Matthew (BBW Country Music Bear Shifter Romance) (Bearly Saints Book 1)

by Becca Fanning

  Loping along, as cool and at ease as one could be, was the biggest dog I’d ever seen. At the shoulders it was higher than my waist. Brown with white speckles, it was coming down the street towards me. I did a double take. It wasn’t a dog.

  It was a wolf.

  It saw me. It leveled its eyes at me, and across the park I could see it speeding up, tracking me.

  I was running, as fast as my feet could carry me. I’d spun around and fled in terror, towards the wood line. My mouth opened to scream but my lungs needed the breath to continue pumping my legs. I heard the wolf’s feet drumming the ground behind me, getting closer and closer.

  At the edge of the park, I tripped. A thick root protruded from the ground, and my feet went out from under me. I landed hard, sprawled out on my face. I froze, waiting for the wolf to pounce on me. Waiting for the teeth to tear me to bits.

  “Oh dear,” Mr. Hoover said from behind me.

  I felt hands cradle my face and turn me over. I looked at the creamy skin of his palm, his pale arms, then his chest. I looked up into his eyes.

  “Are you ok?” he said. His concern was evident. “I’m sorry, it’s just that you ran. I…like to chase.”

  “What? What’s going on?” I said. My head was still swimming, trying to make sense of what was going on.

  “You’re here because you appreciate the beautiful things, Tina. There’s a whole world of hidden mysteries out there. Some of it is mundane,” he said, pushing my hair out of my face. “Some of it isn’t.”

  My eyes went further down his body and realized he was naked. His chest was breathing in and out, his abs flexed in rhythm. His manhood hung low and thick, brushing the tall grass of the field. His black was nestled behind it, two big stones in their pouch. They looked full and in need of relief.

  Questions were still firing off in my head, but the intellectual part of me was being silenced by the needs of my body. Having a primed stud this close to me, naked and raring to go. I saw him, I smelled him, and there was no hiding that. My pussy began flowing, and I only had one thing on my mind.

  “We couldn’t have done this in your house?” I said, laying down on my back in the grass. My hands went to the shoulder straps of my dress and I pulled them down.

  “Like I said, I like the chase,” he said, grinning down at me. His cock pulsed, swinging upward as he registered the willing woman before him.

  I loved that power, the feeling of control over that ancient part of this man. I reached my hand up and took hold of his cock. “It’s nice to see it unrestrained,” I said, murmuring. I licked my lips.

  With a growl he pounced onto me, his mouth crashing into mine. His tongue dove past my lips, wanting to fill my mouth. Needing to conquer my mouth. I surrendered to him, submitting to his dominating will. I let go.

  His tongue slammed into mine, batting it around inside my mouth. His teeth grabbed hold of my lower lip and squeezed, on the bring of breaking the skin. Then he released it and attacked my neck. Biting, licking, kissing.

  He lay on top of me, his wide thigh between my legs, pressing down onto my clit. His cock lay against my side, hot and full of power.

  I bent my head back and closed my eyes, relishing the pressure on my clit. Little moans escaped my lips, my nipples going rock hard.

  He shifted his weight over, bringing his other thigh between my legs. With a powerful shove, he pushed my legs apart and lay himself between them, his long manhood snaking across the belly of my dress. He pulled my dress top down, exposing my bare breasts to the cold night air.

  I pulled his head down my neck to my breasts, my nipples needing his lips, his tongue. I arched my hips upwards, rubbing my pussy against the length of his prick.

  He suckled with fervor, squeezing them with his hands and letting his tongue inflict wonderful agony on their sensitive peaks. His teeth scraped, his lips tightened. Then he broke contact and sat up. He pressed a big hand onto my sternum, pinning me down. His other hand went to his massive pale shaft, like a log of driftwood.

  I could see a dribble of cream coming out of the purple head. I squirmed against his hand, my aching pussy protesting the absence of his weight. I needed it, I needed him. On top of me. Above me. Inside me.

