Lustfully Ever After

by Kristina Wright

  This easygoing attitude must be linked to Bear’s nightly visits. They didn’t have sex every night, but for the first time she was getting both quality and quantity, along with a friendship she came to treasure. Although Rosa was the focus of his attention, Blanche didn’t seem to mind.

  “I never thought myself a voyeur,” she said one day when they were standing near the stage door at the end of the lunch interval. A touch of color brightened her pale cheeks, and her eyes sparkled. “But watching you two together is amazing.”

  “Well, we all knew I was an exhibitionist, although not in that way,” Rosa replied. “Bear brings out the beast in me.”

  They were both laughing when David Short came by, the heavy woolen cloak he affected swirling around his ankles.

  “Well, what have we here? Two of my favorite girls. You really must come by my place one evening.” He winked, his lascivious gaze causing a shiver of distaste to trickle up Rosa’s spine. “We’d have fun, I guarantee.”

  He left without waiting for a reply, letting a blast of cold air and a swirl of snow into the corridor. As he went out, the wind slammed the heavy door shut behind him, catching the hem of his cloak between it and the jamb. Rosa and Blanche stared at the fabric for a moment then exchanged a look. There was no way for Short to open the door from the outside.

  “Asshole,” Blanche said. “His partner seemed nice when he came that one time, but this guy gives me the creeps. Ignore it—the porter will be back in a while and set him free.”

  Rosa shrugged, already moving toward the exit. “He’s a jackass but also the producer, and it’s cold out there.”

  But the fabric had jammed the door shut and it took both of them shoving before the door sprang open. Short had obviously been tugging hard on the other side, and the sudden opening of the door sent him flying, face first, into a snow bank. Rosa bit her cheek in an effort to stop the laughter welling inside.

  “You stupid bitches,” Short snarled, once he’d spat out the snow. “Look what you did. I’ll have you fired for this.”

  Without a word Blanche nudged Rosa back inside and closed the door. “Wow,” she said. “Just, wow.”

  “Asshole,” Rosa bunched her fists. “The union will make him eat his balls for breakfast if he tries it.”

  But at night, when she let Bear in, everything outside the apartment fell away, and he was all Rosa cared about. She’d never had a lover like him—one who concentrated solely on her, even ignoring Blanche who often stayed to watch while they made love. Whether she was there or not, it was always the same. Bear made sure Rosa was exhausted with pleasure by the time he slipped back out into the cold dawn, and she’d drift to sleep, carrying the memory of his eyes into her dreams.

  Sometimes he was fierce, fucking her hard and long, slamming his cock into her pussy until the entire world shrunk to just that one amazing point of contact and she exploded into orgasm. Other times he was tender, loving her slowly, touching, kissing, licking, sliding into her with infinite care or rolling so she was on top and could take him at her own pace, in her own way. Then there were the nights when he took one look at her and suggested a game of poker if Blanche was around or a movie if they were alone.

  It was always right. Somehow whatever she needed on any given night, he willingly, ably, supplied.

  On the mornings after a night of sweaty, limb-tangling, balls-to-the-wall sex, Rosa would be energized, raring to hit the street running. After one of the slower, dreamier nights, she woke up mellow, able to take everything in her stride. How much better life seemed with Bear in it—more balanced, easier to handle.

  He made her feel indomitable.

  Spring approached, along with opening night. The theater was chaotic but Rosa moved through final rehearsals with confidence, despite a number of run-ins with David Short. They were all silly incidents, like him getting angry when she told him his phone, which he’d left on a seat while he spoke to one of the grips, was ringing. Or the day he pushed past her on the stairs and tripped. She’d instinctively grabbed and stopped him from falling, but he’d still bawled her out for inadvertently tearing his shirt while she did.

  The director called Rosa aside one day.

  “I don’t know what you’ve done to Short,” he whispered, obviously not wanting anyone else to hear, “but you better watch yourself. He’s talking up your understudy, nitpicking about your performance.”

