ROMANCE: SHIFTER: Shifter to the Max Collection (Dragon, Bear, Wolf and Panther Shifter Romances) (Paranormal Fantasy Romance Collection)

by C. J. Ayers

  He thought about how open she’d been to his touches, smiling at him and granting him permission. His cock throbbed at the thought and he realized that he hadn't relieved himself in so long, he was afraid that he might just cum as soon as his engorged cock filled her. He so desperately wanted to wake her and fill her, hear her scream out his name, though he desired more than a simple rutting.

  He wanted to make love to her. He wanted her to feel cherished and loved. Actually, if he were to be honest with himself, he wanted her to feel like the only place she belonged was with him. He was determined to make that happen. He had to. He would have to win her over fully before she would agree to stay and be his mate, and for that, he needed time. How much, though?

  Forcing himself to be still, he sat on a chair by the window staring through the slight separation in the draperies and watching the wind whipping snow through the air. He let himself close his eyes and rest for a short time.

  His lovely Goddess was awake, wide awake, and so was his penis. In fact, it was free from the confines of his pants and standing boldly at attention- mere inches from her flirtatiously brazen grin. His look of surprise earned him a small giggle from her. A sudden dart of her tongue along his shaft, made him grip the chair's arms tightly and that’s when he noticed he was unable to move his arms freely. Each arm had a length of rope expertly tied around it, binding it to the chair.

  “And what is the meaning of this, Mira?” Cade questioned. Before answering, she took a slow, leisurely lick from the base of his cock to the tip, suckling on the delicate underside, enticing the groan that escaped his lips.

  “Well, the purpose, Cade, is to have you tell me the truth. I doubt you would hand it over easily, but... I need to know. You were the one that saved me, weren't you?” Mira's eyes bore into him. She gently kissed the tip of his swollen cock, never breaking eye contact.

  A heated look passed over his features, a mixture of anger, fear, and confusion. He had no right to be angry with her, but how had she figured it out? His body jolted as her lips opened slipping onto his dick and sliding all the way down, taking it all in her mouth, constricting her throat around the delicate muscle as she nuzzled the fuzz at its base with her nose.

  Cade let out a ragged sound- a mix of a growl and moan. His hips lifted off of the chair and his pelvis ground against her face. After a few seconds, she slid her mouth slowly back up. His eyes were riveted to the sight of her saliva along his dick, a string of it dangling from her lips to the tip. His Goddess was a vixen. A lovely little vixen.

  Mira smiled at that look in his eyes, her hand gently stroked his shaft while the other fondled his balls. His head tilted back in bliss. She knew how to both torture and pleasure him, it seemed. Her touch was skilled, teasing him and leaving him breathless. Finally, he couldn't take anymore.

  “F-Fuck, Mir... It was! Damn it, it's me, I'm... Augh, no, don't squeeze so much, I'll-,” Cade started, and then groaned as the tip of his cock found the back of her throat again as a reward for his honesty. His hands gripped the armrests of the chair tightly, so tightly that the wood creak dangerously under his hold.

  “You answered truthfully. Thank you, Cade.” She flashed him a radiant smile, full of adoration, before hungrily devouring his cock once more. Her head bobbed up and down, the suction so hard that it made Cade jerk his hips. One of her hands pressed against his stomach to still him, the other held her hair back from her face so he could get a good view of his cock as it slid in and out of her mouth. She watched his elation as she sucked on him, skillfully manipulating him towards a release in her throat.

  A sharp growl left Cade's throat and he jerked, powerless to stop his climax. His member throbbed and his seed suddenly exploded from his cock in a series of spurts as he continued to thrust against her lips as best he could. Her mouth milked his length for all it was worth- every last drop. He moaned out loudly, again and again, feeling that beast inside of him rear up, demanding he claim her. He barely had the will to resist. He couldn’t live with himself if he hurt her, or scared her, though in the next moment, his bindings fell away and Mira stood smiling in front of him- bare naked as a babe.

