by Dani Wyatt
My grizzly is done waiting.
Bite her. Now. Claim her. Mark her. What are you waiting for?
My balls slap against her as the sounds of our sex fill the small cabin. Her face is getting that look again and I’m pleading with myself to hold off just a minute longer. I want to come with her. I want to feel our bodies mesh and belong to each other in a way that will never be undone.
“God, oh my God.” She presses her head back into the pillow on a hiss and I Know this hurts but her hands pull her knees upward, and I get another inch of depth, my body smacking against her clit with every drive forward.
The soft flesh of her body moves in the most erotic way with each thrust, her cheeks are ripe red, and she squeezes her eyes shut, her pussy clenching even tighter as her walls start to pulse.
Inside me, my bear is in a rage, but all I can think of is getting my seed into her womb.
She goes off, her orgasm ripping through her as I let myself go. Pulse after pulse of my cum sprays her walls as they clench and release like some perfect-pink cum-milking machine.
I don’t just release my hot load inside her, I release my soul. Or that’s how it feels.
She’s so beautiful, writhing under me as instinct takes over. I take her hair in both hands, pulling her head to one side, my teeth aching as my canines descend and on a roar from my grizzly, I deliver the final blow.
My teeth slice into soft flesh, I feel the thump, thump of her pulse against my canines. Her screams echo in my ears, making my temples throb and my gut clench.
But I know.
It’s done.
I’ve found my mate.
And she belongs to me.
Chapter 8
Wynter
It’s the next day as Ragnar, his gran and I sip our coffees as the morning sun streams through the front windows of my soon-to-be photography studio. We arrived about an hour ago, going over my plans for sets, how to build out the front and back areas, what I need to get up and running, and Ragnar couldn’t be more supportive.
He’s got all sorts of plans on how to do the interior, as well as how to make the back space functional for my office and storage. It almost feels like a dream. A month ago, I felt like I was running for my life, but now I feel like I’ve run right into it.
Only it’s better than I ever imagined it could be.
“I think you should expand into boudoir photography.” Ragnar’s gran pushes her palms upward on her hair, giving me a sly smile before leaning closer to my ear and whispering, “Or, erotic art photos. For couples too…”
She winks and does this little wave toward Howard, her boyfriend, who is standing on the other side of the empty shop space talking to Ragnar about point of sale and security systems.
Howard apparently owns the only jewelry shop in town. He’s also a wolf shifter, and is about as protective over Myra as Ragnar is about me, even if I’ve heard she has more than her fair share of admirers for him to fight off.
“Maybe,” I answer, watching Ragnar with one eye on me as he half listens to Howard. He’s always watching me. Always aware. “Not sure how much of that sort of business there would be in a town like this.”
“Oh, you have no idea.” Myra giggles, her eyes twinkling like she’s a teenager, and I wonder if she’s a shifter as well. Ragnar hasn’t told me she is, but in this town, it’s more likely you are than you are not. And I’m guessing that sort of thing runs in families, so who knows? “Shifters are known for their lack of inhibitions.” She bobs a perfectly pencil-enhanced eyebrow. “They’re also insatiable.” She pokes me twice with her elbow on a wink. “So, be prepared.”
My cheeks flush listening to Myra’s when the front door opens and I see Josephine and another man I don’t recognize coming through the door.
“Hi!” Josephine skip jogs to Myra and gives her a big hug.
“Hello to you, too,” Myra answers as I glance toward Ragnar, and my belly flips and flutters.
There’s a low throb between my legs, reminding me that in the last twenty-four hours, we’ve both gone from virgins to sex-addicts. It took all our willpower to leave the cabin yesterday morning and head back to Myra’s for breakfast and the photo session for her two dachshunds.
After that, Ragnar made no attempt to hide that from the time we left for our walk to when we returned for breakfast, things between us had taken quite a turn. He never left my side. He had his hands on me, his lips on me and made me sit in his lap, feeding me while we ate.
