Page 44 of Trusting Her Bear
My throat closes. His fierceness doesn’t scare me; quite the opposite. His words dive deep into my soul, filling all the emptiness that being in the cage tore out.
“Quinn,” I sob, unsure how to respond, but the gravity of his confession means everything.
“I will eventually bare it all to you. Every deep, dark secret. All the things I am ashamed of, afraid of, and willing to do a hundred times more because of the rightness of them. I ask that you keep an open mind and trust in our bond.”
“I will. I promise,” I say as I lift my head to meet his eyes.
“Good.” He slides his hand over my ass. “I want you to pick a word that will stop anything I am doing to you.”
I freeze. “Any word?”
“Yes.”
“Cage.”
“Alright. That is your word. If I do anything that scares you or makes you nervous, you say cage, and everything stops. We will talk. I will never be mad if you use it. If you say stop, I will stop.”
“Okay,” I agree. The warmth is spreading from the areas he is touching.
“I won’t fuck you tonight, but I want to play more.”
“Play how?”
“I want to eat you,” he says.
“Uh…” It amazes me how blunt he is.
“Is that a yes?” He raises an eyebrow.
“Yes,” I squeak. What girl is going to turn that down?
He rolls me over, slides his hands away, and pushes up to his hands and knees. I stare up at his handsome face as he looks from my face down my body. My face flushes from the heat in his expression.
“I like the nightgown, Little Cub,” he says. “Did you wear it for me?”
“Yes,” I whisper.
“Good Cub,” he praises.
“Thank you.” His words hit me, the pride in his voice addicting, and I want more.
“Are you ready?”
“Yes.”
“What is the word?”
“Cage,” I reply quickly. I feel heavy with desire in my breasts and my pussy.
“Good Cub.” He pushes with his palms and rests back on his knees between my spread legs. I watch his hands lift and cup my calves.
I bite my lip.
The glide of his hands as they travel up and over my knees makes me shiver in need. His hands are rough. I wait in anticipation when his fingertips move over my thighs that are bare since my gown fell to my hips as we rolled. This thumb slips under the band of my underwear, and my eyes close as he rubs back and forth, back and forth. He teases the crease of my thighs before moving back, never completely connecting.
“Quinn,” I whimper.
“What, Little Cub?” he asks, not allowing me to answer, he continues. “Open your eyes.” They snap open at the demand. “I always want your eyes on me.”