  A chill of fear careened through her veins. The part was her big break, her first lead in a production of this size. “Are you thinking of replacing me?”

  “I’m happy with you—think you’re doing an excellent job—but I don’t hold the purse strings.” Raking his fingers through his hair only made the strands stand up even more, and the nervous energy emanating from him was palpable. “I wish the other partner, Dean, was handling this project. Word is he’s far easier to deal with.”

  He didn’t say any more but the inference was clear. Short could force Rosa out if he really wanted, and the director couldn’t—or wouldn’t—protect her.

  When she told Blanche, her friend was horrified and recounted her own problems with Short.

  “He’s been constantly questioning everything I do. Worse, today I accidentally caught him and Daria in the prop room, fucking.”

  “He’s screwing my understudy?” Rosa had the urge to punch something.

  Blanche nodded, “Yep, and apparently doesn’t care who knows. They weren’t even discreet.”

  Rosa dropped her head into her hands. “Between that and the incident with the snowbank, we’re screwed. If we both lose our jobs, we’ll be in shit for sure.”

  That night Bear was later than usual, and anxiety sparking under her skin wouldn’t let Rosa sit still.

  “Calm down.” Blanche checked her watch and picked up her clutch purse. “I’ve never seen you so keyed up. I almost hate to leave you in this state.”

  Rosa forced herself to sit, realized she was convulsively tapping her foot and held it still too. It was the first date Blanche was going on in ages, and she didn’t want to spoil it. “I’ll be fine.”

  Once Bear gets here.

  Finally there was a knock, and she ran to answer. Bear came in, but there was no lessening of her nervous tension. Instead it ratcheted higher.

  As the door closed behind him, Bear picked her up and carried her down the hall toward her bedroom. Rosa clasped her legs around him, pressing close, burying her face in the soft pelt on his neck, digging her fingernails into his back. His chest vibrated with a barely audible sound, his cock rising, nudging her satin-clad pussy, and she rocked against it, already yearning to feel it inside, stretching her, bringing her to orgasm.

  Dropping her in the middle of the bed, he straddled her legs.

  “Why do you insist on wearing so much clothing?” he growled, breaking the straps of her bodice with strong twists of his hands. “I don’t want you hiding from me.”

  She was caught in the dark need of his gaze, hunger for him churning inside her, making her nipples tingle and ache, her hips rise in silent invitation. In reply he shredded the central lace panel of her teddy, peeled aside the satin covering her breasts, chuckled as a shudder of anticipation wracked her frame.

  Swirling his tongue from one side to the other, he didn’t miss an inch, teasing the undersides, the outer curves and valley between, scraping his teeth against her skin. Holding on to his shoulders, she tried to open her legs but he effortlessly held them closed between powerful thighs. His cock rubbed against her mound, the sensation entwining with those from his mouth, and Rosa arched upward, eyes closing in ecstasy.

  Straightening, shifting forward, he pressed her breasts together.

  “Yes,” she groaned, lifting her head to watch his cock slide into the valley created by her soft flesh. Opening her mouth to receive his glans as he thrust forward was rewarded by a groan of approval.

  Tasting his excitement and feeling the evidence of it on her skin only increased her arousal. Longing overwh
elmed her and she curled upward, wanting him fully in her mouth.

  As though knowing her desires, he lifted away and turned so he was lying beside her, facing her feet. With a moan of satisfaction Rosa rolled onto her side and, just as he tore at her G-string, she engulfed his cock, taking him as deeply as she could. For a moment he went rigid, his muscular body stiffening, hips thrusting instinctively. The feel of him on her tongue, his balls contracting in her hand, took her excitement to new heights.

  Bear’s mouth covered her pussy, lips sucking, tongue flaying, teeth scraping, and she was forced to let him go, her body going into overload, convulsing with shock after orgasmic shock. And he held her there, keeping her on the knife edge of passion until, with a strangled shriek, she once more succumbed, writhing under the strength of her release.