Myra acted like it was Christmas, cooing and doing these little clapping jumps whenever she looked at us. After we were done there, Ragnar took me back outside, gave me a ride on the back of his grizzly through the woods until we got to his place, where we’ve been ever since. It wasn’t until we showered this morning that he gave me another ride back to Gran’s, we got in our cars and headed into town.
I give Josephine a quick wave as she steps my way with the stranger behind her and before I know it, Ragnar is by my side, his jaw clenched, arm outstretched in front of my hips, putting a barrier between us.
“Who’s this?” He half barks, and Josephine and Myra look at each other with a smile, then at me with sympathy.
“This,” Josephine stretches out her hand between us, “is Brian Phillips. He’s with the Brighton Times. He’s a friend of Aiken’s, and happened to be in the neighborhood. I want him to do a piece on the studio, give the new business a shot in the arm.”
“Nice to meet you.” Brian extends his hand toward me, but Ragnar only growls, making him step back and look at Josephine in confusion.
She holds her hand to the side of her mouth and mock whispers, “Just found his mate.” She jerks her head toward me. “He’s got it bad.”
“Ahhhhh.” Brian smiles. “I understand. I may not look it, but…” He glances between everyone, then to Ragnar. “Leopard shifter. Haven’t found my mate yet, but I get it, buddy.” He raises his hands in surrender and I feel Ragnar relax. “I just want to ask Wynter a few questions, do a short introductory piece for our Arts & Culture department. It will appear in the print paper, as well as our online edition and on our social. The interview won’t take long, then I’ll take a couple snaps of you out front maybe?”
He’s asking me, but looking at Ragnar, who nods on a grunt as his phone rings for the fifth time since we came in the door this morning.
“Excuse me.” He leans down, kissing me hard, tongue pushing between my lips as he lifts me onto my tiptoes as I lose the battle to suppress the high pitched sigh that seeps out, leaving everyone looking away on stifled grins as Ragnar stomps toward the back door, putting his phone to his ear.
Gran and Howard say their goodbyes, heading to the diner for breakfast and leaving me with Josephine and Brian.
“I’m not really dressed for pictures.” I pull my braid down over my shoulder and look down at my shabby t-shirt and oversized jeans.
“You look fine. You look like a photographer. Artistic, natural. It’s perfect,” Brian reassures me, and Josephine nods in agreement.
“You look great.”
Brian asks me questions about how I started in photography, if I wouldn’t mind emailing him some of my recent work, along with a lot of background questions and what my business plans are for the studio.
I try to sound professional, talking about what I envision, but when it comes to business I have a lot to learn, so I just hope I don’t come off as sounding like a child way out of her depth.
“Awards?” he asks, and I’m distracted, unsure what he’s asking.
“I’m sorry?”
He smiles and I see the fierceness in his eyes, but his voice is kind and his manner professional. “Have you won any awards?”
“Yes. Back where I’m from, Bowling Green, when I was fourteen I won my first award in the county-wide photography competition for our school district. Then, the last couple years, I entered some juried shows and won first place, as well as best in show for two state-wide competitions. A few oth
er little things here and there…”
“Wow.” He jots down notes on his pad of paper. “You may want to think about New York or Chicago. Setting up here in the back of nowhere may not be the best use of your talent.”
“She’s not going anywhere.” Josephine comes over and gives me a shoulder to shoulder hug. “Besides, can you see Ragnar in New York?” She rolls her eyes on a hard exhale.
We all chuckle in unison as Ragnar emerges from the back room.
“I gotta get to the site. We have a cement truck stuck in the driveway and the electrical inspector is there giving Wayne a hard time.”
“That’s fine.” I smile, even though if I had my way we’d spend the rest of the day back at my place, seeing if we can break the bed there like we did yesterday in the cabin.
