He kisses me again, and this one is all him. All hunger. No control. He sucks on my bottom lip and then his mouth takes mine like he’s done pretending.
And I’m grateful. Because I want him. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say I need him. This escape.
“And I fucking hate the way you call me Bear,” he growls against my lips.
I smile, slow and knowing, because it’s a lie. He loves being the Bear I drag to his knees.
My fingers slip to his jeans, undoing the button with a hurried flick.
“Tell me what else you hate,” I breathe.
He inhales sharply when I wrap my hand around his length…and girth. It’s so pretty. If I licked long enough, sucked hard enough, I bet I could taste the rainbow.
I stroke him measured and merciless, watching his control come apart with every glide of my hand.
He licks my lips. “I hate that fucking mouth,” he hisses, thrusting into my fist. “I hate that you can read me like you’ve known me for years, not hours.”
“I know the feeling,” I laugh softly, never breaking eye contact as I take him apart piece by piece. Breaking my Bear down until there’s nothing left but want. But us.
“And just think,” I murmur, my voice dropping, “for the next few days…” I stroke him again. Harder, letting the promise hang there, thick and heavy. Like him.
“What, Max? The next few days, what?” He grunts out as my motion intensifies.
“All this could be yours, Bear.”
I say it to him, but I’m talking to myself too.
“Use me,” I whisper, the words spilling out of something dark and reckless inside me. “For every frustration. Every deal gone wrong.” I swallow, eyes locked on his. “Burden me, Bear.”
The ache in his eyes makes my decision easier. For the next few days, I can disappear into the mountains and pretend this is real. That this—he—belongs to me. I’ll let myself tip into the kind of romance I’ve only ever read about.
Eli’s exactly the kind of man you’re told doesn’t exist. The kind of Black man the world tries to convince not to believe in.
Yet here I am.
His eyes on mine.
His breath uneven.
His dick in my hand.
And at this very moment, looking into his beautiful face, pretending feels ridiculously easy.
Before I can fully register what’s happening, Eli growls and yanks my leggings down to my thighs. The fabric snags around my knees, the cold air hitting my bare skin so suddenly it assaults my lungs. Every inch exposed feels shockingly awake, the brutal temperature crashing against the heat already building in my body.
I kick off my sneakers, nearly losing my balance as icy air curls up my legs, and fumble with the waistband, shoving the leggings the rest of the way down. My fingers shake as I step out of them as fast as I can, the sting of winter against overheated skin only making every nerve ending spark harder, sharper.
His hands clamp onto my thighs and then I’m lifted, my legs locking around his waist automatically. Instead of slamming me back against the tree, he turns and starts walking. The sudden movement pulls a startled breath from my chest as he carries me, unhurried, with ease, straight toward the greenhouse.
The door creaks open beneath his shoulder. The air spills over my bare skin as he steps inside, glass panes catching the light. Green surrounds us. The world narrows.
He backs me against the nearest sturdy worktable, setting me down just long enough to fit himself between my legs. His need presses insistently against my entrance, heavy and demanding.
His eyes search my face. “Are you on the pill? Tested?”
“Yes.” No hesitation.
“Good. Me too.”
