Sealed with a Purr

by Celia Kyle

  Again he slid out and then into her. Nothing was more beautiful than the pleasure that danced across Tess’s face, the way her breasts jiggled with each thrust, and the way her sheath clung to his cock. Nothing.

  With every moan he drew from her, he increased his pace. No hint of pain was evident, but he was careful to watch for the first sign of her joy lessening.

  Tess slid her hands along his arms and clutched his shoulders, pulling him down to her. He didn’t break his pace, continuing in the maddening, easy rhythm he’d created.

  She tangled her fingers in his hair, and he knew without words what she desired. With a deep purr, he captured her lips and slid his tongue into her depths, tasting his delicious mate. Their mouths battled as he fought with the need to conquer and claim.

  Without warning, she tore her lips from his and tightened her hold on his hair. “More. Harder.” She arched and rubbed her stiff nipples against his chest. “Fuck me, Harding. Mate me.”

  “Tess,” he growled.

  “Now.” She yanked his head back and licked his throat, scraping her blunted human teeth against his neck. “Right now.”

  With a snarl, he pushed up and gripped the mattress beneath his hands, digging his nails into the soft surface.

  Then he gave his sexy mate what she demanded.

  Harding withdrew, almost sliding fully from her pussy, and then shoved forward, jarring her and sending the headboard slamming against the bedroom’s wall.

  “Fuck!” Tess dug her nails into his shoulder.

  Seeing the bliss on her face and feeling the scorching tightening of her cunt, he repeated the retreat and thrust. Again the headboard hit the wall. Again she screamed in ecstasy.

  His lion preened and purred. They were giving their mate pleasure, and soon she’d be tied to them.

  But first he wanted her to come on his cock.

  Putting himself to the task, he set a punishing rhythm, one that was bound directly to the ebb and flow of his rumbling purrs. Out and in again, the smack of wood against the wall echoing his thrusts. Her cunt clung to him, tightening and easing, milking him with exquisite torture. Pleasure raced through him, snuck into every inch of his body, and the cat eased closer to the end of its internal leash.

  Fur slid through his pores, and his human nails were quickly replaced by his lion’s claws. The crunch and crack of bone warred with Tess’s moans and Harding’s snarls. Even more, the slap of their hips rose above the rest.

  Every meeting of their bodies sent another bolt of ecstasy through him, the feelings tracing his ever-reshaping frame. The cat wanted to play with its mate. His fangs lengthened in preparation of biting her, and it was as if he could already taste her honeyed blood on his tongue.

  The scent of their sex permeated the air, the flavors of sweat and their conjoined musk creating the most sensual perfume known to man.

  “Harding. God. S’good.” Her words were slurred, her hands clenching and fingers digging deeper into his skin. She’d break through the thin covering soon and the beast rejoiced at the prospect. She couldn’t bite them yet, but she could give them a tiny mark.

  They wanted that. Desperately.

  “Mine, Tess. Mine.” The words were barely discernable.

  “Yours.” She released his hips and planted her feet on the mattress. “Harder. Please.”

  Harding did as she demanded, slamming their bodies together and he shouted with the first forceful meeting. Tess met him halfway, impaling herself as he thrust forward.

  “Fuck!” He couldn’t have stopped, not when her screams echoed his, and the scent of his blood joined that of their combined sex.

  She’d marked him, branded him as hers with those tiny nails.

  Harding moved on instinct, hips flexing without thought, and his fangs fully distended in preparation of sinking into her flesh.

  Tess’s yells grew, her pussy’s rippling contractions rolling from one into the other. His balls pulsed and drew up tight against his body, preparing for his release. God, he couldn’t wait to fill her, claim her with his seed and teeth. Then she’d become the beautiful shifter she was meant to be.

  “Please. Please. Please. So close.” His mate begged so prettily. And he was happy to oblige her. Pushing his own release back, he focused on her, concentrating on every twitch of her body. “Harding…”

  Tess’s muscles spasmed and her body froze. There it was: what he’d been waiting for. His mate gave over to her pleasure, which meant he was now free to do the same.

