He laughed again, a gorgeous sound. “So I can do what bears do, Ginger. Hunt. Fish. Roam.” He shrugged. “It takes a lot of self-control for me to live among humans. I have to drop the charade sometimes, or I risk losing my restraint.”
“Why do you live with us?” she asked. “Shifters don’t seem to like us or respect us. I mean, what’s the appeal?”
“The possibility of success is the appeal,” he said seriously. “My family built a small fortune timbering over the past two centuries. Enough for me to pay for schools, living expenses, degrees—enough, in short, for me to transfer myself into your society. I’m a bear, it’s true, but I want more from life than these same forests, these same coasts. I want commerce. I want professionalization. I want respect.” There was a glimmer of gold in his eyes. “I want the challenge—the thrill—of litigation and defense. I want material luxury. Wealth.” His hand closed on her knee, squeezed. “I want the world. The whole world.”
“Where is your family?” She leaned back on the headboard, watching him. His ambition was almost too much, too intense, but it was also—attractive. Very. A man with this level of determination—and this level of achievement—was as rare as raw silver. It… well, it turned her on. “No one’s mentioned—”
“My clan’s extinguished,” he answered, speaking across her. “We’d been dwindling for generations. There’s just me left.”
She flushed, embarrassed; her fingers tightened on the mug. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”
“Don’t be sorry. I never really knew them. My mother died when I was a cub.” He shifted, crossing his arms; she had to admire the way it made his biceps harder. “It was an ancient clan, well-respected… powerful, even. Now I’m the last.”
There was the bass rumble of thunder, far away. Out at sea, maybe.
“Is that hard?” she asked slowly, honestly sympathetic. “I mean… to represent a whole lineage alone…”
He looked at her closely, penetratingly. “You’re kind to ask that, Ginger. Yes. Sometimes it’s hard. But we all have responsibilities we can’t walk away from. Identities we can’t ignore…”
She had the urge to kiss him, or at least to cuddle close against him—to comfort him, somehow, because she could hear how tired he was. Tired, and alone.
So she set her mug on the nightstand, crawled forward, and pressed a light kiss to his unshaven cheek. He mm’d, turned into it a little.
“Ginger…”
“Are you lonely?” she whispered.
“Yes,” he confessed lowly. “But I didn’t realize how much until I met you.”
“Dane…” She knew she should back off. But his heat, his closeness, his smell—smoked wood and hot skin—was intoxicating, especially on a cold, rainy morning like this. “What do you even want from me?”
“Your touch… at least, to start with,” he breathed. “Touch me, Ginger. I’m begging you.”
Touch him how? Where? Just—touch him? Any way I want?
Tentatively, and unable to think clearly about whether it was a good idea or a bad one, she trailed some soft, hot kisses down his neck. He growled with pleasure, and began to unbutton the front of his shirt, giving her more skin to tease.
He tasted like he smelled—cedar-y—and she loved it. She wriggled closer to him, teething his throat, and his arm went around her.
“Yes.” His voice was quiet, ragged. “Harder.”
She bit with more pressure; he made a thick, masculine sound of pleasure.
And then he tilted her chin up with a hand, away from his neck, and kissed her.
It was a hot, meaningful kiss. It communicated things to her—that he had been serious when he said he wanted her, felt things for her, cared about her. She melted like chocolate under its power.
“Dane,” she gasped, when he broke it. “I—that was… but we can’t. We need to stop now.”
“No, Ginger. I want more.”
“This is forbidden. You’re supposed to be proving I’m nothing to you.”
“You’re not nothing,” he said huskily, and then he kissed her again.
She softened against him, letting him kiss her and kiss her—long, deep kisses, full of relish. The fear was thinning, drifting away, leaving her. There was only this moment, only this pleasure. She’d wanted him too, for so long—had felt things for him—and now, finally—
He shifted, gripped her waist, and then moved her further back on the bed, pressing her down.
“Dane—” she said, a little shrilly, trying to stop him. She wasn’t ready to fuck him yet; in fact she was far from sure that they should ever have sex.
