by Kayle Wolf
He didn’t pull away. He froze, certainly, and she could almost hear his thoughts stuttering to a halt—but he was kissing her back, cautiously at first, and she moved closer to him on the bed in encouragement, her eyes fluttering shut. He was warm, and up close the scent of him was… incredible. Like the scent of the forest, somehow, but also something else that was all him… wood smoke, cold air, and starlight. She had never been close to someone like this, never kissed someone in a way that felt like it was going to shake her completely apart.
And then he broke away, his breath catching in his throat, and she came back to herself just enough to meet his eyes. He was staring at her like she was made of moonlight. He murmured her name as though he was tasting it. Then:
“Are you sure?”
By way of answer, she kissed him again, and this time he didn’t hold back. Suddenly his arms were around her, drawing her closer to him, both of them perched strangely on the bed with their legs hanging over the edge of it, intertwining as he drew her to him, pulled them both down to the soft quilt, so they were lying side by side. Aware of the closeness of the edge of the bed, their precarious position, she tugged him towards her, rolling back towards the head of the bed—then found herself pinned beneath him, his arms holding him up above her, his dark eyes close and wild. She caught her breath, and he stilled immediately, shifted up and away from her in an instinctive gesture that gave her room to wriggle free if she wanted it.
She didn’t want it. She kissed him again, harder, lost herself in the feeling of his lips against hers, his tongue, the rough feeling of his jacket under her hands as they roamed across his broad back. But it wasn’t his jacket she was interested in. He shrugged it off as she pulled at it, and she set about unbuttoning his shirt, too. They’d both been in these clothes for what, three days now? By all rights, he should have smelled revolting—but somehow the scent of his body, the deep, earthy musk of him, only made her want him more, only drew her closer and closer to him. Not enough. She wanted more of his lips, more of his skin, more of his hands on her body, so careful and so reverent. He sat back a little to pull the plaid shirt from his shoulders, and she gazed up at him for a long moment, thoroughly taken aback.
“What?” Was that self-consciousness from him? He looked a lot less composed than she was used to, she noticed with a pleased little smile.
“You. Gorgeous.”
“What do you mean?” he asked, this time with disbelief and laughter coloring his voice, and she reached out with her fingertips, traced a line down his broad chest, across his incredibly firm stomach. His whole muscle-bound torso, his barrel-like chest, so broad and so powerful. A brief flash of the way he’d scooped her up off the ground and run with her, effortlessly. An incredible amount of power in that body. And he didn’t know? Somehow, he’d managed to live his whole life not noticing how gorgeous his body was? Absurd. And a terrible shame. Well, it was never too late … she could at least show her appreciation now. Helena sat up, pulling her shirt over her head as she did, smiling a little at the way his breath caught at the sight of her. She, at least, was aware of her own appeal. But wasn’t it nice to have someone else to appreciate it?
No room for thoughts of the future or the past. No room for conjecture, or worry, or concern about what this meant, what this would do to their relationship, what would happen the next day, the next hour, the next minute. Only the feeling of his body against hers, the rough scrape of his three-day beard against her skin, a delightful rasp that sent shivers running up and down her spine as he kissed her throat, her shoulders, her collarbones. Eventually, they found themselves under the covers as the cold air drifting through the open window chilled their exposed skin. When had she removed her jeans? When had he removed his? Impossible to tell, but they’d somehow managed to get their boots off as well. Good. There might be a few questions if they got forest dirt all over the bed.
There was an increasing urgency to their kissing, a building of tension that had only one natural conclusion, and Helena felt herself hesitate, just a little, as her fingertips crept towards the waistband of Art’s boxers. This was new ground, for her. Dragons didn’t exactly go in for casual sex—it was an activity they didn’t give much thought to outside of the bond between soulmates. She wondered if it was the same for bears, wondered if he was vastly more experienced than her, if she was already making a fool of herself and he was just too polite to say so—and then, as if he could hear her thoughts, he cleared his throat.