  While she was still trying to catch her breath, her body shuddering with aftershocks, he moved with lithe speed to roll and cover her body with his, bringing them face to face. His gaze was fierce, the tip of his cock poised to thrust into her still-quivering pussy. Instinctively she wrapped her legs around his hips, her arms coming up to hold on to his neck, and he trembled in turn.

  “Remember this,” he growled in a passion-thickened voice. “Remember me.”

  And she knew even as he penetrated her, causing her body to spasm anew, he wouldn’t return. So she held him tighter, tighter yet, lifting her hips to accept and encourage each desperate thrust, wanting to brand this final coming together in his memory—to in turn never be forgotten.

  Buried as deep as possible inside her, holding still, he lifted his head.

  “Look at me, Rosa,” he demanded.

  Blinking against tears she obeyed, meeting his gaze, seeing fear, sadness, and an indefinable something that caused her breaking heart to suddenly soar. When he began to move again it was with slow intent, each motion imbued with the magic he’d brought to her life, filling her soul as well as her body. She would never be completely free of him, she knew, never be the woman she was before Bear entered her life. But she was better for knowing him, and she couldn’t regret anything. Including these exquisite, beautiful, excruciating moments when, staring into his eyes, she felt the end approaching.

  There were no words, only emotion and the language of their bodies straining together, climax only one more thrust, one swivel of the hips away. She felt her orgasm start—ripples turning to waves and then a surge of pleasure—heard herself cry out in ecstasy. He responded, driving into her again and again, his voice joining hers in a cacophony of mutual bliss, prolonging her pleasure as he took his, not stopping until the final shudder had receded and she grew quiet once more.

  Silently they held each other and Rosa fought sleep, not wanting to miss a single second of being in his arms. Eventually the aftermath of the emotional storm claimed her, but as she drifted off she thought she heard him whisper:

  “I’ll be back—if I can.”

  Dress rehearsal passed in a blur, but Rosa knew her performance was the best she’d ever given. Losing Bear, missing him, was a constant ache that gave her strange new strength, and she put all the emotion tearing at her into the part.

  “Fantastic!” The director grabbed her, kissed both her cheeks, grinning like crazy, his hair only moderately askew, which she took to be a good sign. “You were brilliant, love. Do that on opening night and I’ll drink champagne from your shoe.”

  He whirled off to speak to someone else and Rosa heard a voice murmur behind her, “He might be happy, but he’s not the one you have to please.”

  She turned slowly toward David Short, fighting to keep the smile on her face.

  “Did you find my performance lacking in some way, Mr. Short?”

  A mocking smile twisted the producer’s lips as he replied. “I thought it a bit wooden. Maybe you need to loosen up a bit. I can help you with that—especially if you bring your blonde friend along.”

  There was no mistaking his meaning, and a rush of mingled fear and fury burned through Rosa’s blood.

  So this was what it all came down to—a choice between her job and her self-respect? Despite all her hard work she still had to screw the producer or throw away the past six months of effort?

  Leaning close, she smiled even wider and softly said, “Fuck you, Mr. Short. I’d rather go back to waiting tables.”

  “You’ll have to,” he said as she turned to walk away. “That, or stripping, is the only job you’ll be able to get.”

  Fuming, she pushed through the still-milling crowd, refusing to look back. Going backstage, she pulled off her costume and, without stopping to remove her makeup, threw on her street clothes. She hesitated about packing up her bits and pieces, finally left them scattered on the table. If they really were going to fire her, it was going to have to be in front of the entire cast. There was no way she’d go quietly.

  The rest of the company was still celebrating, and it took a while to find Blanche. Pulling her aside, she said, “I have to get out of here. You coming?”

  Blanche shook her head, although concern showed in her expression. “I have to stick around. Some of the crew members are moving on to other jobs after tonight and I promised to hang with them for a while. Are you okay?”

  Rosa grimaced. “Short just threatened me again.”

  “Shit.” Blanche glanced over her shoulder at the crew. “I can cry off.”

  “No,” Rosa squeezed her arm. “I’m fine. We’ll talk about it when you get home.”