  Harding released his lion, allowing the beast to rush forth and join him in the pleasure of their mate’s body. More of his fur rippled through his skin to coat him, and he had no doubt that the cat’s eyes had replaced his own.

  His hips continued their rapid pace, his balls slapping against Tess’s ass with every thrust, and he gave in to his desire. His release gathered at the base of his spine and encircled him with ethereal fingers, sliding over his cock and adding to his growing bliss.

  He rushed to the edge of climax, his cat running headlong to the brink, and with Tess’s final gasping scream, he threw himself into the abyss. He roared, the sound bouncing off the walls and shaking the home’s foundation. While their yells mingled, he lowered to press against her body and struck as pure, unadulterated pleasure filled them both.

  Tess’s blood flowed over his tongue, the honey-sweetness soothing his cat, and the beast reveled in his triumph. She was theirs now, irrevocably theirs. With those drops of blood, cum pumped from Harding’s cock in blissful waves, filling her pussy. Each pull on her shoulder resulted in yet another rolling wave of ecstasy overtaking him.

  And still he thrust in and out of her, wringing whatever pleasure he could from their bodies until he couldn’t take any more. His dick throbbed on the verge of pain, and it softened with each thrust until he simply kept their hips sealed together. He wanted to stay there, inside her heated wetness, for as long as he could.

  This was home. This was peace. This was his mate.

  Eventually he released her shoulder, lapping at the wound the moment his teeth slid free of her damaged flesh. Part of him regretted the injury, but his cat reveled in the obvious marks of ownership. Theirs. She was theirs.

  When the gentle oozing ceased, Harding cuddled her close and rolled them, switching their positions until Tess half-laid across his body. He sank into the spot, cherishing this moment. He’d claimed his mate, his gorgeous, lush, virgin mate. No other would ever touch his woman. No other had ever enjoyed the heated wetness of her body.

  Tess stroked his sweat-slicked chest, fingers playing over the sprinklings of fur that had push past his skin. “Promise me something.”

  Harding grabbed her hand and brought it to his mouth, pressing a kiss to her palm. “Anything.”

  “If there’s any chance, any hint, that I’m going to be like Alistair… I want you to put me down.” Trembles wracked her body, increasing with every passing moment that he didn’t answer.

  So, he lied.

  “Of course, love.” He pressed a kiss to her temple. “Of course.”

  Chapter Twelve

  “Sometimes life gives you the unexpected. Then you say ‘fuck you life’ and kick it in the balls. Because—hello?—life is obviously male.” — Maya O’Connell, Prima of the Ridgeville Pride and woman who has perfected the art of ball kicking.

  The craving for meat hit her first. Drool filled her mouth at the idea of a rare steak sliding down her throat as her teeth tore into another hunk. She’d gorge on one pound after another until her hunger was sated.

  Spread out on the couch, head resting in Harding’s lap, she clutched her stomach. It rumbled and growled, telling her she needed to eat. Now. This second. Minutes ago, even.

  Another hunger pang hit her and her legs jerked, knees curling toward her abdomen.

  “Tess?” Harding’s voice was soaked with concern.

  Fuck, it was starting to hurt. Her gums throbbed, and she felt the massive growth of bones that lurked
, pushing and straining against their confines. Her skin prickled, pain rushing into her consciousness as if a million ants tore and feasted on her.

  She pulled her knees higher and rolled to her side, curling into herself and begging the aches to recede. It was too soon, too fast. It took twenty-four hours to complete the Change, and then a person would shift for the first time. At minimum it should have taken twenty.

  It’d been barely fifteen. They’d woken in a mass of tangled limbs and then come out for breakfast. They’d ended up watching the morning news on the couch as the sun rose on the first day of their mated life.

  “Fuck.” The word was a mix of an animalistic growl and groan, her new beast pushing further into the party.

  A bone in her shin snapped, and she screamed as the sound echoed off the living room walls. Another crack, another bellow. Distantly she recognized that Harding was there for her, stroking her firmly, the strong touch easing some of the pain of her fur sprouting.