“So I haven’t—done this before,” he confessed, and she buried her head in his chest, fighting the urge to laugh.
“Thank God, neither have I.”
A smile broke out across his face—a real smile, radiant and true, and tinged with surprise. They were rare, those smiles, and she drank it in even as she tapped him reproachfully on the shoulder.
“What? You’re surprised?”
“Aren’t you—centuries old?”
“A gentleman should never ask a lady’s age,” Helena said archly, and his look of chagrin soon gave way to the realization that she was teasing him. He laughed as she continued. “Most of my people would rather sleep on rusty nails than spend more than five minutes at a time in these bodies. We don’t really… think about sex.” And neither had she—not until she’d met this man, at any rate, and now she couldn’t get enough of him. She’d be frightened by the speed and the strength of her feelings if she wasn’t so thoroughly involved in giving in to them right now. She tilted her head. “You’ve seriously never—you know, picked up some girl in a bar, or whatever?” Talking to Lisa had given her some insight into the dating lives of humans, but she wasn’t quite sure how it worked for bears.
But he was shaking his head. “I lived on a farm way out in the middle of nowhere. I’d get into town maybe a dozen times a year to pick up supplies when it was my turn to drive. No bar visits.”
“And the women of Montana are all the poorer for it,” she murmured, unable to resist curling her hand around his powerful upper arm. “Guess we’d better figure it out.”
“Oh?” He was kissing the side of her neck, above the collar, and she pushed her dark hair out of the way to give him clearer access, feeling her whole body tingle as he murmured into her ear. “How’s that? Research? Head down to the local library, check some books out…”
“Oh, you’re funny. I hadn’t noticed you were funny.” She gasped as he hit a particularly sensitive spot, arched her back as he ran his hands down her body, sliding over her hipbones, caressing the tops of her thighs—then gently, slowly, he eased her panties off. She lifted her hips to assist him, feeling oddly self-conscious. Why did nudity feel so strange? She’d been born in a body that never wore clothing. When she shifted into that form, she was unclad, and she never thought twice about it. So why, now that her whole body was exposed to this man, did she feel so strange?
Again, he seemed to sense her hesitation—and with his dark eyes locked on hers, he pulled the remainder of his own clothing from his body. Her eyes flicked straight down before she could hesitate, and he laughed aloud at the shock in her eyes as she forced her gaze back up to his.
“Sorry,” she murmured, flushing a little, “that was—”
“You can look.” He hesitated. “I mean, you can do more than look if you want—”
She giggled, pulling him on top of her again and kissing him, their bodies crashing together once more. It felt much more intimate even than kissing in their underwear had, feeling the full expanse of his skin against hers, feeling his hands move across her hipbones, curving around to her lower back, ghosting across her butt. Grinning into his kiss, she tugged his hips closer to hers, felt his manhood against her leg—and at the same time, heard him groan into her mouth at the contact.
Ever so gently, she shifted her leg to brush against his length again—and he groaned again, curling his arms tight around her, pressing them together. And before she could chicken out, she ran her hand down his body and, carefully, wrapped her fin
gers around his cock. His eyes met hers, shock mixed with absolute, animal desire. She could tell that he was holding himself still. Still fighting to control himself. She caressed him, and he squeezed his eyes shut, a low rumbling moan forcing itself from his throat.
