Bear Anchor (BBW Shifter Romance) (FisherBears Book 2)

by Becca Fanning

  The water splashing against her skin felt hotter. She thought she was blushing from head to toe. To overcome the sudden shyness, she moved, pulling his head down to hers. Instead of surrendering her mouth to his, she kissed him, hard, letting her tongue dart into his mouth, then slowing, tasting him purposefully. Her hands stroked the long muscles in his arms, and moved to his chest, every stroke taking her lower.

  His hair was soaked now. Rivulets of water ran over his face. She tasted them as he kissed her, felt the heat of the shower as he licked down her throat. Her head tipped back and the water beat on her breasts where it came over his shoulders. He followed the streams of water, lapping down to her breasts, sucking and licking the nipples. The buds were hard, like raspberries, pink and eager. The caress of his teeth set her on edge. Her heart pounded faster. Her breath came more shallow. She moved so one of his legs slid between hers, opening her up. She let herself rub against his thigh, feeling his erection in the curl of her hipbone.

  Abruptly his hands were on her breasts, and Jacob was kneeling in front of her. Shower water caught her in the face, stopping her from any protests, any attack of shyness. His mouth moved over her belly, along the downy trail of golden hair that led to her shaved pussy. He made a sound of pleasure as his tongue darted down and separated her, lapping into her, licking long and hard and hot into her core.

  Cara put her hands out, found the shower wall, angled herself so she could press her shoulder blades against it, supporting herself. Jacob, kneeling before her, took one of her legs and gentled it over his shoulder, opening her so he could lick and touch. His fingers were gentle, but the pads were roughened, almost leathery, almost like paw pads. She shivered as he touched her, sliding one finger up inside her, stroking it in and out. His knuckles grazed her hard, hot bud. She gasped, inhaled water, choked and laughed, and pulled her leg back, knelt so they were face to face. His mouth tasted of water, of her.

  "We should get out of here before we drown."

  "Maybe not quite yet," he said, and knelt up on his knees.

  She grinned, ducked and bent, gasped at how hard and long he was, how amazingly thick. She put both hands on his shaft, stroking, watching his head go back and his face turn to the shower spray.

  "Oh, god, Cara, if you're going to – " He didn't finish his sentence.

  He didn't have to. She ducked her head and took him deep in her mouth. Her cheeks hollowed and her lips sucked and all the while she played her tongue along the sensitive underside of his cock, making him buck, his cock twitching in her mouth. Over and over she pulled back until he almost slid from her mouth, then took him deep again, sucking hard, making him moan in a way that almost sounded like a growl.

  He pulled away from her, stood easily and slapped the shower controls off. His hand was huge when it wrapped around hers and she remembered him as bear, remembered her nerves.

  She felt none of that now. He was human, golden, beautiful, perfect. He was thick and hard and muscular and wet with shower water as he scooped her up and carried her to the bed. Laying her down, he knelt on the floor between her legs, gave her a long lazy look with liquid gold eyes and began to kiss, lick, suck and bite his way up one thigh and down the other, trading back and forth, his breath tickling over her core where she melted and ran with lust.

  Her fists closed around the sheets, bunching them at her sides. She strained toward his mouth. He laughed, and lapped at her lazily until she ground against him. "Jacob." Her breath came and went in sharp jolts.

  Without warning his fingers were inside her again. She gasped and twisted, taking him deeper.

  "You're so wet. You taste so good." He dropped another kiss on her tight, throbbing bud and then knelt up onto the bed, his legs on either side of hers. His cock teased her now, touching and retreating and she was the one growling, thrusting toward him as if she could capture him and drag him into her.

  It only lasted for seconds, the divine torture, and then he relented. Both arms went around her shoulders, cradling her up to him. His mouth found hers, hotter than the sunlight had been. His hips cocked and he found her entrance. Cara moaned, feeling him there, and didn't press, didn't buck.

  She waited while he kissed her. She waited as the moment played out.

  He kissed her one more time. Then he slammed his entire length home inside her, filling her.

  Cara bit her lip, looked up into his eyes, and saw him watching her, his face glazed with pleasure, his eyes only half sane.

  She laughed and coiled her legs up and around him, locking her heels on the small of his back. He sank deeper into her and she could feel him touching everything inside her, hot and hard.

  She could feel it when he started to come, felt him start to pull away. She increased the pressure of her legs where they wrapped around his back, as if she stood any chance of holding him against his will.

  Her teeth on the edge of his ear, she said, "I want to feel you come inside me."

