My orgasm is so hard and completely intense that it is almost painful to experience all at once. Brig keeps licking though, drawing it out and taking me higher before I fall still, spent, empty, and so ready for him I should be ashamed of my insatiable appetite.
“Brig.”
“I know, baby. Here,” he murmurs, flipping me onto my stomach before he grabs my hips and pulls me up, my head resting low on the bed while my ass points up, every intimate part of me on full display.
“Brig.”
“Shhh, that’s a good girl, just let me show you, mella,” he says and groans, growling when he presses himself to my entrance and wet heat pours forth. “Aaaah Bee, God baby, you’re so wet it’s like warm honey. Don’t let me hurt you,” he pleads before slamming into me, as if he can’t help himself anymore.
My mouth drops open when he stops, the full length of him so thick and long it takes me a minute to adjust and shove back the bite of pain from his invasion.
Once I do, my body taking his essence and relaxing, the chemical hormone doing its job to prepare me for more, I groan and push back, letting him know I’m ready.
“You feel so good. So warm and wet and perfect for me. I want—”
He snarls, cutting off his own words and pulls back, thrusting deep and hard on the next entry and making me scream and scratch at the sheets when pleasure hits me.
I’ve heard of this before, I think, my scream choking to a stop in my throat when my orgasm hits and doesn’t stop. It is wave after wave of continuous pleasure known by shifters as maiserra tu. Never ending.
I orgasm again, not that I stopped, but this one is more intense, deeper, harder as Brig keeps thrusting into me, his snarls and whines vying for supremacy with the sound of slapping skin and my own whimpers.
It’s almost painful, but it feels so good, and I cry out again when he pushes back in, my sex grasping and milking his length, shuddering harder when he pulls back and then comes at me again from a different angle that has him meeting my womb.
“Oh. Oh God. Brig. Brig. It’s too much. I—!” I gasp and nearly faint when he reaches around me to strum my clit, his rumbles of pleasure drowning out my protests.
“Yeeeees. Take me, baby. Come all over me. Suck me dry!” He roars before he pistons into me so deeply I scream and collapse, the only thing keeping me up is the hands clamped onto my hips.
I feel him come a split second before he roars his release, the shaft of his cock swelling to painful proportions before he growls and shoots deep, filling me with hot streams that set off my own climax again.
I can’t stop shaking, even minutes later, my sex still contracting every few seconds while Brig huffs, plastered to my back as he tries to regain himself.
“Jesus. God. Unh, baby, if you don’t stop coming, I’m going to get hard again.” He groans, pulling his hips back with a growl of regret when he slips out of me.
We both fall to the mattress, spent, replete, with me still gasping out intermittently when a quake pulses through my sheath.
“Oh God!” I moan, finally settling after one more shake that leaves me spent and gasping for breath.
Brig grunts, his arm shooting out to pull me into him, our skin slipping together in a slick slide from the sweat still covering us both.
I like this. I like the dirty aspect of good sex, the way we’re both covered in each other and enjoying it. I’m loving the feel of him leaking out of me where he filled me so deep.
I love the smell, scenting my own musky scent mixed with the more masculine scent of Brig.
Most of all, and maybe this makes me a pathetic loser, I love the way he nuzzles his face into my neck and sniffs me there, his tongue flicking out to lick up a drop of perspiration on my neck.
“That was…amazing,” he purrs, chuckling when I roll over into him and seal my mouth over his, kissing him deeply.
“That was amazing. And…wow, Brig. I never suspected that a high-and-mighty good ole boy like you could be so forceful.”
He tenses, pulling back slightly, and frowns into my eyes.
“Did I hurt you? Let me see. I—”
“Brig! Seriously, you didn’t hurt me, and I…I liked it,” I whisper, feeling my sex clench again, heating up with renewed arousal.
“Yeah?” he purrs, grinning when I flush and bite at my lips, my natural shyness coming back when he palms my ass and flicks a finger over the flesh between my butt and sex.