We shouldn’t. We can’t… But it had gotten so hard to think.
“Don’t speak, Ginger. I promise this will make you happy.” He gripped her sleep bottoms—plaid pajama shorts on loan from Catríona—and pulled them down and off her legs, tossing them over his shoulder. Her breath hitched.
His big, powerful hands settled on her thighs and opened them. She knew her underwear was damp, knew he could see the wet circle of her arousal on the gusset. He settled between her spread legs and kissed the tingling skin right above her pussy.
“Dane—” she whispered, not sure if it was an encouragement or a discouragement.
The velvety kisses he pressed to her inner thighs made up her mind for her. She wanted this too much. Her head fell back; she sighed.
He’s right. I’m going to love this.
His strong hand rubbed slowly and gently up and down the bridge of her panties; the heat and pressure of his palm through the silky fabric made her clit harden up like a marble. She bit her plush bottom lip, trying not to moan… but when he started kissing her folds lightly—so lightly, too lightly—through her panties, she couldn’t hold back a whimper.
“Smells so good,” he burred, right against her pussy. She bit a knuckle, hard, while watching him.
He hooked his thumbs in the waistband of her panties and started to roll them down; she shimmied her hips to help him. He drew them along her thighs, forcing her legs high and feet together to pull them off. Those got thrown in a corner, too; and then he pressed her legs wide open again.
“Just beautiful,” he murmured, and his breath was hot on her wet, puffy flesh. “So pink.”
“Lick me,” she sighed, losing restraint.
“Lick you?” he echoed, kissing her outer lips.
“Please lick me.”
He licked her thigh.
“No!” she whined. “Don’t tease me. Lick me!”
He licked her other thigh.
“Dane!”
“Mm-hm?”
“Please, please lick me! Lick me!”
“Lick you where, Ginger?” he growled. “Tell me where you want my tongue.”
“Lick my pussy,” she begged. “Lick my clit. Make me come, Dane.”
“Words to die for,” he murmured—and then his hot, damp tongue was running slowly over her flushed, swollen lips. Her back arched against the mattress.
“Ah… yes…” she breathed, eyes flickering closed. The wonderful sting of his stubble on her thighs and pussy only made the gentle wet heat of his tongue that much better.
A couple of his fingers pressed lightly at her lips, testing whether she’d want one inside her; she started rocking her hips, urging him to do whatever he wanted. His tongue circled her stiff clit, making her clutch the bedspread—and then he closed his mouth on it in a seal, sucking gently.
“Oh, Dane. Oh, Dane,” she gasped, blushing everywhere—her face, her neck, her chest. The excitement was almost too much.
A thick finger sank inside her, a satisfying shock of penetration while he pleasured her clit. She could feel how absolutely wet and foamy she was; the bedspread had to be damp.
“Delicious,” he sighed, coming up for air.
“Am I?” she asked breathlessly, her hips rolling.
“So sweet.” He kissed her lips—once, twice. “So clean.” Then his mouth fastened on her clit again, sucking hard
er than before. She cried out. It was so good.
She lost track of time while he ate her. The rain pattered—then drummed—on the windows. The bedside clock ticked away. Her breathing ran ragged.
It was pure bliss, getting oral from him. She could barely keep her eyes open.
“Dane,” she groaned, finally. “I’m close… it’s so good, I can’t…”
“Come for me,” he growled, nipping her clitoral ridge. Her hips bucked.
I will, I will, I will! She pressed a hand on his head, encouraging him to suck faster, firmer, more mercilessly. He did, sucking with a force and abandon that lined her lashes with tears.
“Dane—Dane—Dane—”
She couldn’t stop moaning and undulating her hips, and he didn’t stop sucking, didn’t stop fingering her. She was—almost—there—almost—
She came. She came hard—the orgasm white-hot—with a cry of ecstasy. Sweaty, writing on the bedclothes, she was lost in the magma of the climax; it obliterated her, in the best way.
When she finally started coming back down, she had to close her thighs and wiggle away to escape from his greedy, still-sucking mouth.
Her breathing was heavy, uneven, her skin hot and sticky. She could feel her pulse racing in her neck. It was a wet mess between her legs.