Brian looks at me. “Do you mind if I ask Ragnar some questions? I mean, if you are mated, then he’s part of the package deal, isn’t he?” He chuckles. “People love love. A little hint at the man behind the woman will add some punch to the piece.”
He turns toward Ragnar. “Are you from here? Do you have family here? Any fun history about you, or—”
Ragnar huffs, his manner suddenly turning dark.
“No.” He gives me another kiss, glares at Brian, and turns to leave.
“I’m sorry…” Brian says, unsure what the problem may be, but I’m as confused as he is.
“Don’t be,” I manage, watching as Josephine sidesteps and catches Ragnar’s arm before he heads out the door to his truck.
Brian is asking me something, but my focus is on Ragnar. I can’t hear what Josephine is saying, until Brian stops talking, and the last thing I hear her say to him, is, “You have to tell her. Sooner or later, she needs to know…”
Chapter 9
Ragnar
I spent the morning showing Wynter what exactly it’s going to mean for us to be mated. I took her in the shower, shampooing her hair and soaping her body. Taking care of every inch before I licked her until she could barely stand, then bent her over and fucked her until she begged me to stop.
I didn’t.
I fucked her some more until the only thing she understood was that we belonged to each other. After, I dried her off, laid her on the bed and admired what was mine until she could stand on her own again, we dressed and talked about what our plans for the day would be and I want to do that everyday from now until the end of time.
While Wynter is drying her hair, I pour a cup of coffee into one of the two mugs she owns and head to the basement, where I need to put away my tools from fixing the leaking pipe into her water heater last night.
I get that she loves her little house, even though she’s only been here less than two months. It’s cute as hell and it’s hers, so I don’t begrudge her affection for the place. We’ve been together every night since that day at the cabin, and we spent the night here a couple times.
But, after a week together, which feels more like a year, my need for her to settle down with me is growing increasingly necessary. My place is stupidly huge, even for the two of us, but I plan for it to be ten of us as soon as her body can pop out our cubs.
Her place is practically empty. There are two coffee mugs. Standard issue plates, silverware and some décor that looks like she spent a pretty penny at Target getting herself set up. The first time she brought me here, I felt sad. There were no memories. Everything was new, like she was living in one of those extended stay hotels.
It didn’t take much prodding for her to tell me about her mom’s passing. Then, how Wynter needed a new start and left in haste. She mentioned an inheritance and that’s how she could buy her house, finance the studio but I don’t need to pry every detail from her all at once and I want her to know I don’t give a shit about if she has money or not. I’m going to take care of her and everything she needs.
We have a lifetime to share everything and I sure know what it feels like to not want to reveal everything about family history.
I gather up my tools and put them into their spots in my toolbox before heading back upstairs. I’ve got to be on the jobsite in forty minutes, and Wynter has a full day of her own ahead of her, working at the shop, getting things organized and waiting on a few deliveries for furniture, computers and such.
Over the last week, myself, Wayne and English, and a few other guys from the crew have worked on their off hours getting her studio build-out done, and the place is looking slick. Today, I’ve got a painter coming to put the final brushstrokes on the place, and her sign is being delivered tomorrow for outside.
She named the place The Wynter Wonderland.
When I get to the kitchen, Wynter is coming down the stairs wearing these yellow yoga pants and a white crop top sweater that shows off her cute as fuck belly button.
My belly button.
A belly button for my eyes only.
“That sweater is too short,” I grunt out as she screws up her face and comes over to squeeze my cheeks with her fingers before kissing my forced-puckered lips.
“I like it.” She releases my face and twirls around. “Besides, you put your mark on me. Isn’t that enough to keep any other predators away?”
“It’s not enough to keep their eyes away.”
“Pish posh.” She flaps her hand in the air, mimicking my gran. Those two together are going to be the death of me. “Here.” She reaches down and pulls her yoga pants up in an absurd attempt to satisfy me, and I’m not sure if she even realizes how that emphasizes her fucking amazing ass in a way that drives me crazy with pride and jealousy. “How’s that?”