The touch is intimate, personal on a level I never thought I would share with another person, and so carnal that I clench my sheath and moan before pulling away to lift the sheet, shoving Brig onto his back.
“Bee—”
“Your turn!” I purr, grinning when I lower myself down his body and he groans, his eyes filling with excitement when I take his dick in my hand and squeeze.
“Definitely my turn. Yeeees. Just like that, mella…”
Chapter Seven
Beebee
I stretch awake with a smile, my body still aching in places I didn’t think it could, the soreness filling me with pleasure as I blush and think back on the day and night we just spent together.
Oh Lord, that was the best sex I have ever had. Bar none. And that’s taking my first time into account too and knowing that Clarke Kilter did me justice.
I’ve never craved or wanted that badly, and near the end there, when we were both so exhausted and I didn’t think I could possibly go any more, Brig went more, his insatiable lust driving me so high I thought I would die from it.
Happily.
“Wake up, sleepyhead. I made breakfast.”
Rolling over, I come to rest on my stomach and peer over at Brig, who is wearing another pair of sweatpants, no shirt as usual, and is standing at the stove with a frown on his face.
“You okay?” I ask, my own face scrunching when he nods and sighs, keeping his back to me.
“Good. Now come on before the food gets cold,” he mumbles, making me swallow and bite my lip while I throw on the fleece I wore the first night, the length reaching to my knees.
I get the distinct impression that something is bugging him, but rather than create an issue, which I know it will be if I push, I slide into the seat opposite his and pick up my fork, stabbing into a piece of bacon.
The food tastes like dry ashes as I force myself to eat, not looking up, because the truth is, I’m a coward. I don’t want to sit here and look into his eyes and see regret.
I couldn’t handle any of that right now. Last night was perfect, so beautiful that I asked myself at one point why God didn’t make this male mine and why I couldn’t have him Fated to me and crazed to mate me despite all of our differences.
Of course, it wouldn’t matter now, would it? I am still in trouble. I have nothing to offer him, and the truth is, even if he wanted more from me, I would have to say no because I don’t want to be the reason he stops and returns to the pack.
He hasn’t said much, but I get the idea that all he wants, has wanted for a long time, is to leave and never look back. Knowing that I won’t ever see him again after we part ways isn’t easy for me.
I’ve wanted Brig for a long time, whether I denied it to myself or whether he was making me wish I didn’t, I have wanted him—and only him—because I now realize that I fell for him when I was too young to understand what love is.
He was handsome and funny with this wicked intellect that drew me in. He had this kindness to him that he didn’t always show, a kindness that I now know was hidden because of his family.
I also know that he has taken a hit for me, his father having beat him when he wailed on that Banes brother who chased me into the woods and wanted to hurt me.
In short, I think I am so screwed in the emotional stakes here, especially when I see him shore himself and turn, coming towards the table as if he’s about to face a firing squad.
It’s my instinct to say something flippant and assure him that I am not as emotionally invested as he may think I am. I want to say t
hat he doesn’t have to be awkward with me and that if he’s afraid that I’ll turn into a clinging freak who expects the world from him, he can chill out.
I know what this is, and more, I know what this cannot be and that isn’t even on him, it’s on me. I’m headed to bad places no matter which way I slice it.
If I leave and go home, I’m a convict with no future. If I go back to Helena, then I’m possibly a dead wolf, who won’t make it long enough to say her prayers.
Whatever I choose, I am not free, and that means I can’t even consider something with Brigger. Do I want to? Part of me screams that, yes, I want that. I want more of the night we just had. I want to wake up and smell him and feel his heat surround me.
I want young and birthdays and Christmases like the one I missed this last year. I want happiness but…it’s not meant to be. And anyway, Brig once told an entire room full of people that he’d mate his Fated or no one.
Considering he tacked on, only if she’s pure, I’m guessing I am shit out of luck on that score.