He sat up, sucking his drenched, gooey fingers. “Was it good for you?”
“Is that… a serious question?”
“Yes, actually. It is.”
She half-laughed, winded. “It was… amazing.”
He crawled on top of her, put a hand on her face, and kissed her; she gripped his muscular wrist as he did. The taste of their kiss was sugary, wholesome. Is that my taste? Wow, he wasn’t lying. I’m not bad.
“What about you?” she asked against his mouth. She shifted a knee and pressed it gently into his crotch: he was as hard as brick in his jeans.
“Don’t think about me, Ginger,” he said, but his voice was sandpapery. “It’s alright. Later.”
She reached down a hand and put it over his straining cock; he sighed, obviously trying not to groan. His size made her wet all over again—he was big, thick. Heavy.
“I could do something for you. I want to,” she whispered, kissing his face, his jawline. Sweet little kisses she could tell he loved.
“No,” he said thickly, even though his cock jerked against her palm. “We’ll save it.”
Save it?
“For when?” she asked, very softly.
The mood cooled; he rolled off of her.
“We’ll have time. Ginger, I swear, I won’t let anything happen to you tonight.”
“I know you’ll try.”
“Don’t you believe I can protect you?”
“I believe you’ll do everything you can.” She wriggled closer to him, kissed his mouth. She’d been dreaming of this for months—of being with him, of being adored by him—and now that it was finally reality, she was facing down death. Worked out great.
He kissed her back. “Do you think you can say you like me more than Beaumont now?”
“Dane!” she bristled. “Now is not the time to force—”
“Sorry.” He kissed her again. “Listen, I have to go.”
“No! Don’t do this again! Don’t leave me alone while you go off and—”
“I have to. I have to tie the yacht up in the harbor.”
“Make someone else do it!”
He hesitated. “No, it has to be me. I have to look compliant.”
“Dane… don’t…”
“Ginger—”
“Please.”
His brows knit. “Don’t beg me, Ginger. I’ll be back soon.”
She turned away and got up, going to the bedroom’s corner where her underwear was. Frowning, she stepped into it. “Fine.”
“I will be.” He got up, too, and came over to her, taking her shoulders.
“Yeah. I know. I just hate it when I’m left all alone here.” She held his eyes, upset. “I have no idea what’s happening, I don’t feel safe, I—”
“You’re safe here—as long as you stay inside. That’s a taboo even Gunnar wouldn’t break.”
“I guess.” She sighed.
He turned her chin to look at him. “Wait for me.”
She gazed at him, letting her silence be her grudging agreement.
“Ginger,” he said, and his voice softened, “You know I love you? I love you.”
You know I love you. I love you.
She blinked at him.
You know I love you.
It felt like her stomach was slowly filling with Pop Rocks.
“It’s alright. Don’t say anything. Don’t feel pressured. I’m only telling you so you can understand just how far I’ll go to defend you.”
“Dane…” A man’s never said that to me before. Not seriously, not like this. She bit her lip. “I… I don’t… I’ve never…”
“Wait for me,” he said again, kissing her. “I won’t be gone long. Stay inside.”
She nipped his bottom lip, and he growled appreciatively.
“I’ll—I’ll wait.”
“Good.” He ran a hand through her hair, then stepped back. “Nap. Snack. Try to relax.”
“Okay.” Did he really just tell me he loved me?! Really?! “Bye.”
He smiled—a reassuring smile—and left the bedroom. She could hear him in the hall: shrugging on a coat, opening the cabin’s door. Leaving.
She sat on the bed, feeling hot and cold at once.
“Ginger… I love you.” “Ginger… I love you.” “Ginger… I love you.”
The warm, kind way his voice had sounded—truly tender, truly honest—made her heart speed up. It felt like her chest was full of butter.
He loves me.
I can’t believe he loves me.
Dane loves me!
She bit back a giddy squeal, smiling, ready to jump on the bed like a child—
But then, almost immediately, a hammer of gloom slammed down on her.
He loves me and it’s forbidden.
