Free Lumberjack Werebear (Saw Bears Book 1) by T. S. Joyce Page B

she could almost see his reserve dissolving. Whatever he was waiting for, she didn’t need it. She didn’t need a gentle man. She needed Tagan, and all the pent up desire she’d seen in his eyes all night.
    “More?” he asked, bucking into, filling her completely.
    “Harder,” she said. Pressure, pressure, pressure, and how could a man feel this good? How could anything feel so good?
    Tagan drew out slowly, then thrust into her again. He dropped her leg, gripped her hips, and drew out again. His pace picked up, and Brooke gripped his back, pulling him closer. It still wasn’t enough, couldn’t ever be enough. His powerful hips bucked as he pushed into her harder and faster.
    The pleasure was so potent, it consumed her. She closed her eyes against the intensity. She yelled his name as her orgasm pounded through her. Tagan growled out as his warmth splashed into her, and his thrusting became erratic. He slowed and then stopped, just held her. Rocking back and forth, he kissed her forehead, her cheeks, her lips, her nose.
    It was hard to stand on her wobbly legs after what they’d done. Something had changed on a cellular level inside of her. Feelings she thought she was incapable of were bubbling to the surface. Now, she was in much, much deeper with Tagan than she’d ever allow herself to admit out loud.
    As minutes dragged on, Tagan grew hard and swelled inside of her again. Without a word, he gently rocked until she came again. This time wasn’t rushed or desperate for release like before. This one he gave her just because he cared. He drew her orgasm from her softly and froze as she pulsed around him. Only then did he pull out of her.
    Tagan picked his sweater up from the ground and turned it inside out, then knelt in front of her and brushed it across her sex and down the moisture that had trickled down her thighs.
    “What are you doing?” she asked.
    “Cleaning you.”
    “But you don’t have to—”
    “I want to.”
    “Okay,” she whispered, feeling cared for and adored.
    When he was done, he pulled her panties on, then her jeans, then her bra. Turning her with gentle hands, he hooked the lingerie in back, then pulled her sweater over her head.
    When he was dressed, sans his shirt, which he kept clutched in his hands, he led her back down the trail, holding her hand and never taking his eyes from her for long.
    He kissed her at her door, chastely, like he was trying to be a gentleman, then said goodnight. But later, when the nightmares came back, and she was frozen and terrified in her bed, Tagan appeared as if he’d known her fear was coming. As if he’d known she would need him.
    He slid under the sheets and lay in bed beside her, then pulled her close and stroked her mussed hair until it was smooth.
    And she fell asleep again, all safe and warm and his.

Chapter Eight
    Brooke stretched her toes toward Tagan, but found his side of the bed empty and cold. Frowning, she cracked her sleepy eyes open, then sat up. The soft tink tink of metal on metal sounded from somewhere outside.
    From the soft, gray light peeking in through the crack between the blackout curtains she’d put up, it was early in the morning. He probably had to go to work soon, but still, she was a little disappointed he hadn’t said goodbye. After last night, he was vital to her now.
    A louder clang of metal sounded, and she slipped from bed and turned off the humming window unit to hear better. She slid her boots over her pink flannel pajama pants and pulled her coat on to cover her northern half, because she was definitely not putting a bra on this early.
    Tagan wasn’t in the bathroom or the living room. Water splashed onto her face and teeth brushed, she pushed the door open to investigate the grating noise.
    Tagan looked up from the side of her car where a pile of tools sat haphazardly. His hands were covered in grease, and he was holding a metal bar of some sort. He gave her a megawatt smile and said, “Your brakes won’t