Eating silently, I throw little peeks up at him, feeling more and more unsure of myself the more time passes in silence. I’m not a silence type of girl, and honestly, I’m not demure enough for this embarrassment, not by a long shot.
“Sooo, in the spirit of not sitting here all morning pretending to eat the same piece of bacon for the next three hours…you wanna tell me exactly what crawled up your ass between last night and this morning?” I ask, setting my fork down to look back at him, my hand shaking slightly when I raise my cup to my mouth, needing the cover.
Brig sighs loudly and finally looks up at me, his eyes blazing with a blue light that is glacial in its anger.
“You’re trying to trap me, aren’t you?” he asks, the snarl I expect missing but just under his tone, lurking in the background.
The question slams into me from left field, leaving me gaping as I struggle to formulate a response to this.
“Excuse me?” I ask, not quite believing what I just heard.
“This,” he says, gesturing between us and the bed. “Is this, what we’re doing here, you trying to convince me to take you with me to Alaska and hide you?”
I blink, my mind blanking before I start laughing so hard I have to grab the table to stay in my seat. I laugh and laugh, and then I laugh some more because I have to. If I don’t, I’ll lose every single warm feeling I had about last night and start crying.
Because I want to cry, and if that’s pathetic, then so be it. I’m a crier and I am not ashamed of it. Hell, I cried for a good solid hour when I found out the Backstreet Boys were splitting…and I took a personal day from school to mourn the loss.
I don’t care if people think it’s weak. I really don’t. It makes me feel better. Right now though, I can’t do it because if I crack that seal and start, there’s no telling when I’ll manage to stop.
I’ve needed to cry for a good few months now, so it’s a veritable smorgasbord in there.
“Why are you laughing?”
I laugh harder, the snarled tone of disbelief making my insides quake with hurt even as tears stream down my face. I don’t stop until I’m ready to clutch my stomach, and even then, I keep gasping out every few breaths when it hits me again.
“Beebee!”
“Are you insane?! Are you for real…sitting there accusing me of expecting a male who only wants sex from me to spirit me away and hide me like some dirty secret?” I ask, biting the inside of my mouth when my inner sob gets her groove on. “No, you know what? Just please do not answer that.”
Getting up, I take my dishes to the sink and spend a few minutes scrubbing them clean, and then I turn to face a male I have never wanted to want but want all the same.
“Bee—”
“Do not call me that again. In fact, you know what, don’t even think that name. That name was for when I thought you gave enough of a shit to actually care about how I feel instead of seeing smoke and mirrors all around me. For your information, Mr. High and Mighty, I never once thought of going anywhere with you. You think it was easy for me to wake up and see that I’d been saved by a guy who treated me like garbage most my life?!” I yell, flinging a hand up when he opens his mouth to say something.
“I was out there for hours, running, praying—please God, let someone help me—because I didn’t have anything more in me. I know I should have just accepted my fate because I made it so. I chose every single step on that path because I was a fool with idealistic dreams I had no place dreaming. Hell, I gave up and just stopped trying when I realized none of it made a difference because I didn’t have anywhere to go,” I confess in a whisper filled with pain.
“I should have stayed down the first time instead of letting Hannah convince me to shift, but you know, just for a second, I felt like I wasn’t alone anymore. So yeah, I tried again and look what it got me.” I laugh, stepping back when he rises to come at me. “Don’t you dare touch me. Don’t! I am here because you chose to help me. I didn’t ask for it. I didn’t expect it. Hell, a part of me still wishes you’d just left me there.”
Brig swallows, the movement of his throat drawing my eyes while I struggle to keep myself together just long enough to confess it all. Well, most of it anyway.
“I am dead or as good as, whichever way I look at it, Brigger. I go home and the best outcome is that I get a life sentence or banished from the pack. That—in and of itself—is enough to kill me, so—you know—it’s all the same. I go back to Helena, and they catch me, and yay! Chop! They kill me. No matter what I do, where I run, stay, go back, I have nothing. And you seriously think that it ever crossed my mind to trap you with my golden hoochie?” I ask, disbelief lacing my tone with sarcasm.
