Tell Me I’m Not Crazy
936 Words
Lena
I was wrapped in a giant flannel blanket that smelled like smoke, pine, and... him.
I’d been in Logan Stone’s cabin for all of twenty minutes and I already wanted to commit several crimes. Mostly of the “get naked and ride this man into next week” variety, which felt deeply inappropriate considering he’d just mauled someone for me as a bear.
An actual bear.
Like, claws and fur and everything.
So yeah, I probably should have been freaking out.
Instead, I was staring at him across a small wooden kitchen table while he made me grilled cheese like we were in a rom-com from hell.
“So,” I said, trying to sound casual and definitely not turned on, “you’re a bear shifter. And I’m your… mate.”
He glanced over his shoulder, shirtless and utterly unfazed. “Correct.”
“Do you normally just drop that on women after saving them from stalker-werewolves?”
He flipped the sandwich like it was no big deal. “Not usually. You’re the only one.”
I blinked. “How many women have you saved?”
“Just you.”
“Seriously?”
He turned, bare chest catching the light of the overhead lamp, golden eyes locking on mine. “I don’t make a habit of chasing women. I was waiting for you.”
And I—damn it—I melted.
He placed the plate in front of me, then sat across the table like a man not currently radiating primal s*x energy from every pore.
I bit into the sandwich to stall for time. “Okay. So let’s say I believe you. What exactly does ‘mate’ mean in shifter terms?”
“It’s… instinctual,” he said slowly. “Fated. When we find the one who’s ours, we know. It’s physical. Emotional. Spiritual. Like gravity.”
“And if I don’t feel it?”
“You do.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You’re flushed. Heart rate elevated. Breathing shallow. You’re aroused, Lena. Right now.”
I choked on my sandwich. “Excuse you?!”
He leaned forward, elbows on the table, voice low and dark. “It’s not a guess. I can smell it.”
My jaw dropped. “That is so invasive.”
“But accurate.”
I opened my mouth to argue—then slammed it shut. Because, fine. He wasn’t wrong. Every time he looked at me like that, I wanted to do very illegal things with him and possibly on him.
“I should leave,” I muttered, standing.
“No.”
That one word stopped me cold.
He stood too—slow, deliberate, like he didn’t want to spook me. His chest rose with each deep breath, muscles shifting like they wanted to be touched.
He walked around the table until he was right in front of me.
Close enough to feel the heat coming off his skin.
Close enough to taste the air between us.
“You’re scared,” he said, voice barely above a whisper. “And I get it. But you’re not scared of me. You’re scared of what this means.”
I swallowed. “You’re intense.”
“You’ve said that.”
“You’re half bear.”
“Also true.”
“And you make me feel things I really don’t want to feel.”
His eyes darkened. “Say it.”
I shook my head.
“Say it, Lena.”
“I want you,” I whispered, throat tight.
He exhaled through his nose, a sound that was almost a growl.
“Then take me.”
I didn’t think. I just moved.
Our mouths collided, hot and hungry. His hands gripped my hips like he’d been dying to touch me. Mine tangled in his hair, yanking him closer as our bodies crashed together.
The kiss was wildfire—no build-up, no soft start. Just heat and desperation and months of loneliness unraveling in the space between gasps.
He spun us, backing me against the wall, lips dragging down my neck. I whimpered.
“I’ve dreamed of this,” he murmured against my skin. “Every night. Every damn night.”
His hand slid under my shirt, fingers grazing the bare skin of my waist, and my knees went weak.
But then—he stopped.
Pulled back.
Breathing hard, chest heaving, eyes blazing gold.
“I won’t take you until you’re sure,” he said. “Not just because your body wants it. I want all of you, Lena. Mind. Heart. Soul.”
And god help me—
That wrecked me more than the kiss.
Because no one had ever said that to me before.
Not like that.
Not like they meant it.
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Logan
I wanted to claim her right there against the wall.
She was soft and fierce in my arms, her body arching into mine like she was made to fit. Her scent was addictive—lust, fear, desire. Her lips were swollen, her breathing ragged.
But she needed more than instinct.
So I pulled back.
Even though it killed me.
Even though my bear was roaring to mark her, take her, bind her to us in blood and bite.
“I don’t do half,” I told her. “And I don’t do temporary.”
She stared at me, chest rising and falling.
Then she nodded.
Once.
I didn’t kiss her again.
Not yet.
But I did take her hand and press it to my bare chest—right over my pounding heart.
“I’m yours,” I said.
And I meant it.
Every word.
- Writer