He was the most unbelievably beautiful thing she’d ever seen. She could feel heat suffusing her whole body, pooling in the center of her body, in an area she’d only ever had a passing interest in—until now. Now, it felt like her body was waking up, like there was a pulsing, vibrating need centered right in her core. She grabbed his wrist with the hand she wasn’t using to caress his cock and pressed his hand to her vulva. Art’s dark eyes flicked open, and he breathed her name, half-question, half-prayer—and at a nod from her, he parted her lips with his fingertips, exploring her body with such exquisite care that she almost wanted to shake him, beg him to move faster. It was like he was stoking that fire that had been burning in her core almost since she’d seen him for the first time, building it up with careful touches the way he’d built their little campfire, his huge hands so delicate, so careful with her body—and before she knew it she was panting, gasping for breath, grinding her hips against his careful touch—
“Art—” she managed to gasp, reaching for him. “You—let’s—you can—“
He knew what she meant, incoherent as she was with desire. Curling his arms around her body in a way that reminded her of the way he’d picked her up and ran with her that first day, he lifted her and reversed their positions until she was on her back beneath him. This had been the part she was unsure of—the part that had worried her. Her mind flicked over all the human books she’d read about love and romance, often in secret, vaguely ashamed by her interest—didn’t they often say that it hurt, the first time? But her body seemed to know what to do. There was no fear in her as she looked into his eyes, and she knew that he felt the same, that he, too, felt some ancient instinct guiding his movements as he lined himself up and slowly, agonizingly slowly, slid himself inside her. No pain. Only him.
“Wow,” she breathed. She quirked an eyebrow at him. “Still controlling your breathing?”
He let his breath out in a shaky laugh—then moved inside her, making her gasp and buck her hips up against him. The feeling was indescribable, unbelievable. Wonderful. She wanted more—needed more—needed him to stop being so goddamn careful and just take her, press her to the bed, destroy the whole room if he needed to. She dug her hands into his shoulders, curled her legs around his hips, urging him on—and that was all the encouragement he needed. They moved together as the afternoon light crept across the carpet, breathed together, and when his movements grew erratic, and even his carefully measured breathing started to catch and shake, she could feel the same thing coming. The building, blinding electricity in the core of her body, reaching out into her limbs, her fingertips, even her toes felt like they were exploding with light as they both crashed over that peak together.
Five minutes later—or an hour, or a week, or a century, she wasn’t quite sure, and she didn’t care anyway—she found herself lying on Art’s chest, his arm around her, toying idly with her hair as his chest rose and fell with the effort of their exertion. She opened her eyes to find him gazing down at her, and the expression on his face made her breath catch.
“Not bad,” she said, finally, a wicked grin creeping across her face—and he laughed aloud, giving her a gentle shake in mock consternation.
“Not bad?”
“Beginner’s luck.”
He made a derisive noise. “Beginner’s luck, my ass. We’re both naturals.”
“Oh yeah?” Her eyes gleamed. “Prove it.”
Chapter 10
Art woke up slowly, resisting as long as possible the urge to open his eyes. The bed was delightfully soft and comfortable, cradling his body like a cocoon—for all that he’d had to curl up rather tightly to fit the full length of his body under the covers. It was a wonder there were any covers left on the bed at all, he reflected, flashes of the day and night before returning pleasantly to his drowsy mind’s eye. They’d certainly put the bed through its paces and no mistake. Well, there had been a lot to explore. Their compatibility, their chemistry… it had been explosive. Gone were any ideas of spending the afternoon wandering around town, or looking for a blacksmith to remove Helena’s collar… there were more important things to do.
God, he couldn’t believe he’d waited so long. What a magnificent afternoon. But then again, it wasn’t as if some drop-dead gorgeous woman had walked into his life before three days ago, was it? She was unbelievable. Magical. Try as he might, he couldn’t imagine feeling one-tenth of what he felt for her for anyone else on the planet. There was something very special here, between them. Some of the glow faded as that thought occurred to him. Something special here, yes. But something with a limited shelf life. After all, she had a family and a life and a destiny all of her own to get back to. And as for him… well, he had a date with a different dragon entirely. Maybe if he survived their battle, he could come back and see her. They could talk about a future, even, if she was interested. She seemed interested, he thought, warmth blossoming in his chest at the thought of her golden eyes, the way they’d gazed into his as they made love.