  He shook his head and pulled his hand off his cock. It grabbed the inside of my thigh and ran up to my mound. His fingers pressed against my soaking panties, and he flipped the bottom of my dress up, exposing my damp laced panties to the night sky. With a savage grunt, he pulled, the muscles in his arm and neck flexing. The thin material was no match for such power, and my panties ripped and were tossed behind him into the grass.

  My legs spread apart, my pussy now laid bare to this alpha male, he tilted his head to look at it. He closed his eyes, his nostrils flared. He breathed in deeply, taking in my scent, my musk. He ran a finger up my folds, from my asshole to my clit. Glistening in the moonlight, he brought the finger to his mouth and sucked it clean.

  His eyes shot open and he pulled my legs apart with his hands. He lowered his face to my sex and tasted me. His tongue made long, slow laps up my slit, curling at the top to flick my poor abused clit. Each time he did it, a tiny thunderclap went through me, shudders going through me to my fingertips. He swirled his tongue against my clit, then caught my labia in his lips, kissing them.

  My orgasm blasted through me, and my hips wanted to buck up, to grind against his laboring mouth, but he had me pinned. I felt the primal power wash over me, filling every nook and cranny of my being with warmth. But then the pleasure became a sense of pain as his licking continued. More pressure built inside me and I felt a second orgasm go off instantly after the first. I cried out, my heart rate through the roof, my breathing rapid fire as I came in his mouth again.

  His lapping tongue didn’t miss a beat, didn’t miss a drop of my juices. He lapped it up, his cheeks shiny with my lust. Thankfully he took mercy on me, releasing my trembling legs as I got my breathing under control.

  He backed off me and stood up. His cock swung through the air, hanging hard and in defiance of gravity. I could see the head was slick with his need, coated with his pre-cum. The curse of virility, the never-ending need to spill your seed.

  I got up on my knees in front of him. He looked down at me, saying nothing. I brought a hand to his shaft, stroking him. I brought my face close to his manhood, smelling his musky scent, feeling the incredibly soft skin stretched over his rock hard cock.

  I planted a small kiss on his inner thigh, and enjoyed feeling his cock spasm in my hand. I took his purple head in my mouth, concentrating on his primal salty fluid. It was thick and coated my tongue. The end of his prick was smooth, and I delighted in running my tongue under his glans.

  He closed his eyes and tilted his head back. Every guy lives for this moment. I guess werewolves are no different.

  I opened my mouth wider, going further down on his rod. I came back up, licking up the streams of saliva escaping down his shaft, then swallowed him again. I lifted his cock, exposing his heavy sack behind it. I softly sucked one of his balls, amazed at the size of it. I wondered how much cum it could hold, and I had a feeling I’d find out pretty soon. I gave long licks to his sac, enjoying the feeling of his balls moving around inside it.

  With a groan he opened his eyes and looked down at me. He grabbed the back of my head and pulled me past him. I fell forward on my hands and knees. His hand held a strong grip on my hair, keeping me on all fours as he positioned himself behind me.

  I cried out as I felt an immense pressure at my entrance. With no compassion or delicacy, he plunged into me. My soaking pussy stretched to accommodate his full girth and length. He bottomed out inside me, the crown of his massive cock bumping my cervix.

  Unable to push in any deeper, he began fucking me like a wild animal, his hips pumping into me like a creature mad with lust. My body flew forward, and it took all my might to not be thrown forward onto my face again. His heavy ballast swung forward with every thrust, smacking my clit and sending a bol
t of special pain through me.

  The sense of being full of this man, on my knees in the grass and surrounded by trees, it was amazing. I could still taste his seed in my mouth, still smell his sex in my nose. Now he was ploughing my fields with his virile staff, doing anything his primal mind told him to. He was lost in his animal instinct, the need to relieve the pressure in his balls.