  Harding left her, and her head fell to the cushion of the couch. He reappeared before her, crouching on the ground with his gaze centered on her, a look of both worry and fear filling his features. “It’s okay, Tess. Let it happen.”

  “Fuck that.” The rapid click, crack, snap preceded the pain that came with her fingers breaking one by one. “I…hate…you…a…little…now.”

  Her breathing came in heaving pants, body fighting through the agony that accompanied her first change. Lord, no one had mentioned this. If they had, she would have begged to be sedated this first time out.

  “Sorry, sweet. No drugs,” Harding murmured while brushing sweat-dampened strands of hair from her face.

  “Bastard.” She shoved the word past her lips, and then a scream tore from her chest. Her back bowed nearly in half, spine snapping, and just as quickly her abdomen contracted and pulled her forward.

  The momentum had her rolling, tumbling to the edge of the couch and finally falling to the floor with a grunt. Harding scrambled away, pushing the coffee table free of her spasming body. Through slitted eyes, she watched the rest of her fingers break and reform, thickening and shortening. Midnight black nails formed at the tips, and the beginnings of glowing white fur rippled over her skin.

  She closed her eyes fully, unwilling to see any more. Harding was a white lion, but even his fur was more cream than true white. But a polar bear… A polar bear like Alistair had fur the color of freshly fallen snow.

  God save her if she ended up like him. Better yet, God save everyone else.

  The agony continued. Pain bursting across her body until her world devolved into a ball of never ending misery. Her moans became growls. Groans became snarls. Screams became outright roars.

  The beast was snaring and snatching control from her with an ever-increasing pace. Quiet reigned, the shattering of bones giving way to her heaving, panting breath. Agony still controlled her, but the basic structural change seemed to be finished. Now her muscles burned, searing her with fiery pain as she bulked up. And if her beliefs were true, there was a lot of bulking to be done to get her from just over five feet and one hundred eighty pounds to a jillion feet and half a ton.

  God, if only water could squelch the burning torture.

  Tess focused on the frantic beat of her heart, and she was thankful for the steady, albeit rapid, rhythm. Instead of dwelling on her suffering, she counted the pulsing thumps.

  One. Two. Three.

  She ignored the screaming torment that attacked her thighs.

  Four. Five. Six.

  She pushed past the next wave of spasms.

  Seven. Eight. Nine.

  Would it never end? Wetness coated her cheeks and dripped to splash on the backs of her hands. Well, at least what used to be the backs of her hands. She was tempted to open her eyes and gaze at the massive paws, but fear held her in check. Seeing what she’d become would push her that much closer to the end, and she wanted to hold on a bit longer.

  Ten. Eleven. Twel—

  With a massive shudder, the pain receded as quickly as it’d arrived, washing from her body in a tsunami of peace. A heaving sigh escaped her lips—no, her muzzle—and she slumped to the ground, bestial legs no longer able to support her weight.

  And still she didn’t open her eyes.

  She’d be a polar bear, and no matter how illogical her argument, she feared becoming like Alistair. But Harding had promised. He’d promised to put her down if she turned into her fath—

  “You’re so beautiful, love.” Awe tinged Harding’s mental voice, and she mustered enough strength to reply.

  “I’m him, aren’t I?”

  “Open your eyes and see.”

  “Don’t wanna.” She was a baby. Sue her.

  Gentle fingers traced her toes and flicked her new nails and something inside her…moved.

  Her beast, the bear, responded to Harding’s touch. It lumbered forth, its instincts overriding Tess’s human thoughts, and demanded that they pounce on theirs.

  She inhaled, breathing deep, and the scents that permeated the room filled her. Heat. Man. Sex. Forest. Mine.

  Tess couldn’t hide any longer. Not when she knew that Harding was hers and right there. There. In front of her. Inches away. She forced her eyes open and her gaze met a smiling Harding, his grin both goofy and overjoyed.

  “Hey, gorgeous.”

  She shook her head, wobbling with the movement as she became used to this new shape.