  A single thought filled her mind, as she stood offering herself to him, her injured leg shaking. He more than saved her life from a pack of wolves; he saved her from herself. This man, in less than a day, captured her heart and soul. She needed to be with him.

  Cade understood the look in her eyes and expression on her face. She needed him as much as he needed her. He stood, kicked off his pants and boxers that had fallen down around his ankles, and tugged off his shirt tossing it to the floor. His fast movement caused her to stumble backwards slightly, but Cade caught her in his arms and lifted her from the ground, cupping her rear, encouraging her to wrap her good leg around him.

  He could smell her arousal. In fact, she had been dripping wet from the moment she tied him up and took his manhood in her mouth. Mira’s good leg was curled around his waist and his lips descended over hers fiercely. He walked with her as their tongues intertwined passionately and his erection poked between her thighs, teasing her.

  The Werewolf carried his Goddess into the living room and carefully placed her on the bearskin rug that covered the floor in front of a huge fireplace lit with a roaring fire.

  Chapter 11

  “Cade, are you alright?” She stared with concern at the man above her whose golden eyes were glassy with tears. Cade let out a small chuckle, nodding once.

  “There’s something else I need to tell you.” The flames flickered, bathing him in a soft warm glow. “Wolf shifters, werewolves, only ever have one true mate. Only one woman that we can bond completely with. Most of us never find our mate. As a wolf shifter, I’ve always known this. Well, today, I found her.” He paused as Mira let his words sink in. He lowered his cheek to hers and his lips brushed against her earlobe. His voice was a raspy whisper. “You are mine, Mira. Stay with me; marry me. Be my wife, my mate… Please.”

  “Cade, I…” she began.

  “Wait, Ummm… there’s more.” He sounded slightly panicked. “I will always protect you, look after you and keep you safe.”

  Her lips curled in a radiant smile. “I…” she resumed.

  “Wait… And I will always love you. Always. This I promise you with my whole heart.”

  “Done now?” she asked, her choked voice barely above a whisper. He nodded. “Then, yes. Yes… to everything.”

  In one smooth movement, Cade caught her neck in his mouth and thrust his hips forward, burying his length deep inside her. A choked whimper came from her throat and rolled over her tongue as she felt his girth filling her. His hips pulled back slowly before thrusting forward again, the whole time he made love marks along the flesh of her neck, bruising and marking her as his own. He nearly laughed as her nails dug into his back. Her soft whimpers caused him to gently raise her injured leg from the path of pressure and shift his thrusts slightly, each one grinding into her. He kept her leg raised and out of the way, and her whimpers became cries of ecstasy, the tip of his cock hitting the deepest part of her channel.

  He brought his hand to her breast, cradling it, cupping it and teasing her nipple gently. He flicked his tongue over her nipple, before sucking and then raking his teeth over it. She felt a tingling, like an electric current run from her nipple down to her pussy.

  Mira felt the beginnings of a warm tingle in her core, and as her cries and moans became a bit higher-pitched, his thrusts quickened. She cried out urgently before she fell apart, screaming out Cade’s name in pure blissful pleasure as her orgasm rocked through her. Sharp, animalistic sounds left Cade's throat, grunts and growls, before Mira felt the warm pulsing jets of his seed deep within her. She writhed in abandon, moaning out deeper still as she felt pulse after pulse of his cum filling her until it was overflowing onto her thighs.

  The two were lying naked on the warm, thick rug, wrapped up in one another’s post-love making embrace, completely sated.

  “
You've made me the happiest Werewolf in the world, Mira,” Cade muttered.

  Mira, eyes were closed and she was teetering on the edge of sleep. She heard him, though. He was amazing. He saved her life, in every way that she needed saving, and now he tells her how happy she’s made him?

  Mira looked up at him in awe. She could feel the sting of joyful tears at the back of her eyes. “Cade,” she mumbled drowsily, “I love you, too.”