But how much of him would survive? For that matter, how much of him had survived the attack on his family? He may have fooled her into thinking he was a whole person, but the more she scraped the surface, the more she’d realize what a shell of a person he was. All his energies, channeled into maintaining this facade of togetherness. Until he’d met her, his central strength had been not giving a damn about what happened to him. No fear of death, no concern for the future. Just one single, violent goal to fulfill and let the rest of the cards fall where they may. But now… that was beginning to shift, like the changing of the tides. Helena complicated things. Helena made him want to live.
But was that selfish of him? He propped himself up on one elbow and looked down at her. Of course, she looked just as gorgeous asleep as awake—her gorgeous face rested on the pillow, one fine-boned hand cushioning her cheek. Even her hair fell rather prettily across the pillow—although, he noticed with some amusement, it was a lot messier than he’d ever seen it. Their exertions had taken a bit of a toll on her statuesque air of perfection, it seemed. But messy hair only made her more beautiful. He leaned down, pressed the softest kiss he could to her cheek—and smiled as she stirred a little in her sleep, fingertips reaching up sleepily to brush against his shoulder before she went back to sleep.
Food. They’d need food. It had been a long time since breakfast the day before, and with the exception of the blocks of chocolate they’d picked up from the store the day before, neither of them had eaten anything substantial since then. He smiled a little as he dressed, seeing the chocolate wrappers scattered wildly across the floor. They’d gotten… distracted, about halfway through. Found some very interesting places to put chocolate, though.
Art chased those memories away, grinning a little. Best not to think about it, or he’d have no choice but to find a creative way of waking her up, and then they’d both starve to death before they were able to disentangle themselves from each other. He scooped up one of the wrappers, though, and used a pen from the desk in the room to write a quick “back soon with breakfast” note for her in case she woke up while he was gone. After he’d put it on her pillow, he slipped out of the door, moving through the halls of the bed and breakfast as quietly as he could. It was still early, but there were definite sounds of movement downstairs. They probably got ready for breakfast early around here. The hiking crew would be up and out pretty close to dawn. Levi had loved that stuff, he remembered with a familiar pang of grief. Four a.m. was his usual wake-up time. He’d been a hare krishna as a young man, so he told them. The chanting had helped keep the bear at bay, and though he wasn’t practicing any more, the early wake-up habit had stayed with him. He was a familiar sight in the mornings in the homestead—he’d get up, paint for a few ho
urs, then get breakfast ready for everybody before even Noah was up and about.
Art’s jaw tightened. Whatever had happened with Helena, it wouldn’t change the fact that he had to get revenge on the man who’d taken his family away from him.
Downstairs, he ran into the woman who’d checked them in the day before. She twinkled knowingly at him and waved him on as he requested to take food back up to their room from the buffet-style breakfast on display in the dining room. It all smelled delicious—a huge range of choices, from hot steaming platters of eggs and bacon to selections of cereal and fruits to a platter of various pastries. He took some of everything, not sure what Helena actually liked and loath to miss out on something that might turn out to be her preference. It involved queuing up several times—it seemed the bed and breakfast was rather packed, and there were at least a dozen people in the line with him, waiting impatiently for him to make his decisions. He was glad to get out of there, looking forward to being back in the room with just Helena.
Art lingered a little on the stairs, lost in thought. The night before had changed everything. The last few days in general, actually. He needed to recalibrate, to rethink. To make a new plan—ideally one that had Helena in it. He didn’t know what he could offer her, beyond nights like the one they’d shared. He wasn’t exactly a great prospect—part of a hated species among shifters, with no money, no prospects, no home, no family, and more psychological damage than he was ready or willing to confront. Simply dying in the process of getting revenge for his family had seemed like the easy way out of all of those problems. But he hadn’t counted on Helena. Hadn’t counted on finding a reason to keep on going. He knew it wasn’t good to live for someone else—that he should want to live for himself, for the life he could make. But he wasn’t interested in a life that didn’t include her, and that was the truth.