  I could feel him plunge past every ridge of my tunnel as he took me in that field. Each time he pulled back, my pussy screamed in protest, needing him back inside me. He pulled my hair hard, slamming up into me on each relentless thrust.

  He let my hair go, both hands going to my hips. His pace picked up, and I could hear him grunting in quick succession. The idea of his imminent release was more than I could handle, and I came for the third time that night. I squirted all over his cock, knowing my juices went down his shaft and soaked his balls.

  He slammed one more time into me, pushing me down into the ground where he pinned me with his manhood. I felt his cock surge inside me, and I was filled with his hot cream. He pumped into me endlessly, his balls contracting and pulling up towards his abdomen. He filled my womb with his seed, his balls drained for the time being.

  He panted behind me, his cock beginning to wilt. He fell out of me and collapsed next to me, pulling me down to lie next to him. We looked up at the night time sky, the full moon shining down on us.

  “I knew you’d be trouble,” he said.

  THE PIRATE AND THE ALPHA TITLE PAGE

  The Pirate And The Alpha

  by

  Becca Fanning

  THE PIRATE AND THE ALPHA

  Nothing got me into the mood like a good sea shanty. The fiddler in the corner of the dark room was swinging him arm as fast as he could, the drummer next to him hammering for all he was worth.

  I leapt into the middle of the room, other dancers making way for me. My long skirts shook and swayed as I kicked this way and that. The Queen of England might want my head, but tonight I would drink and dance!

  A lanky lad caught my attention. Dark hair cropped short, his eyes kept darting to the entrance of the tavern. That little act of defiance drew me to him, the need to make him mine.

  No man ignores Lady Brass. I’d been the captain of the Salt Shake these past six years, commanding a crew of the roughest cut-throats ‘cross the seven seas. We’d plundered. We’d done murder. We’d done it all and we’d do it again. And I wasn’t going to have some little land bug ignore me.

  I swayed in front of him, letting my hips do the talking. That’d get his prick nice and hard, ready for me to take him. The thought made me wet, my pussy needing a long hard ride, a good horse to break in. I glanced back and his eyes were only on me. That’s the look I knew, the one I was waiting for.

  I took his hand in mine, dragging him back towards the private rooms. Ignoring the cheers from the common room, I pushed him through the door to my chamber. He fell back on the bed, looking up at me with soft eyes.

  I crawled on top of him. “You ready, boy-o? You’re gonna get nice and stiff for me, give me a proper in and out,” I kissed him, his mouth completely still as my tongue plunged into it.

  My hand went down to his crotch, feeling his member coming to life through his trousers. Maybe I’d let him swab my tongue with it. If I was feeling charitable, that is. I wasn’t known for it.

  “I…” he said, his voice a scared croak.

  Ahh, the poor lad was a virgin. He’d never had his prick wet before. “S’alright, lad. Just let nature lead your hand.”

  “I…I don’t want to die,” he said. His face was pure terror. “Please, have mercy.”

  “No,” I said, though I don’t know where the word came from. “Luck is a fickle mistress. Some have it good, some have it bad. Nothing personal.” Again, my voice, but the words were from somewhere else.

  The man beneath me fell into water where the bed was. Disappearing through dark blue ripples, his face was frozen in shock. In moments he was gone, as if he’d never existed.

  “Nothing personal.”

  My eyes flew open, bright blazing sunlight slamming into them like a canon. The sound of lapping waves was joined by the sensation of water gently running over my feet. A light breeze carried salty spray onto my face. Where was I?

  My whole body ached. The parts I could feel anyway. Gritty sand and salt were everywhere, in every opening. I tried to sit up, but I had no strength to. My whole body protested at the thought.

  I looked down and saw a piece of my ship laying on my chest, a wooden cask with rope binding it to myself. Now I remembered. I remembered every damned thing!

