One big calloused hand stroked her belly. “Do you mind?” His voice was gentle.
“No.”
“Are they moving yet?”
Should she tell him? “I think so. But the obstetrician said it was too soon.”
He grunted softly. His hand stroked in a big circle all around where her abdomen bulged. A big finger dabbled delicately in her navel. “What does it feel like?”
She answered him by tapping delicately on the back of his hand with a fingertip. “Actually, sometimes it feels like bubbles rising. Plop. Plop. Plop.”
“All the time?”
“More and more. Dr. Newcombe said it was gas.”
“Does that doctor know there are three of them?”
“I don’t know that there are three. Jenna says at least two. But we’re waiting another week for the ultrasound.” She tried to explain rationally, even though the feel of his big hands stroking her was making her think about everything but babies.
He disappeared under the covers. His mouth traced warm kisses were his hands had been. It tickled and she giggled. He pulled away just as she was getting into it. “Don’t stop,” she protested.
His fingers replaced his mouth anyway. He spoke against the side of her head. “I don’t want to mark you. And I haven’t shaved in two days.” He picked up her hand and rubbed it over his chin.
She rubbed the bristles and found the dent in his chin. Her little finger just fit inside the deep dimple.
“See,” he said. “You’ll have beard rash in no time at all.” His fingers made circles and curlicues on her naked belly.
Her thighs fell apart. “I don’t think I’m that delicate,” she managed.
“Yes, you are. You are covered all over in soft girl skin. Every bit. And I have it on good authority that my unshaven face will scrape it up like sandpaper.”
“Woman skin,” she corrected him.
“I only meant female as opposed to coarse, hairy male skin. And I think it’s even softer now that you’re pregnant.” He stroked even more softly. “Much softer.”
“Is that even a thing?”
“Of course it is. Your hair is thicker. Not just on your head.” His voice was sly. His fingers just flirted with the edge of her muff. It was thicker and curlier. And longer. And lusher. His growl disturbed her thoughts. “May I?”
She pushed his hand down over her mound. His fingers played with her curls while his thumb traced the edges of her bush down onto her thighs. Her moan was very loud in the cabin. One finger twirled where hair covered her clit and traced it as gently as he traced her belly. She moaned even louder.
He whispered in her ear, “I think you should be on top this time. Keep my weight off your belly.”
Being on top sounded good. But she wasn’t anywhere ready for that. Not yet. “Maybe later.”
He chuckled. “I didn’t mean we should stop playing. I just want you where I can’t hurt you.”
What did he mean? “Hurt me how?” She certainly hoped he wasn’t going to turn out to be a fan of rough play. Because she wasn’t going to stand for any sort of meanness.
He scooched around and lay down beside her and stretched out his legs and turned her to face him on her side. He picked up her hand and wound his fingers through hers. “If you get over me on all fours, I can reach all your bits without putting any pressure on the babies, and without scouring your skin with a Brillo pad.”
“What Brillo pad?” The words were out before she realized he had to be referring to his chest hair.
For answer he rubbed her fingers through his pelt. She dug her fingers in and felt the muscle below. There were great slabs of heavy muscle all over his pecs and right down onto his abs. Sexy.
She could feel those enticing muscles that made a V that pointed to his dick. Just like the model on some hot romance novel. But unlike them he was furry all over, like a bear. Like a man. His curling hair was coarser than her own. But it was no steel wool scourer. “Only boys are hairless.”
His laugh was bitter. “All the same you better straddle me. I don’t want you rubbed raw.”
Well, he probably had more experience than she did. And it didn’t sound like he wanted to do anything weird. She fumbled around under the covers until she was on her hands and knees over his torso. Even though his hips were narrow, it was still a stretch.
His hands reached for her breasts and she froze. She couldn’t help it. But he was gentle. Very gentle. He plumped them and tested their weight. His growl sounded approving. She crouched a little lower and let the tips dangle over that tantalizing fur that covered his pecs.
“Easy,” he ground out. He lifted her breasts away from his chest and rolled the nipples between his thumb and forefinger. “Tell me if I do anything you don’t like. Anything that hurts. Are you sensitive here?”
No one had told her there would be so much talking. She was sensitive there. Weren’t every woman’s breasts sensitive? She didn’t feel like saying that there was an electric current running between her boobs and her pussy. “Yes.” Her voice was husky and almost inaudible.
“They’re bigger,” he replied. “I’d like to kiss, and suck on them.” His fingers squeezed lightly in a pulsing rhythm that made that electric spark turn on and off deliciously. “But I don’t want to mark them up.”
Between his words and his fingers her excitement was building. The thought of his mouth on her nipples was making her squirm a little. And he hadn’t really done anything yet. She leaned forward and brushed her lips against his. And made a discovery. His face was rigid and his mouth was already open, as if his restraint was taking a toll on him. She ran her tongue all around his mouth. He held quite still. She lifted her head.
“You going to get beard burn.”
She sat down right on his furry six-pack. “I don’t want another word about how hairy you are. Men are supposed to be hairy. And I don’t want to make love without kissing.”
“I’m hairier than most.”