  She slipped out the stage door into the foggy night, pulling up her collar against the drizzle. As she started down the shadowy alley the door opened behind her, and she heard Short’s voice.

  “What do you mean it’s delayed? I booked the car for eleven. Tell the chauffer to get his head out his ass and get here, now.”

  There was a click as he snapped his phone shut and, hoping he hadn’t noticed her, Rosa glanced back just in time to see a figure stalk out of the shadows and approach him. She froze, wanting to call out, warn him, but something held her frozen in place.

  “David,” it was a low, dangerous growl, and Rosa’s heart leapt. “I’ve been waiting.”

  Short spun toward Bear, backed up a step. “A…Alex. What are you doing here?”

  Bear paced closer, light from the bulb above the door glinting in his eyes, off his teeth and claws. “Did you think I wouldn’t realize you were the thief? I’m here to get the talisman, and my life, back.”

  Short gave a little scream, turned to run, but Bear was on him. In a flash it was over, and Short lay curled on the damp ground. Bear took something from the other man’s neck, placed it around his own.

  “Rosa,” he came toward her, stopped an arm’s length away, holding out his hand. “Come.”

  Without thought she placed her hand in his, heard his little growl of pleasure as he lead her to the mouth of the alley, where a limousine waited. When they were settled inside, he put his fingers around the amulet hanging around his neck from a heavy gold chain. A blinding flash of light and a sharp tingle, like electricity, filled the car.

  Rosa opened her eyes, blinking to dispel the spots dancing across her vision, and gasped. The handsome man, with smooth chocolate skin and an attractively shaved head, was startlingly familiar.

  “You’re Alex Dean.”

  Bear—Alex—nodded. “David knew I’d be trapped in my other form without my amulet and decided to steal it, and our company, from me.” He shrugged lightly, his fingers tightening on hers. “There were others who could have done it, so it took a while to figure out, especially since it was so hard to move around looking the way I did.”

  “Why…?” She hesitated, not knowing how to ask, but she didn’t need to say any more.

  “I saw you the day I came to rehearsals and knew you were mine. I couldn’t stay away, even risking your revulsion.”

  Rosa shook her head, still marveling how, even almost hairless, it was still unmistakably him. “I didn’t truly notice you when you came to the theater—too
caught up in my own world—but when you came to my door I knew you were mine too.”

  He growled—an endearingly familiar sound—and leaned close. She raised her face, anticipating his kiss, heat uncurling in her belly, uncontainable happiness storming through her heart.

  Their lips were only a breath apart when he paused to murmur, “I have to warn you. We mate for life.”

  “So do I,” she whispered in reply, cupping his cheek and urging him closer yet. She wouldn’t be content until they were skin to skin, but this would do for now. “So do I.”

  GRETEL’S LAMENT

  Jeanette Grey

  He slid his mouth along my throat, over the thrumming flutter of my pulse and to my jaw. At my ear, he paused, his breath full of sweetness and promises of candy as he asked me to follow him upstairs.

  It was an offer I’d heard before.

  Still, he wore me down with the way he touched my lips with his, broad hands on my hips and a posture that told me he knew how to do this. How to touch and how to kiss. I wondered what else his lips could do.

  Another breath against my ear was all it took, and I felt myself nodding, my fingertips seeking out buttons, eager for the drag of a zipper. I longed to grip the width of firm male flesh. And it was easy to be swayed by promises.

  On the way upstairs, I scattered my clothes like bread crumbs. I knew full well the dangers of wandering out into the forest of love alone.

  Laying me down across his bed, he put his mouth to the center of my collarbones before surrounding the tip of my breast. And then he went lower still. Succumbing to the soft pleasure of that warmth against my flesh, I held my own legs open with my hands. It gave him the freedom to explore.

  I’d heard a man could eat a girl alive, and that’s exactly what he did. Licking and sucking, stroking lips and teeth and tongue across my apex, he devoured. From the sounds of things, the low moans and quiet words against my flesh, he relished it. In the heat, I burned, and when he pressed his fingers deep inside, I felt myself consumed.