  THE END

  THE WEREBEAR’S MAIL ORDER MATE

  STORY DESCRIPTION

  Wealthy rancher Tanner neither wants nor needs a wife. The sexy bear shifter can have a woman any night of the week. Women flock to him. But, his adopted daughter Chloe, foreman Josiah, and ranch hands are all the family he needs.

  Through a cruel twist of fate, curvy Heather is alone and penniless. While sorting through her life, she applies to a mail order bride agency. To her surprise, she receives a touching letter. Still, marrying a man she’s never met is crazy. Then again, maybe it’s the fresh start she needs.

  Chloe loves her dad and their life, but she needs a mom. Her dad doesn’t get it. Being the only girl on a ranch is tough. She knows that if it’s gonna happen, she’ll have to make it happen. With her dad’s credit card, the 10 yr.old finds them perfect wife and mother.

  She just prays that the letter she wrote the pretty lady in her dad’s name will persuade her to give them a chance…. and that her dad doesn’t ground her for life when he finds out!

  Chapter one

  The building was a brownstone affair; it looked perfectly innocuous from the outside, sitting prettily within the tree-lined street, amidst rows of other replica houses. Heather double-checked the GPS on her mobile, not daring to walk up the stairs to its entrance just yet. The destination was confirmed to be correct, and eyeing the building again she could see a small silver plaque by the buzzer, indicating that the building wasn’t residential.

  Heather couldn’t quite believe that she was actually here. It felt like she was having an out of body experience, and that surely she was living someone else’s life and not her own; because up until one month ago, she had been engaged to her boyfriend of three years, living in a beautiful apartment on the Upper East Side, hosting dinner parties and attending charity functions. She had never stopped to think that her existence as it was might be transient; that the life she had planned for herself could at any moment veer wildly off-course.

  Despite the beautiful New York spring day, Heather felt like she was walking around beneath her own black cloud. The stairs up to the brownstone would lead her into the offices of a mail order bride service – the last place on earth Heather would of have imagined herself being just a short month ago.

  Taking a deep breath and summoning what little courage she had left, Heather slowly made her way up to the entrance, ready to meet her future.

  Sitting in the well-lit office of an immaculately dressed Mrs. Atkinson, Heather quailed beneath the woman’s searching inspection – no doubt taking in Heather’s expensive attire, but also her haphazard appearance, and the dark shadows that rested beneath her eyes.

  “And you are how old, Ms. Ayer?” She enquired, pen and clipboard out as she filled Heather’s details into an exceptionally thick form.

  “Call me Heather, please. I’m twenty-nine.” Heather smiled at the woman, and tried to look accommodating and warm. Mrs. Atkinson returned the smile, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes.

  “And what is it that you do, Heather?” The woman looked up from her clipboard expectantly. A silence filled the room. Heather hadn’t been gainfully employed for the last three years. Since becoming Bertram’s girlfriend she had dedicated her waking hours to accommodate his business, his weekend schedules, his country club meetings and events. She had cooked, cleaned and ferried clothes back and forth to the dry cleaners. Under the scrutiny of Atkinson’s glare she felt embarrassed, but at the time she’d found her role fulfilling – happy in the knowledge that she was making his life easier, and contributing in the small way that she could to his success.

  “Well,” Heather hesitated, drawing out the silence, “I am starting my own baking company – it’s just in the initial stage, drawing out the business plan…but Bergdorf Goodman and Bloomingdales have so far shown great interest. We’re just finalizing the details.”

  Mrs. Atkinson finally looked impressed, but Heather wanted the ground to swallow her whole. It had all been a complete lie – or, worse, a dream. A dream that she had floated past Bertram, who had subsequently told her on no uncertain terms would his wife-to-be work as a baker.

  “Well – that sounds lovely. We do like the women on our books to have passions and joy de vivre. What is it exactly that you’re looking for?”

  The question elicited another long pause. What did she want? She really just wanted someone to love her as she was without constantly putting her under pressure to change, to become someone else – a sleeker, more finessed version of Heather. However, it was highly doubtful that she would find her perfect match through a mail order bride service. She would happily settle for companionship, she decided, and that would be all. If she wanted passion and romance, she’d read a book.