  The merchant ship we’d plundered, and the marine skiff that ran up on us unawares. The battle had been a horrible, bloody affair. Canon answered canon, their solid shells piercing our hull. Our chainshot had scored a direct hit on their main mast, toppling it into the sea.

  Crew of both ships collided into each other in the mayhem of hand to hand combat as the sun set on the horizon. Flintlock pistols licked fire, spraying men with hot peppershot. Men stabbed with daggers, swung long clubs at heads. My first mate, Callus Chris, buried a hatchet in the head of the marine captain. All his fancy buttons and medals didn’t mean spit in the end.

  I flexed my hands and feet, letting the feeling come back to them. Painful pins shot through my body, making me cry in agony.

  Things looked doomed when a fire started on the marine ship. The Salty Shake had taken too many shells to the hull, and it reared up on one end, capsizing. I watched members of my crew get crushed by falling timbers. I watched one man get tangled in a line and pulled overboard. Like bait being taken by a shark.

  The sailor code says the captain goes down with the ship. Shit on the sailor code. The pirate code says you do whatever it takes to live another day, because we’re all surely going to burn in Hades. Best to put that off as long as possible.

  I laughed, my bottom lip splitting and blood pouring into my mouth. So this is the end of the terrible Lady Brass. Shipwrecked on a desert island. Would I die here on this beach? It would only take the tide coming in, maybe a foot of water at most.

  Or maybe I was already dead. The thought stopped my laughter in my throat. Could this be Hell? It felt like hell, that’s for sure. But where was Ole Pokey Jack? No, I was still among the living. For now.

  I gave another effort to sit up, and my body lifted off the sand. My head swung upwards, my vision going blurry. I breathed deeply, slowly. My gaze went out over the water. Peaceful, lazy waves, like sapphires snoring in their sleep.

  I turned my neck, gritting my teeth through the pain. Up the beach to my left, I could see debris on the beach, possibly more wreckage. To my right the beach curved back around, disappearing behind a copse of trees. Behind me the beach went up about a hundred feet, then the island became thickly wooded.

  I had no idea where this island could be. There were no islands near the merchant vessel when we plundered her. I didn’t know if I’d been adrift for hours or days, or in which direction the sea carried me. Right and proper buggered.

  I untied the cask around my chest, letting it fall to the side. I unplugged the cork stopper on the top, praying it had held tight in the waves. I poured some of the water into my hand. It smelled clean. I dipped my tongue into it, not tasting any salt. I upended the cask, letting the hot water wash down my parched throat.

  I put the cask down, re-sealing it. I wanted to drink more. I needed to drink more. But I didn’t know if there was fresh water on this island. You had to be realistic about these things.

  I stood up slowly, walking down the beach towards the rest of the wreckage on the beach. There was rope, broken planks of wood and torn pieces of sail. I kicked it around, hoping to uncover a box of biscuits or some fruit. But there was only trash.

  Sighing, I walked back to where my water cask was. Twenty feet away I froze. I’d been walking back next to my tracks. Near where I lay, I now saw another set of tracks. Someone had stood over me while
I slept.

  My hand went to my belt and closed around the reassuring iron of my flintlock pistol. Soaked through with water, the cartridge was probably useless. But no one else needed to know that. My dagger was still in it’s sheath on the other side of my hip. I didn’t like them, because to use them you had to be close enough for the other bastard to use his on you. Beggars can’t be choosers.

  “You can either wait for trouble to find you, or you go out and get the drop on trouble,” Captain DeTouign had told me once. I’d learned so much from him, up until the British Royal Navy hung him in London Square. Retired by the rope, as we say.

  I began to follow the stranger’s tracks down the beach. I had to find whomever else was on this island. Maybe it was a member of my crew. Maybe it was one of the British sailors. It could even be an island native. Any of them would have cause to slit my throat.

  So why was I still alive? The question nagged at me, like a fish on a hook that wouldn’t let go. I just hope I lived long enough to figure out this riddle.