“Not around here you’re not. And I don’t see any of the women in French Town walking around with red faces. I’ll take my chances.” She leaned over again and put her mouth on his.
She swallowed his groan. His mouth tasted of man. A flavor her body seemed to be familiar with, even though they hadn’t done a lot of kissing. Was this what it was like when you found your fated mate? She sure wished she had had someone to tell her about this stuff.
Jenna had hinted that the physical connection between fated mates was just part of the richness of their emotional bond. But she wasn’t at all sure that there was any emotional bond between her and this bear who was letting her explore his mouth. Wasn’t this just lust?
His big hands left her breasts. She squirmed a little lower so the tips dangled against his chest hair. The sensation was as arousing she had thought it would be. He didn’t seem to notice. Or maybe his fingers were so busy delving between her butt cheeks and finding her sex he didn’t have room to notice what she was up to.
His breathing was harsh. And his skin had begun to dampen. But his hands were still patient and gentle. He brushed the very tips of the hair that grew between her legs and chuckled into her mouth when she wriggled. She had to come up for air. He wasn’t supplying enough. Although she missed his breath the second she pulled away from his mouth.
“You’re getting wetter,” he said. But he still didn’t do anything except pet her lightly.
He was nothing but a tease. Wasn’t she a lucky girl? “Touch me.”
“I am touching you. Why are you in such a rush?” His voice was a rumble in the darkness, and even though his whole torso was stiff, she heard the laughter under the tension.
“I’m about to pop,” she explained.
“So pop.” This time his laughter was full of masculine satisfaction. “I’ve never had a woman come from just having her muff patted.”
That reminder that he had had more women than she had had hot dinners earned him a little chest hair pulling.
&nbs
p; “Ouch. Was I tactless?”
“Just a lot.”
“Sorry.” His finger moved inward just a shade. “You’re soft here. Slippery and swollen. Would you like a finger inside you?”
Or something. “Yes.” It was a struggle to get the words out past her panting.
He taunted just the first inch or so of her throbbing, aching passage. His fingers circled the opening, pressing lightly and spreading her juices. The rhythmic pulsing of her passage became a fierce contraction.
Didn’t he want to be inside her? Properly inside her. She could feel his cock pressing against her butt cheeks. She tried a swivel of her hips to encourage him. He groaned a protest but she could tell he liked it. So she did it again.
“You witch,” he breathed hotly. “We’ll be done too soon if you don’t stop aggravating me.”
Given that he was writhing, despite his attempts at self-control. And given that she was dewy and everything inside was clenched as tight as her nipples, she felt aroused and powerful. Confident of her feminine allure. She ignored his complaints. Didn’t he know she wanted him inside her?”
He dabbled his finger a tiny bit further into her vagina and turned it so he could stroke the upper surface. She squeezed his finger tightly. Her body splintered and flew off in a shower of electric sparks. It was fireworks night on the Fourth of July. His laugh was possessive and triumphant. But he still wasn’t inside her.
He let her fall onto his sweaty body and lie still while he stroked her from nape to buttocks. Ripples of pure pleasure spread through her body like the aftershocks of an earthquake. His cock lay between them like a thick branch. She was feeling too languid to rub her mound over it, so she just lay still and enjoyed her orgasm.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Heather was a limp weight on top of him. He ran his hands up and down her body savoring the supple muscles under her satiny skin. Tremors from her orgasm pulsed through his body in wave after wave. He wasn’t used to feeling such a strong emotional connection with a partner. But Heather’s responses delighted him. Her aftershocks felt like a gift. Her eagerness did something to his heart.
Slowly her moans faded. She relaxed even more. A little burble issued from her parted lips. She was asleep with his damned cock like an iron bar beneath her. Yet restraining his passions was effortless. He liked holding her like this. She was sleeping for three or four, he reminded himself.
His Heather was not very experienced. Enthusiastic, but not expert. He had always preferred to seek his bedmates amongst sexual sophisticates who knew the score. Women who were looking for an evening of pleasure rather than paradise. Heather didn’t know any scores. And it was worrisome that he did not know if she had found paradise with him. That it mattered so much if she had not.
She had probably not intended to fall asleep. Yet he felt as if this armful of soft and fragrant woman who was so sweetly and deeply asleep belonged to him. Trusted him. He arranged the top sheet over her shoulders and settled down to see if she would rouse on her own. Her rounded belly pressed into him, her luscious flesh conforming to his harder muscles. She sighed in her sleep and snuggled closer.
He stroked her lightly, tracing her spine. And tried to relax his stiff and aroused body. He didn’t understand his disinclination to move her to her own side of the bed. He was as hard as a rock and it wasn’t as if Mrs. Hand and her five daughters had left town. But he preferred the mild discomfort of his throbbing hard-on to the prospect of losing Heather’s satiated warmth. What exactly did that mean?
Popcorn suddenly started firing beneath him. Tiny kernels bounced in his wife’s belly and reverberated through his own frame. For an instant he panicked. She was hurt. He had hurt her. Then he realized his babies were awake and saying hello. On that thought his hard-on died. But those kids suddenly felt tangible. He was going to be a daddy. The soft body lying in his arms was infinitely precious. And that popcorn was his to protect. Heather too.
