Embarrassed you?” she asked, voice teasing now.
I looked over my shoulder. She was wearing my flannel shirt again, buttoned all wrong, hair a mess. Her eyes sparkled, lips curved up like she knew exactly what she was doing to me.
“You’re trying to kill me,” I muttered.
She shrugged, stepping around to face me. “You didn’t seem to mind a few minutes ago.”
I gritted my teeth, trying not to look at the bare stretch of thigh between the hem of my shirt and the tops of her socks. “Yeah, well. I’m a man, not a monk.”
She leaned against the counter next to me, shoulder brushing mine. “Then why’d you stop?”
I turned the stove off. Set the spatula down.
“Because I like you,” I said, meeting her eyes. “Not just for a night. Not just for right now when you’re still half-drunk and barely awake. I want this to mean something. And if it’s going to, I’m not screwing it up by giving in when we’re not both clear-headed.”
Her face changed. The teasing dropped away. What was left was something quieter. Something real.
“I wasn’t that drunk,” she said.
I reached out and tucked a piece of hair behind her ear. “Maybe not. But you’re still coming down. And I want our first time to be something you remember, Becca. Something you own. Not something that feels like a question mark the next morning.”
She stared at me like she didn’t know what to do with me.
Then she stepped forward and wrapped her arms around my waist. “You really are kind of amazing, you know that?”
I kissed the top of her head. “Nope. Just hungry.”
She laughed against my chest. And for a second, everything felt simple.
Just two people standing barefoot in a cabin in the middle of nowhere, wrapped in each other, and the smell of bacon between them.
She picked at the last piece of bacon with her fingers, like using a fork was too much to ask this morning.
I kept my mug in my hands, watching her, waiting. The kind of waiting that isn’t pressure — just presence.
Finally, she glanced up. “You asked about my deal.”
“I did.”
She gave a dry laugh. “Okay. Short version? Huntley — the ex — wants me back.”
I didn’t say anything, just raised an eyebrow.
“Don’t look at me like that,” she said, smirking. “It’s not because I’m irresistible. It’s because I look good on his arm. I'm easy to slot into his life. I check all the boxes.”
“Sounds romantic.”
“Oh, incredibly.” She rolled her eyes. “He’s successful. Arrogant. Says all the right things. My mom still sends me his LinkedIn updates.”
I snorted. “That’s brutal.”
“The worst part? There’s nothing wrong with him. He's polished. Smart. Clean cut. Smells expensive. But his kisses…” She paused, looked at me. “They’re boring. I mean, technically fine, but they feel like a job interview. Like I’m being considered for a role I’m already tired of playing.”
I couldn’t help it — I smiled. “So… not like mine.”
Her eyes flicked up, teasing. “Please. You kissed me like you were trying to rewrite a memory.”
I coughed into my coffee. “I wasn’t trying anything.”
“Liar.”
We both smiled. And then it faded, soft and slow.
“I think I just got tired of pretending,” she said quietly. “Pretending I was happy, pretending the job mattered, pretending I wasn’t bored stiff with my entire life.”
I nodded, letting the words land.
“And Margie,” she went on, “ ever since she lost her long term boyfriend… Christmas is…” she trailed off, shrugging. “She’s in a funk. And to be honest, so am I.”
She looked up at me like she was worried she’d said too much.
“You came out here to breathe,” I said.
She nodded.
“And then found yourself half-naked in a stranger’s bed.”
She gave a breathy laugh. The smile stayed, softer now. Realer.
“I knew Steve, he was a good guy. He used to ride back in his day. As for the ex—let’s make sure he stays one,” I growled.
I didn’t need to say anything else. She’d told me enough. And somehow, it made everything clearer — not just what happened last night, but why it mattered.
We finished out coffee and I went to get ore wood for the stove.
“Roads are clear she murmured as I came back. Margie called. She’s expecting me today.” I nodded not wanting to let her go.
The snow had finally stopped, and the plows had carved a path through the drifts, turning the world back into something passable.
I didn’t want it to be passable. I wanted another blizzard, another excuse to keep her in my cabin, tangled in my sheets, her laugh echoing off the walls.
But the roads were clear, and Becca had a life to get back to.
So here I was a few hours later, in my truck, the engine rumbling low like it was as reluctant as I was to let her go.