Chapter 6: Rose straddles Bear's thighs in the midnight quiet, her rose-gold curls spilling across his stomach as she laps at the thick vein running along his shaft. She hums around his weeping tip before swallowing him whole, her nose brushing the coarse hair at his base while her fingers knead his heavy balls. Bear's hips jerk as she hollows her cheeks, his deep groans vibrating through the headboard when her tongue swirls around his crown on each upward pull.
Rose stirred from a deep sleep, not to sound, but to the rigid heat of Bear’s erection pressed insistently against her hip. The room was pitch black, the moon having dipped below the pines, and his breathing was still slow with sleep. She smiled into the darkness, a private, wicked curve of her lips, and slid silently down the sweat-dampened sheets.
Her hands found the hard lines of his thighs, and she bent her head, taking the thick head of his cock into her mouth without preamble. He jerked awake with a grunt, his hands flying to her hair. “Fuck, Rose,” he rasped, his voice shredded by sleep and instant, searing pleasure.
She worked him with a hungry, worshipful rhythm, her tongue swirling over the sensitive slit, tasting the sharp, salty proof of his need. One of her hands cupped his heavy balls, rolling them gently as she took him deeper, her throat relaxing to accommodate his girth. His hips twitched upward, a stifled thrust. “Don’t stop, baby. Just like that.”
His fingers tightened in her curls, not guiding, just holding on as she sucked him with a devoted intensity that made the muscles in his abdomen quiver. She hummed around him, the vibration tearing a ragged groan from his chest. “Gonna come down your throat,” he warned, his voice a strained growl.
She quickened her pace, her other hand stroking the base of his shaft in time with her bobbing head. The filthy, wet sounds filled the dark room, a stark counterpoint to his ragged breathing. His control snapped. With a guttural shout, he emptied himself in hot, pulsing waves, and she swallowed every drop, milking him with gentle suction until he shuddered and went limp.
She crawled back up his body, kissing a trail over his abs. He caught her, flipping her onto her back with a predator’s grace. “My turn,” he murmured, his mouth finding her breast, his tongue flicking a pebbled peak before he moved lower. He spread her thighs with rough, possessive hands and buried his face between them, devouring her with a relentless focus that had her arching off the bed, her cries muffled by the pillow she grabbed.
He fucked her with his tongue, then slid two fingers inside her curling palm to palm, rubbing a spot that made her vision fragment. “Bear, I’m—”, but her climax was already tearing through her, a silent, blinding shockwave. He gentled her through it, his stubble rough against her inner thigh.
Before the last tremor faded, he was surging up her body, his renewed hardness nudging at her entrance. He pushed in with a single, deep stroke, seating himself fully, and stilled, his forehead against hers. “Hear that?” he whispered. The only sound was their mingled, frantic breaths. “That’s ours. This is ours.” He began to move, a slow, claiming rhythm that felt less like sex and more like a fundamental realignment.
His thrusts were deep, measured punctuations in the dark, each one a physical echo of the vows they’d spoken hours before. She met him stroke for stroke, her nails finding the familiar trails on his abdomen, scoring his skin. “Harder,” she breathed, her voice ragged, and he obeyed, his pace shifting into something more urgent, the bedframe protesting against the wall.
“Tell me who you belong to,” he grunted, his hands gripping her hips, angling her to take him even deeper. The demand was rough, primal. “You,” she gasped, her back arching. “Only ever you.”
He drove into her, the slap of skin filling the room, a raw soundtrack to their reunion. Sweat dripped from his chin onto her collarbone, a hot, salty baptism. “I can feel you everywhere,” she cried out, the sensation of him stretching her, filling her, overwhelming. His rhythm fractured, becoming erratic, desperately seeking his own release.
“Come with me, Rosebud,” he commanded, his voice breaking, and her climax detonated, a blinding white wave that clenched tight around his pounding cock. He followed with a choked roar, spilling into her, his big body shuddering as he emptied himself. They collapsed, a tangled, breathless knot of limbs, the room smelling of sex and satisfied silence.