  For a startled instant he didn't move, then he pumped his hips hard, driving into her, making the ripples of orgasm speed through her body again. She held onto him, raked her nails on his back, and felt him shudder over the edge into his own orgasm.

  Seconds later he spilled over onto the bed beside her, panting. Cara, laughing, curled into his side, letting his arm go around her, pulling the sheets over both of them. Their hot, sweaty bodies felt instantly chilled by the air conditioning.

  Her right hand came to rest on his chest. Under it his heart pounded. She circled her fingers over the place where his muscle jumped with every beat. Circled and touched and played. Letting her fingers tickle his nipple. Making it stand up in the cool of the room.

  "What are you – "

  "Oh, come on. Surely you can figure it out."

  "Little girl, I don't know if you know how the male body works but – "

  She rose up above him, first up on her elbow, watching him as her hand moved down over the sheet, finding his cock half hard again and rubbing it through the cloth. He gasped at the sensation, losing the end of his sentence.

  "I think I've just had a pretty good exhibition of how the male body works." She leaned down and took his earlobe in her teeth. Her breath was hot. Her tongue was in his ear, just past her teeth, which were sharp. "Besides, I have it on good authority you're in your 20s. Not even 30 yet." She ran a fingertip down his chest, across his navel, reached between her own legs and fondled him again. He was getting very hard.

  "Been a long day," he said, but his eyes were teasing. He wasn't protesting.

  "Been a hard day," she responded, taking her hand away and grinding herself against him, the sheet still between them.

  "So shouldn't we be relaxing?"

  She tightened her fist as far as it would go around his girth. "I know of a great stress relieving exercise."

  He laughed and lunged up at her. The sheet was whisked from between them. When she settled again, he was inside her, hot and hard.

  "Ride, cowgirl," he said.

  Cara felt herself blushing to the roots of her hair. But she'd wanted this for the last five years. Wanted it too bad to let sudden shyness stop her.

  She rocked her hips, ground against him, took both his hands and placed them on her breasts, tightening them for him so he squeezed, hard. Her nipples jabbed into his palms. She licked her lips at him, promising all kinds of mayhem, and he picked up the pace, rocking her harder against his cock.

  It was longer the second time. He spun her under him, kissing her throat, licking her breasts, holding himself over her as his hips pumped, and pulled her up onto all fours, taking her from behind. Her breasts swung free and he fondled them, supporting himself with first one hand and then the other, squeezing her nipples, letting his hands dip down between her legs to stroke her there even as his cock moved in and out of her.

  This time when they'd both come and they lay together, they let the sheets cover them, let the sweat dry from them, and he took her into his arms, cradling her as she lay again
st his side.

  "I travel a lot," he said. "Obviously. I follow the circuit."

  She shoved away the disappointment. Maybe he was saying he'd see her when –

  "How attached to Las Vegas are you?" he asked.

  "It's been a good place," she said, letting her smile drop into the angle between his jaw and his throat. "Introduced me to good people. There are other places."

  He turned serious, going up on one elbow and letting his free hand only trail over her shoulder. "Could be dangerous," he said.

  "I've been called a shifter whore in my own home town. By people I theoretically work with. I'd say the danger is everywhere. I'm not law enforcement, just posse. But I'm 22. I can change that."

  Their eyes met. "You'd do that?"

  "To help find out what's going on? To stop it? Yes."

  He leaned up and kissed her. "Then I'm asking. Will you come with me on the circuit?"

  She let her tongue linger for just a second on the edge of his mouth. "Convince me," she said, and grinned.

  She didn't believe the groan of long suffering overworked male. Not even for a minute.

  Holden

  Rodeo Bears V

  by

  Becca Fanning

  Chapter One

  When Dani woke that morning, there was no transition between waking and sleeping. She knew instantly that she was awake. She knew what day it was and what would happen during the day and she knew that this time, with no doubt, no hesitation, she would have to do something about it.

  Just the thought of her father and what Dani had come to call Collection Day was enough to send her jackknifing straight up in her bed, heart pounding.

  Early morning sunlight came through her east-facing bedroom windows. Her bedroom was sprawling and spacious with more than enough room for as many pairs of cowboy boots as she cared to collect, and all the heels, jeans, skirts and dresses, tank tops and blouses any girl could ask for.

  She'd trade them all to not be Walter Sjoberg's daughter and not facing Collection Day.

  Dani was in the shower when Teresa called into the room. "Miss Danielle, you want the oatmeal for breakfast?"

