A Very Beastly Christmas (Gray Back Bears Book 7) by T. S. Joyce Page B

the back of his hand down her bare arm and smiled when she shuddered under his touch. So easily pleased. His perfect mate.
    He kissed up her throat, sucking gently, grazing teeth, and giving soft touches. Her little sighs said he was doing something right. Her skin was chilled now, goosebumps rising wherever his fingertips met her. Cold. That wouldn’t do. Bending down, he pulled her into his arms and carried her to the bed. He could warm her. He ran hot. A product from his suffering, but he’d do it again. Do it again to be Ana’s blanket.
    He settled her onto the bed and pulled the comforter over them. She leaned up with a needy sound in her throat. Pleading sound, begging him to connect with her. He needed the same. She gasped in pleasure as he pushed his erection into her. So tight and wet. Perfect fit. Perfect. He eased out as she hooked her leg over his back. Needy mate. Stomach flexing, he pushed into her again, and she made his favorite noise—the one where she’d let go, where she’d given herself to him, trusting him to please her.
    “Oh,” she murmured again, arching her back until her beautiful breasts pressed against him.
    Beaston pushed into her again, faster to meet her rocking hips. His body curled around her, over and over as the heat between them built. She felt so good. So good. Perfect.
    He squeezed his eyes closed and intertwined his fingers with hers, held her hands over her head as he tried to slow the pace. He would go too fast like this.
    “Please,” she said on a sigh.
    Helpless. Helpless to tell her no. Helpless to slow down. His Ana deserved everything.
    Needy sounds. Louder, and he was gone as the first pulse of her orgasm gripped him. He froze against her as he came, and a feral growl rattled his throat as he emptied himself completely into her.
    Ana pulled him down against her and stroked his back, his arm, his face, his hip. Adoring his body as their aftershocks eased and eventually faded to nothing. He laid kisses over her eyebrows and cheeks. Along her graceful neck, and his sweet Ana was crying again. He huffed a soft laugh and wiped a tear from the corner of her eye. “Soft and full of tears.”
    “You break me apart.” Ana pulled his palm to her lips and let her kiss linger there.
    “Sleep,” he whispered. “I’ll keep you safe.” Always.
    And she did. His mate curled against him and drifted off while he stroked her hair and watched the snow falling out the window.
    When she smelled like sleep again and her breathing had slowed, he slid out from under her arm and tucked her in tight. He wouldn’t give her enough time to get cold without him here to warm her.
    He would only be gone a little while.
    Back in his sweater and jeans with his boots unlaced but on, he made his way quietly from the house and made fresh tracks in the snow toward his workshop. He turned on the single hanging lightbulb and looked over his home-away-from-home. Cluttered chaos. He was a knife maker and a wood worker, and Ana deserved something he made, just as she had made all of his Christmas presents.
    He’d already started making her gift, but there was still work to do.
    And as his gaze landed on the rough wood of his gift, he smiled.
    It was still a work in progress.
    Just like him.

Chapter Eight
     
    “Ana,” Beaston murmured. His hand brushed her bare hip, then traced a line up her ribcage. “Ana.”
    “Hmm?” she asked, stretching and opening her bleary eyes to the dark. “Beaston?” She sat up, alarmed. He never woke her this early. “What’s wrong?”
    “Put these on.” His eyes were glowing green in the dark, but his lips were curved up in a soft smile as he settled a set of warm clothes in front of her on the bed.
    Aviana stared at the jeans and the green sweater, then rubbed her eyes and frowned out the window. This morning was Christmas, and Beaston was waking her before dawn.
    “Okay,” she said, unable to keep the smile from her voice as it hit her what he was doing.
    She