The first thingI feel when I wake is warmth.
Which is puzzling because Brandon likes to keep the temperature cool to the point of brisk. Freezing, sometimes.
This warmth is…comforting. And yet…
I blink, disoriented.
Then, like the sunlight blazing outside, it all comes flooding back.
Heavy blankets, the faint smell of smoke, pine, and something darker that clings to the sheets.
Him.
The second thing I feel is a stare.
I jolt upright, heart racing, and there he is—exactly where he said he’d be, in the armchair in the corner, his massive frame spilling over it, elbows on his knees. Eyes locked on me like he hasn’t looked away all night.
“You really stayed there?” My voice comes out raspy, half asleep, half disbelieving. “The whole night?”
He grunts. “Said I would. I’m not a bastard who goes back on his word.”
Something twists sharp in my chest. My ex used to say he wouldn’t hurt me, wouldn’t leave bruises, wouldn’t crush me down with words.
Promises that shattered every time.
The beast must see the flicker of surprise on my face because his scowl deepens. “Clearly you’ve never known men not to let you down.”
I shrug, looking away. I don’t want to give him that piece of me.
Suddenly he’s moving. The chair creaks and his boots thud, and then he’s looming over the bed. His shadow swallows me up, the same way it did the first time and every time since. And heaven help me, but why do I like that he’s so much bigger than me when I should be terrified he can crush me in a single blink?
“Look at me when I’m talking to you,” he grates.
I force my chin up to glare at him. But when his eyes lock on mine the air shifts. Hot. Sharp.Charged.
Memories of last night slam into me—his mouth savage and worshipful between my thighs, my screams in the trees, the taste of his tongue driving me insane.
My breath hitches. His does too.
“Do you want me to drag every word out of you, little rabbit?” His voice is low, dangerous. “Or use other means, like I did last night?”
“Lily,” I snap, heat rising in my cheeks. “I told you my name is Lily. I don’t like ‘little rabbit.’”
He smirks, leaning closer. “Answer my questions then, and maybe I’ll think of a new name for you.”
I cross my arms, mutter, “I don’t even know yours.”
A beat of silence. Then his eyes darken. “What do you want to call me?”
My lips part. Shock flares in my chest. Then I look at his thick neck, this Volkswagen-sized jaw, the muscles stacked on muscles, and the scars that sit on top of them. I don’t know why the words tumble out, but they do. “Beast. Bear.”
He stiffens, a flicker of something wild but unreadable crossing his face.
Why did that get to him?
“Close enough,” he mutters, almost to himself.
He shifts closer, one knee bracing on the mattress. I don’t realize what I’m doing until it’s too late—my legs creep up, parting, bracing against his thighs, making space for him to fit between them.