  “Yeah, you are.” He leaned forward and rubbed his cheek on her snout. His scent wrapped around her, comforted her, as she fought through the panic of not knowing her form.

  Large, warm hands, fingers coated in cream fur, cupped her snout. “My beautiful, beautiful…lioness.”

  Tess jerked her head from his grasp, shaking and pulling from his touch. “No. Bear.”

  “Stubborn.” He shook his head. “Look at your paws, Tess. Flick that pretty tail up here.”

  That was the first moment she even realized she had a tail. It twitched, flicking like a cat’s, and she forced herself to turn her head and look. Look at her long, lean body, short legs and a decidedly feline tail. Surprise and joy pumped through her, a lion’s roar echoing inside her mind and a feline purr slithering through her body. She vibrated from inside out as she looked herself over. True, she was a shining white, but her body was in the shape of a cat.

  Ignoring Harding, she pushed to her feet, looking herself over and drinking in every detail, from her long, black claws to her sleek legs and still-twitching tail. Her legs wobbled, joints like jelly, but she managed to stay upright while checking herself out. Her chuckling mate crawled out of the way. She turned one way and the other, catching sight of the tip of her tail with each spin. Then she was chasing the appendage, finally realizing why pups and kittens had such a good time doing the same.

  Tess disregarded the thuds and thumps that followed her moves, too intent on discovering her new body. The cat still purred, content and happy with its arrival.

  Suddenly a heavy weight landed atop her, and her purr disappeared to be replaced by a snarl. Her stomach was pressed against the ground, but she struggled against the body on her back, twisting and turning to get at the attacker.

  “Enough.” The mental voice was tinged with a chuckle.

  Tess stilled, lioness recognizing a stronger beast in their male. He’d told them to stop and stop they would. Much to Tess’s annoyance.

  “Good kitty.” Harding licked her, sandpaper-rough tongue digging into her fur and scraping over the back of her neck. “My kitty.”

  She relaxed into his cleaning, reveling in his care as he proceeded to lap at her neck and ears. “Your kitty.”

  Because she was both a kitty and his. In her heart she accepted the truth, the knowledge that she truly wasn’t like her father, Alistair McCain, ex-leader of Freedom, and now deceased. She was Tess Grange, mate to Harding Grange, and a lioness who had her entire life ahead of her. One to be filled with happiness, love, and lots and lots of purring
.

  Lots.

  And orgasms. She couldn’t forget those.

  Epilogue

  “Crazy is as crazy does, and I’m pretty sure everyone has a certain level of crazy. Just don’t let it all out when you have company. It scares them.” — Maya O’Connell, Prima of the Ridgeville Pride and a little more than crazy. But at least wearing a strait jacket can be fun.

  “So,” Maya poked Tess in the ribs. “You don’t look crazy.”

  She whirled on the Prima as snow white fur poofed from her skin. She had no doubt about what the other lioness saw. Over the last two weeks, she and Harding had discovered that being surprised or fearful had the cat responding quickly. Unfortunately, when the first hint of furball manifested, her face looked like a massive white cotton ball.

  Carly sidled up to them. “She does look like a Chia Pet, though.”

  Okay, cotton ball or a Chia Pet.

  Tess stroked her cheeks and neck, silently begging her new cat to take a step back. The strands receded but didn’t fully disappear. She took what she could get. She and the cat hadn’t exactly settled into their relationship. Tess wanted calm and peace. The lioness wanted Harding. All. The. Time. Tonight was the first time they’d be leaving the house for more than a run to the grocery store.

  Even now, standing in a clearing before her first run with her new pride and surrounded by pride mates, she wanted the damned man.

  “I’m not crazy.” Well, that’s what she tried to say, anyway. The stupid cat had decided that fangs were needed.

  “Huh?” Maya tilted her head to the side. “Did she say ‘I hot lady’? True, but that’s not all that grammatically correct.”

  At some point, Carly had wandered away, but reappeared with a food-laden plate in hand. “What’d I miss?” The rabbit held out her bounty. “Carrot stick?”

  Tess wrinkled her nose. “Not so much.”