First on his list was dealing with whatever asswipe had taught her to fear an angry man’s fists. He had his money on Bobby Dupré who had only recently decided to act like a father to Heather. Some father! Trying to force her to marry his brother. He kissed the top of her head, inhaling her special fragrance. Was Zeke correct? Had fate sent him his destined bride? Did he have the courage to make this forced match real? To seize happiness?
* * *
Her cheek was pressed against something hot. All of her was pressed against something hot. She stretched. Her back and shoulders were cold. There was a thin layer of sweat between her and Patrick. But the sheet was not keeping the cool night air off her back. She groped around for the missing blanket and rolled off her human furnace.
Somehow she didn’t think that when he had told her she should be on top that he had meant she should use him as a mattress. But she had enjoyed a good night’s sleep. A glance at the gray light filtering in through the cabin windows told her sunrise was not far off. She had slept as well on him as she had slept alone.
She felt curiously energized. Although she didn’t have any idea why. Maybe it was best not to brood. What she needed now was to go potty, have a big glass of water, and go have a wash in the river.
Patrick was still asleep when she came out of the lean-to. He had thrown off the sheet she had so carefully placed over his shoulders. Already the light in the cabin was less dim. She could see that the curls on his chest were thick and maybe getting thicker. He certainly had some strange ideas about being too hairy. Was that even possible for a bear?
She thrust her feet back into her shoes, picked up yesterday’s clothes, and gathered her clean ones. The air was cool and fresh. Dawn was a thin pink line against the pale gray sky. There were a few streaky clouds out that would probably turn into rain later. All around her songbirds were greeting the dawn and shrieking their love songs to their rivals and their mates. Preserving their territories and securing the next generation. Business as usual.
Twigs broke on the path behind her. She twirled, sending her blanket flying outward in a big circle.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Patrick blazed. He was naked and he had a morning woody that looked like a cruise missile. He was in a towering fury.
She took a step backward to stay out of range of those long arms and big clenched fists. “I’m just going to the river.” She waved her clothes at him placatingly.
“What the hell do you intend to do if you’re ambushed?”
“By what? A raccoon?”
“Black bear, cougar, wolves.” He spoke through his teeth. A muscle jumped in his clenched jaw.
She shook her head at him. Her braid was coming undone. Just another reason she needed a wash. “Not at this time of day.”
“You can’t know that. Not for sure.” He advanced on her and she held her ground only by force of will.
“It’s deeply unlikely.” She hated how her voice shook. She would run if she didn’t think he would catch her in a second.
“Unlikely. But not impossible. What the hell would you do if you were ambushed? Predatory animals pay attention. I bet you did this same thing yesterday morning.” He loomed over her, his voice more and more wrathful.
“Two days is hardly a pattern. Besides I didn’t get up until noon yesterday.” She held her clothes tightly against her body as she defended herself. “I could always take bear,” she said lightly. “Any cougar or wolf would back off.”
He went white. His black beard stood out against his pallor. “But you’re pregnant.”
“You noticed.”
He narrowed his eyes at her. “Just what the fuck is going to happen to your babies if you go around taking bear?” he bellowed.
“Nothing that need concern you.”
“Jesus H,” he ground out, “You’d try the patience of the saints.” But he didn’t touch her. Color slowly seeped back into his face.
“I’m pregnant,” she said, “Not suffering from terminal cancer.”
“What are you going to
the river for?”
She blushed. She couldn’t help it. “To clean up.”
“I’ll come with you.”
“Not if you’re going to fight with me.”
He put his hand out slowly, hesitantly. “I would never hit you,” he said. “Clearly I might shout at you. But I would never hit you.”
For some reason – probably because she had lost hers – she believed him. She turned on her heel and kept going towards the river.
He was barefoot. He had come dashing out of the cabin without even stopping for those foolish loafers of his. His fright was real.
She turned her head slightly. “Why are you so worried?”
“You’re pregnant. You’ve been sick. And who the hell knows what’s going on in these woods.”
“The odds are good that we’ll find nothing more dangerous than the trout we caught for breakfast.”
He grunted.
The trap held three Bull trout and a single six-inch steelhead. Damn. One fish between two bears was a pretty skimpy breakfast. But you couldn’t take Bulls – they were endangered.
She set her clothes on a clean rock and folded the blanket on top of them. Patrick drew in a hissing breath. She flicked her eyes sideways at him. He looked astounded. His expression made her feel powerful and feminine. Just as if his anger hadn’t been scaring her two minutes ago.
He didn’t take her in his arms. He scanned the area, turning in a circle as if he expected to detect snipers. “You see,” he pointed to the ground where large paws had made deep impressions in the mud.
She sniffed. “Mountain cat.” She sniffed again. “Pregnant female. Helped herself to our fish.” She waded into the stream and bent over the trap to release the bull trout. “What do you think? Is this one too small to eat?”
“Just a bit.” He still looked like he’d never seen a woman before. But he was still quartering the area around the stream as if he expected enemy emplacements. “What makes you think that cougar won’t come back after her snack?”
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