  Dani didn't. But it was complex carb day on her fast metabolic diet and it was working. Her tightest jeans fit again and looked great tucked into her boots with a one of her corset tank tops.

  Then again, she was hoping today would be the last time she had to look beautiful as she acted as bait. "With strawberries!" she called back. "Coffee and cream and two sugars." She could almost feel her father's disapproval for all that he was probably still asleep on the far side of the spacious ranch house.

  For her part, Dani's mother was probably still passed out. Her way of dealing with Collection Day was to drink herself into a stupor the night before. By the time her hangover had gone away so had the day.

  Collection Day. By the end of the day the Wild West Show would be over. Sticky children and their sunburned parents would return home. There would have been displays of roping and branding cattle, simulated branding of course, which made her wonder if the cows thought the humans crazy. There would have been gunfights with blanks and celebrities locked up in the hoosegow for some charity or another.

  And the mini-rodeo, which was mostly for fun, would have finished up. The events always drew big names in rodeo, superstars of bronc riding and bull riding. They came because their name lent cachet to events and raised more money.

  Among them, far too often, came the Tyrell Clan, a family of shifter bears, a rodeo family of brothers and cousins. On those occasions there were always a number of shifters in the audience, filling the arena. There was always angry mutterings on those occasions. Old timers and haters said the shifters spooked the horses. Mostly they just hated anyone different.

  There was always controversy surrounding the rodeo clan, just because they were shifters. The Rodeo Authority in every venue was contacted with demands that the bears not be allowed to ride. So far the rulings had come down in the favor of the Tyrells, despite their known status as shifters.

  Despite some other things, too, like a propensity for drinking and gambling (Eddie Tyrell, and that was mostly under control) and practical jokes when they did get ousted from an event (they'd set pigs loose in an arena in Texas, to the amusement of a few and the fury of many).

  The tide was turning, though. Anti-shifter sentiment was growing and the number of disappearances of shifters in their community had grown high enough that news of it was hitting the so called "normal" community.

  And she, Dani Sjoberg, knew why at least some of those disappearances were happening.

  She was, directly, the cause of more of them than she wanted to consider and today, if her father had his way, she'd be the cause of another.

  Not again. Not this time. This time I'll have proof. Because law enforcement wasn't going to do anything until she had proof, especially given her father had money and status and ran his own Wild West shows as well as participating in others. He was a rider, roper, racer – a cowboy. A rich cowboy who brought his money into rural communities that needed it.

  Law enforcement wasn't going to so much as lift a finger without proof.

  I was there. I saw it. It was because of me. That wasn't proof enough. Or maybe it would be. If only the people the crimes were committed against weren't shifters.

  Law enforcement didn't like shifters. They didn't trust them. They didn't consider them part of the community they were hired to protect and serve. Most of them tacitly agreed with the disappearances without even knowing the full extent of what was happening.

  Those were the clean cops. The dirty ones were actively involved.

  That thought made her shiver despite the warm morning air in Holbrook, Arizona. There was no way to know going in which kind of law enforcement she'd be dealing with. If Dani got her proof and went to the cops and they turned out to be in league with the anti shifter groups, she herself might vanish.

  It was a chance she was ready and willing to take.

  By the time she was out of her shower and her long honey brown hair styled, her oatmeal was prepared and saved under a silver cover on a silver tray. That always struck Dani as silly: something as homey as oatmeal with some berries sitting on silver with fancy trimmings.

  She ate mechanically while she made herself up as carefully as she ever had the other three times her father insisted she help. She'd been barrel riding and roping for a couple years now but for the last few years she hadn't performed.

  Just knowing she had to be part of her father's nefarious schemes took all the fun out of it. And even if mostly she just wanted to help, to counter her father's deeds, in part she wanted her life back. Working against her father and his anti shifter friends meant she might get to feel life was good again. She might get to compete.

  She might get a chance to talk to Holden Tyrell.

  Yeah, she shook her head at herself in the mirror. That was going too far. Hope was one thing.

  Wild fantasies quite another.

  Holden Tyrell was the stuff of wild fantasies.

  But first there was Collection Day to live through, and it was here. For all that she'd known it was coming, she still had no plan. Pretend to participate, do her best to warn off whoever he targeted, free them if that didn't work, and try to get something as proof the police would accept, whether that was a recording of her father and his goons talking as they loaded up the body or photos.

  Police, or FBI if she could get to them and if it seemed the local police were in Walter Sjoberg's pocket. This was the first time Collection Day was happening in her hometown. Dani didn't know what to expect.