“I am—”
“You said I had to stay here with you until we’re both ready to move on, Brigger. I didn’t ask to be here—though God knows I was grateful for the little reprieve. I know what I am, where I’m going, and what will happen. I know it all. Why in God’s name would I want to stick you with my problems? This,” I say, repeating his tone and gesture from earlier. “This was supposed to be one last hoorah, little Barbie doll getting one thing she wanted before I have to give up everything I have.”
I feel so sad right now that it’s all I can do not to let him see exactly how hurt I am. I don’t need his pity or anything that he may possibly feel, and I certainly do not need Brigger Seers thinking that he’s got me over a barrel just because he saved my life.
That debt has been paid in full as far as I’m concerned because he may have saved my life, but he just broke my heart.
“Beebee, I’m sorry. Uh, look, I fucked up, okay?”
“No, you didn’t. You were just being honest, being you, seeing me as you think I am instead of who I am. You don’t trust mixed breeds; you don’t like me all that much; and the truth is that now you’ve had what you wanted—had a ride and got off at the station—you’re regretting getting involved with me,” I say quietly, shaking my head when he puts a hand out to touch my face.
“I just…I don’t want to stop again and rethink leaving,” he says hoarsely, making me smile shakily and nod, my eyes burning with unshed tears.
“And I don’t want you to either, Brig. This…what we did, the paths we chose are so different. I wanted a better life for the pack, and I messed it up. You wanted a better life for your family, and you realized you couldn’t swim against that tide. It doesn’t matter what we wanted; we both lost. The only difference is, you were smart enough to get out when you saw the truth…I kept trying to get to a better truth.”
And that is me. Not him, not the resistance or those shifters I swore to help. It’s me. I made those decisions because I thought I could be more than just little Barbie, the mixed doll that everyone sees as a bubbly airhead.
“I’m sorry,” Brig breathes, his throat working when I nod, agreeing fully.
“So am I.”
I am sorry because now I have to sneak out and leave, and I was so hoping
that the two weeks I was offered were going to be everything I could carry with me.
Instead, I feel as if I’m being cracked wide open, my heart paining me when it gives a fierce thump of loss.
“We can start over. Do this again. Hey Beebee, what’s say we leave the deserter and fugitive at the door? We can pretend that I’m not and elite and you’re not a mixed female and just be Brig and Beebee, two people who want each other and have decided that it’s time to live in the moment,” he says, his eyes so filled with hope and regret it hurts when I smile and nod, seeing the relief in his eyes.
His words are like a do-over of yesterday morning, the short space of time having felt like so much longer and yet the blink of an eye in which I had a happy break before my bubble was burst.
“I would love that, Brig. I really would,” I whisper, lying and yet not.
I would like a do-over, except the one I want would involve me not remembering what he just accused me of…while his is about me feeling every word like an ice pick to my chest.
When he leans in to kiss me, his arms shaking when they come around me, I let myself get lost in the kiss and pretend for just a second that its real and that I am truly forgiving his momentary freak out.
In fact, I don’t. Not because I’m angry right now, but because he’s right. I should never have stayed here and let myself believe that I could do this and walk away without regrets.
If I leave now, I’ll have the strength to do it instead of clinging to his leg when he tells me it’s time for him to move on. Don’t think I wouldn’t either. I have no pride when it comes to love. Just ask Mama how much I love eskimo pies and the shameful way I show it.
Kissing Brig back, I revel in the heat and lust that comes from him, the sweet flavor that bursts on my tongue when our mouths meet and the erotic way he growls into my mouth to show his enjoyment.
When he lifts me, pushing at his sweats and pushing the fleece up and over my head, I let him. I help him when he grabs my ass and slowly lowers me onto his shaft, the wide crown splitting me open when he presses in and thrusts home, filling me to my depths.
Greyriver Shifters Page 54