  “I’d really just like a kind man. I don’t mind what he does or where he lives. I also -” she paused, and took another breath. This was important. “Well, the truth is, I can’t have children.” Trying to say the words without breaking down was hard. But it was a fact, and one that Heather had lived with for a while now. The heavy crashing waves of grief that had first hit her when she found out were slowly being reduced to small, daily sorrows that were now a part of her.

  “So,” Heather continued, “it would be lovely if the man in question could have a child, it doesn’t matter how old, or how many – I love children, and it would be nice to be around them.”

  Mrs. Atkinson scribbled rapidly down on the notepad and gave her a faux-smile of sympathy. Heather tried to return it, but she knew from experience that women who had children, or didn’t want children, never understood the pain of not being able to give birth. They would always make bright suggestions about UVF treatments, but Heather had tried them all. Eventually they would run out of things to say, and Heather would end up feeling like a social pariah. Some women that she’d used to circulate with, part of Bertram’s social set, had treated her like she was contagious – that infertility could be caught.

  “Well – many of the men on our books are divorcees or widows, so that could be a likelihood.” Mrs. Atkinson paused, and sighed. “But, Heather, I must say – we’re unlikely to find you the caliber of man you may have been used to.” She pointedly eyed Heather’s Hermés bag. “Those type of men,” she cleared her throat and shuffled some pages on her desk, “Well, they tend to prefer women who are…let’s say, less curvy. Less, full, perhaps? Do you understand what I’m saying?”

  Heather’s cheeks flushed bright crimson. She looked at Mrs. Atkinson’s emaciated figure across the desk, and then looked down at her own full-to-bursting cleavage in her dress. She knew exactly what Mrs. Atkinson was trying to say – for all Heather’s breeding and attractive appearance, the men who ruled Manhattan liked their women looking like polished supermodels. Women that only ate salad leaves, had the regulation honey-blonde highlights, and vampish manicures. It was a world that Heather had tried to fit in, ever since she was a young girl. Yo-yo dieting had been her constant companion through high school, and made worse when she met Bertram – who’d insisted on buying her a gym membership and a set of scales. She had even tried to dye her deep chestnut brown hair platinum, but her beloved hairdresser had point-blank refused and stormed out in a fury at her request.

  “I understand,” Heather’s tone was cooler this time, “I’m not looking for a Manhattan businessman – just a good, kind man, as I said. That’s all.”

  Back on the street, Heather felt shame wash over her. The experience had been absolutely horrible, and she berated herself for thinking that it was a good idea i
n the first place. She felt incredibly small, embarrassed at her attempt to find a new start in life at a mail order bride service. The two glasses of Merlot that she’d consumed last night, had, at one am in the morning, been great convincers that this was an exciting, revolutionary plan that was going to be the thing she needed to turn her life around. Instead, and unsurprisingly, she chided herself, it had destroyed what little confidence she had left.

  She ducked into a small coffee shop at the end of the road to recuperate her dying spirits. As it was late morning, and not yet subject to the chaos of lunchtime traffic, the atmosphere in the cafe was sleepy and welcoming. She went to order at the counter, admiring the plump and freshly baked pastries that adorned every available surface.

  “Can I get you one?” the woman behind the counter beamed at her.

  “Oh, no. I’m okay – they look incredible though. Is that a frosted lemon curd?” Heather pointed to one of the more elaborate creations.

  “Yes! I spend all last week perfecting that recipe – it took me forever.”

  “It’s really fiddly isn’t it?” Heather replied, already feeling calmer and more herself.

  “Do you bake?” asked the woman at the counter.

  “A little.” Heather blushed, recalling the lie she’d told earlier. “I really love baking, but sadly my fiancé didn’t approve – so I’m a bit out of touch.” Heather eyed the pastries, thinking longingly of the soft pastry dough beneath her hands, the slow and agile process of creating delicious treats from a few, simple ingredients.