Boarlander Bash Bear 2(39)

Every word of Bash’s story had broken her heart a little more. Thank goodness for the shower. If she cried quietly enough, Bash wouldn’t be able to tell. He pet her wet hair and said, “Shhh,” soft as a breath, as though he could anyway.

Bash had led a much more complicated life than she’d realized. All the shifters of Damon’s mountains had. He’d been through something traumatic but kept his head up and maintained his positive demeanor.

He and his people had been hunted like animals, and he bore the scars of that awful day, yet Bash hadn’t let the darkness poison him. There was immeasurable strength in that.

Swallowing a sob, she pushed up on her toes and kissed him, grateful he was still here, because that day could’ve ended up so differently. She could’ve never met him, could’ve never known what an incredible man he was. Her life would’ve been darker for never knowing Bash, and she would’ve never even known it. She would’ve just lived a half-life, thinking it was good enough.

She eased back and whispered, “I love your scars, Bash Bear. They mean you protected your friend and survived. They mean you’re still here. You don’t ever have to hide them around me.”

Bash searched her eyes, his chest heaving. He cupped the back of her neck, and then his lips crashed onto hers. When his tongue plunged deep into her mouth, she let off a needy sound, deep in her throat as he pushed her back against the wall. She wanted him. Needed him buried deep inside of her to wash away the trill of fear that had come with the realization of how close she’d come to losing him before she’d even met him.

He gripped her waist, harder than his usual gentle touch. She bit his lip in a tease, proof she liked him feral. His skin clamped between her teeth, she gave him a slow, wicked smile as he let off a soft growl. Hers. Bash was hers, and that included his wild side. His fingers dug harder into her waist, and she rolled her hips against him, pushing her tongue past his lips. When Bash pulled out of their kiss, his eyes were glowing. Beautiful, beastly Bash Bear. His face had twisted into something fearsome and hungry, but Emerson wasn’t scared. He was letting her see a side he kept hidden from everyone else. Chills blasted up her skin when he dipped his lips to her neck and sucked hard. She gasped in ecstasy as he pressed her harder against the wall, his long, thick erection pushing against her sex just right. Behind him, the shower steamed, and water drops raced down his taut shoulders. Slowly, firmly, he gripped her hands and dragged them up the wall until they were trapped above her head. Vulnerable. He wanted her vulnerable and trusting right now, and she fucking loved this.

“Bash,” she whispered in a pleading voice.

“Say it again,” he demanded, spreading her legs farther apart with his knee.

Defiantly, she bit his chest hard enough that he would feel her. She leaned back and lifted her chin, but didn’t repeat his name.

His breath was ragged now, and his lips twisted into a slow grin that didn’t reach the intensity of his eyes. “I like you bitey, mate, but don’t tease me for long. You’ll bleed me or keep them teeth to yourself until you’re ready.”

She dragged her attention along the edge of the burn on his shoulder. “You want more scars?”

“Just one. Yours.”

Emerson twitched her gaze to his and whispered again, “Bash.”

He rolled his eyes closed, then sighed, and when he looked at her again, they were such a light color he couldn’t pass for human if he tried. Sexy, feral Bash Bear.

Easing his hips back, he brushed the head of his cock down her wet folds, then pushed it into her, shallow and teasing. She was trembling now at the urgency of her body to be connected with the man she loved. She rocked her hips, chasing him when he pulled out. His devilish grin was back, and his face looked different now—feral and intense. He thrust into her deeper and captured her lips with his, swallowed down the moan of pleasure she let off. His hands tightened around hers over her head, and he pushed his entire length into her.

Numb. Emerson’s legs were going numb and her skin was on fire, and in her center, there was this ball of heat building to a beautiful blinding sensation. Bash’s pace was slow and calculating, made to torture. Made to keep her right on the edge of orgasm. And when she bucked and begged, “Faster,” Bash chuckled low and released her hands, then dragged her waist closer until there was no end to his skin and no beginning to hers.

Bash kissed her slowly, smoothly, his lips like water against hers. “I won’t bite you,” he promised, just like he had the first time they’d been together, as if he needed to remind his bear not to Turn her.