I shake my head as she pokes her tongue out at me.
“Watch it,” I grumble back, but there is no fear in her eyes. I reach over to the back of one of the kitchen chairs and hand her a pink hoodie she had on yesterday. “Tie this around your waist. Humor me, okay?”
She rolls her eyes on a playful huff. “Okay. Only because I don’t need your grizzly coming out and making a bloody scene all over the Badlands.”
With that settled, she hums and dances around the kitchen, slurping down a cup of coffee while I alternate between watching her, trying to keep from bending her over the kitchen table and fucking her into tomorrow, and answering emails and texts on my phone. I have two missed calls from Gran, and one text asking me where I am going to be today.
Which reminds me…
“I’m going to need your phone.”
“Why?” She looks over her shoulder as she washes her mug and puts it back into the empty cabinet.
“I need to install a location tracker.” It sounds perfectly reasonable to me, but from the incredulous look I get from Wynter and the way she fists her hands on her hips, she may not agree.
“Becaaaaaause…why do you need to track me? Am I some endangered species?”
“Because,” I stand up, shoving my phone into my back pocket, “you are mine. Everything about you is my responsibility now. Your safety is at the top of that list. I need to know where you are. I also need you to answer your phone when I call, or text as well—”
I have a long list of things I need, to keep my crazy ass calm about protecting her, but she cuts me off before I can finish.
“Listen, mister.” She pokes a finger toward me and sashays her fine self across the kitchen to grab her backpack and sling it over her shoulder before going into a long diatribe about how she’s an independent woman and doesn’t need me to micro manage her, and so on.
I let her go, scratching my head as she rattles on, knowing by this time tomorrow, I’ll have the tracking app on her phone and her sassy ass will be happy about it.
Or not.
Doesn’t matter, it’s happening regardless.
An hour later, I’ve dropped her at the shop and I’m on the jobsite, finishing the intricate cherry trim on a built-in bookcase.
From the minute I walked in, Wayne and English have been poking my bear and I’m about to start a shifter shit show right here if they don’t let up.
&nbs
p; “You’re whipped, man.” Wayne is still going on. “Just admit it. A week ago, you were all, ‘I hope I never find a mate.’ Now, you’re checking your phone and messaging her every fourteen seconds. You’re going to wear the girl out. She’s human, not shifter. I bet you’ve fucked her until she can barely—”
“Hey!” I turn around, ready to throw my hammer into his face. “Don’t you even think about anything to do with her and fucking, you got it? Friend or no friend, I’ll take you out back and let our bears figure it out.”
English busts out laughing from where he’s putting up cabinets in the kitchen.
“Listen to you, Wayne. How long did it take from the time you met Tina until you had a ring on her finger and your last name behind hers? Talk about whipped.”
“Shut up,” Wayne barks. “I’m efficient. I don’t waste time. I also had a baby in her belly the first week.”
I growl and go back to work, fear still poking at the back of my mind, but I know I need her in my life. I need to keep her safe, even from me.
“Well,” English starts. “You do have a nice glow about you. Maybe she put a bun in your oven and you just don’t know it yet…”
“Fuck off. She’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me. And both you fuckers know why I didn’t want a mate. Did you ever stop to think that now that I’ve found her, I’m fucking scared shitless about it? Huh?”
They both stop their bullshit and stare at me. Rarely am I so forthcoming about personal shit and feelings, but I feel like a pressure cooker with my needle in the red.
“Sorry, man.” Wayne shakes his head. “We were just busting your chops. I get it, but what happened with your dad, it’s not fucking genetic. It was a shit storm. A fucked-up moment that went sideways. It’s not history waiting to repeat itself.”
“I’m not so sure,” I mutter, my gut tight as I fight the memories.
Maybe it’s Wynter, finding my mate, but my usual ability to go flat line and shove away the demons of the past fails.