He rolled, taking her with him, her head on his chest. His calloused thumb traced the faint, raised line on her ribcage—a scar not his to avenge. Yet. Her breathing slowed against him.
His thumb kept tracing the scar, a silent question. Dawn bled pale light around the edges of the blinds, etching the lines of his bare shoulders in cool blue. She finally spoke, her voice sleep-roughened and small. “She called it a reminder to be less clumsy.”
Bear’s hand stilled completely. The air in the room thickened, grew heavy. He knew she meant her mother. That particular lie was one he’d heard before, years ago. “It’s on your ribs,” he said, his voice dangerously calm. “How does a clumsy person cut their own ribs?”
Rose shifted, pressing her face harder into his chest as if to hide. “You know how.” He did. The memory of Bernice LaRue’s cold, calculated cruelty was a sour taste in his mouth. His jaw tightened, the muscle feathering under his skin. “Monday,” he said again, but the word was different now—harder, edged with a purpose that went far beyond a doctor’s appointment.
“It’s not your fight,” she whispered, though her fingers were clutching at his back. He kissed the crown of her head, his lips lingering. “The hell it isn’t.” The finality in his tone brooked no argument. They lay in the gathering light, the new silence a comfortable, shared armor.
Later, he padded barefoot to the kitchen to start coffee, the floorboards cool under his feet. He heard the shower turn on. When he returned with two steaming mugs, she was dressed in one of his old flannels, the fabric swamping her frame, her damp curls clinging to her neck. She accepted the coffee with a grateful sigh, her eyes clearing as she took the first sip.
She accepted the coffee with a grateful sigh, her eyes clearing as she took the first sip. The rich, dark roast was a familiar anchor, pulling her fully into the quiet morning. Sunlight, thin and winter-pale, filtered through the kitchen window, gilding the dust motes dancing in the air.
He watched her over the rim of his own mug, his blue eyes soft. "Hungry, Mrs. Cooper?" The new name slipped out, casual and profound, and her breath caught. Her smile bloomed, wide and dazzling, transforming her entire face as she looked down at the oversized flannel sleeves covering her hands.
"Starving," she said, the word wrapped in a laugh that was pure, unfiltered joy. He moved to the counter, his broad back to her, and began pulling eggs and bread from the pantry. The domestic rhythm of it, the normalcy after the emotional whirlwind, was its own kind of bliss.
"They're kicking," she announced softly, a hand splayed over her stomach. He turned, his gaze dropping to her belly, a different sort of hunger flashing in his eyes. "Good," he murmured, cracking eggs into a bowl with a sure, practiced hand. "They know it's their mom's day."
"It's our day," she corrected, leaning against the counter beside him. He bumped her hip with his, a gentle nudge of agreement. The scent of butter melting in the cast iron skillet filled the kitchen, warm and savory. He slid toast onto a plate, the edges perfectly golden.
"Here," he said, handing it to her. "Eat." She took a bite, watching as he expertly flipped the eggs. For a long moment, there was only the sound of sizzling and chewing, a comfortable silence woven from years of understanding. He plated the eggs and joined her at the rustic table, their knees touching underneath.
"So," he said, forking a bite. "Sunday." The word hung between them, a blank canvas of time. "No ranch work?" she asked, already knowing the answer. He shook his head, a slow smile spreading. "Nate and Brody are covering everything. Told them we were unreachable."
She laughed, a light, bubbling sound. "They believed you?" His grin turned wolfish. "They didn't have a choice." He reached across the table, his thumb brushing a crumb from the corner of her mouth. The simple touch sent a warm shiver through her.
"Think you can handle a whole day of just me?" he asked, his voice a low rumble. She captured his thumb, pressing a kiss to the calloused pad. "I've been waiting for a whole day of just you for three months," she whispered, her green eyes solemn. His gaze held hers, the promise in it deep enough to drown in.
"Then that's what you get."