Chapter 78: Edrik Cant Read

Thorne’s massive hand slides up along Dove’s spine, slow and unhurried, like he has all night and intends to use every minute of it. The big panther doesn’t even glance toward Edrik’s bunk doesn’t need to. He already knows the bear is watching too.

Dove tips her head back as Thorne’s mouth finds the side of her neck, and the small sound she makes isn’t quiet at all. It isn’t meant to be.

Edrik’s grip tightens on his book. He turns a page he hasn’t read a single word of.

Thorne’s hands find the hem of her shirt, dragging it up over her head in one slow pull, and for a second all Edrik can do is watch the fabric lift away from white fur, watch her arms rise, watch the way her chest, soft, tipped with pink comes into view in the dim light. He should look away. He doesn’t.

Thorne makes a low sound in his chest, something between a growl and a hum of approval, and his huge hands span nearly the whole of her ribs as he pulls her against him, skin to skin, and kisses along her collarbone like he’s worshipping something fragile and precious.

Dove’s fingers curl into his skin at his shoulders, her head tipping to the side to give him more room, and she’s still looking at Edrik. Still holding his gaze like it’s a thread tethering her to something.

Heat floods up the back of Edrik’s neck, into his ears, and he opens his mouth to deny it on reflex and then just doesn’t. There’s no point. His body’s already answered the question for him, twitching interest pressed uncomfortably against his thigh, and the brown wool blanket pulled over his lap is doing exactly nothing to disguise it.

"Leave him be," Thorne rumbles, though there’s no heat in it, more amusement than anything, his massive hands sliding down to Dove’s hips to drag her flush against him. "Let the bear have his book."

"He’s not reading his book," Dove says, and gasps as Thorne’s teeth graze lower, along the curve of her breast, catching one tight peak between his lips. Her back arches, spine curving like a bowstring, fingers digging harder into his shoulders. "Oh haah- Thorne!"

Edrik’s heart is hammering now, loud enough he swears they must be able to hear it from across the room. He tells himself to look at the wall instead. He looks at the wall for exactly four seconds before his eyes slide right back.

Thorne’s mouth moves to her other breast, tongue flicking, teeth scraping with just enough pressure to make her gasp sharply, hips rocking forward against where he’s still fully clothed beneath her. His hands roam, squeezing, kneading, like he’s trying to map every inch of her by touch alone, and the low rumbling growl that comes from his chest vibrates through the small cabin, through the floorboards, through something low in

Edrik’s own gut that he’d rather not examine too closely.

"You’re mine tonight," Thorne murmurs against her skin, voice pitched low but not low enough not with the cabin this small, not with Edrik’s ears twitching to catch every word. "Every inch of you."

"Already yours," Dove breathes, head falling back, eyes fluttering shut for just a moment before they find Edrik again, pinning him in place like a hook through water. "Was yours the second you walked in."

Edrik’s fingers have gone white around the spine of his book. He should not be watching this. He knows he shouldn’t. He’s going to anyway.

Thorne lays her back against the bedroll, his huge bulk settling over her, and the firelight catches the lean muscle shifting beneath fur as he moves, slow and deliberate, pressing kisses down the center of her chest, over the soft curve of her belly, hands never once stopping their slow worship of her thighs, her hips, every place he can reach.

Dove’s fingers scratch in the skin at the back of his neck, pulling him up, and their mouths meet in something far from gentle hungry, open-mouthed, her leg hooking around his waist like she means to pull him closer still.

"Thorne," she gasps against his lips, breaking the kiss only far enough to speak. "I want ah- I want you to fill me up. I want to feel it for days."

A low growl answers her, Thorne’s hand sliding down between them, and whatever he does draws a sharp, broken moan out of her that makes something in Edrik’s chest clench tight.

"Gonna fill that womb so full," Thorne murmurs against the shell of her ear, voice a rough rasp that still somehow carries clear across the cabin, "gonna breed you so good you won’t be able to walk straight for a week."

"Yes!" Dove whimpers, hips rolling up against him, "yes, please, I want it, I want to be a real mommy, I want you to fuck me till I am-ah! Be a good boy and give it to me-faah."

Edrik makes a small, strangled sound before he can stop himself, but neither of them seem to even notice, too lost in each other, Thorne’s growl deepening into something possessive and low as he grips her thighs and hauls her up into his lap, sitting back on his haunches so she’s straddling him properly now, chest to chest, her white skin stark against the darker skin of his body.

His hand slides between them again, finds the waistband of her panties, and simply tears the fabric away like it’s nothing, like it was never even there, and Dove gasps at the sudden exposure, grinding down against him shamelessly.

Edrik’s whole body goes rigid. His hand slides beneath the blanket before he even consciously decides to let it, fingers curling around himself, biting back the moan that wants to climb up his throat. He should feel guilty. He doesn’t, not really, not with the way Dove’s breasts bounce softly as Thorne lifts her higher, not with the slick sound that fills the cabin when he finally, finally lines himself up and lets her sink down onto him in one long, slow drop.

Dove’s cry echoes off the walls, head thrown back, throat bared, hands braced against Thorne’s massive shoulders as she takes him to the hilt in one smooth motion.

For a moment neither of them move, both frozen, her whole body trembling, mouth open on a silent gasp.