He loves me and I could die tonight.
I could die because he loves me.
I could die.
Chapter 7
She was facedown moping on the couch when a knock from the cabin door startled her right onto the floor.
“Dane?” she called, on high alert. Don’t be fucking stupid, Ginj! He wouldn’t knock. He lives here. Do you knock when you get home from work? Come on!
“Better,” a female voice answered, loudly, through the door. “Catríona!”
“Oh!” Ginger brightened, rose, and hurried to go let her in. Catríona was a welcome guest. It would be a relief not to be alone, but also to have some female company.
“I brought apple spice cookies,” Cat said, as the door swung inwards, smiling her pretty, reassuring smile. “Also some bridies, salmon chowder, and cloud biscuits. How about it?”
“If I ever win the lottery, you can have half,” Ginger said gratefully; her stomach clenched with hunger. Didn’t even realize I was hungry.
“Haven’t you, though?” Cat said, grinning. “MacAlister’s rich as a lord.”
“So what?” Ginger asked, flushing; she stepped aside so Cat could come in, and shut the door behind her. Catríona went right through to the kitchen—Ginger padding after—and began setting up lunch, unashamedly going through Dane’s cabinets for dishware and cups.
“‘So what’?” Cat echoed temperately. “Don’t pretend, mo muirnín.”
“I’m not with him. I can’t be,” Ginger said stubbornly.
Cat looked away from a cabinet she was investigating, her eyes thoughtful. “No. I suppose not. With things as they are, anyway.”
“What’s that mean?”
“Nothing. Let me serve up the food. I brought tea, too.”
She was efficient. In just a minute she’d unpacked all the dishes and was transferring them to the tableware.
“Thank you,” Ginger said, watching her plate the meal
. “You’ve been… really kind to me.”
“Oh, don’t take that gloomy tone,” Catríona chided. “Sit down and eat. You’re looking a little worse for wear. Still lovely, of course. Just strained. Pale.”
“Pale? That’s just my skin.”
“We’ll see. Eat that chowder, hon.”
The food was good, and Ginger put a lot of it away. Halfway through, though, the idea that this could be her final meal—her execution meal—killed her appetite. She stopped eating and stared at the refrigerator, glassy-eyed.
“Don’t be like that,” Catríona said sharply. “Everything’s going to be fine.”
“Is it?” Ginger asked, seriously. I miss Laila. I want my mom.
“It is,” Cat said firmly. “Have a cookie and buck up.”
That brought Ginger back to Earth; it was ridiculous. She had to snort. “A cookie? That’ll fix everything, eh?”
“They’re good,” Cat insisted, holding out the Tupperware container they were jammed in. “You’ll find they have a particular kind of magic when it comes to lifting the spirit.”
“Alright. Guess I can’t pass up magic,” Ginger capitulated, taking one. It was good: sweet and soft.
“See? Positively medicinal, they are.”
“Yeah. Hey, Cat. I have a question.” I need to think about things that are not myself. Just for a little bit. Anything, as long as it’s not me. “How come you guys don’t go to the clanmeet on the Eastern seaboard? Dane mentioned the Cape Breton bears having been… um… ‘disinvited’? To that one?”
“Oh. It’s actually not a very interesting story,” Cat said, biting into one of her cookies. “Don’t expect anything salacious. The new Alpha for the Eastern bears comes from a line that was exiled from Cape Breton, a hundred thirty years back. It’s an old grudge—stale, you ask me—but on principle, he forbade us from the Gathering. It’s in his power.” She shrugged. “The Western elders and their Alpha invited us here instead.”
“Where’s our last Alpha? Of the West, I mean? Shouldn’t he be… here? I don’t know, like, defending his title, or something? I’ve only heard about Dane, and Hunter, and—”
“Ah, Hunter,” Catríona said, too knowingly. “I wanted to talk about that.”
“Wait, no.” Ginger flushed. How does she know?! Does everyone know?! I can’t deal with that conversation. “Answer my question first!”
Alphas of Storm Isle (Complete Boxed Set: Books 1-5): Werebear Shifter Menage Romance Page 15