Winston (BBW Bear Shifter Wedding Romance) (Grizzly Groomsmen Book 3)

by Becca Fanning

  Wriggling herself flat out on the bed, she lay so that her head was at the same level as his cock. Slowly parting her lips, she stuck out her tongue and rolled it over the head of his erection. He groaned, loud enough that she could hear it, and she smiled to herself- she'd never realized she'd had this in her, but she was enjoying the new sex-kitten version of Rosie. Tossing her hair to one side, she opened her mouth a little further, and took him as far as she could into her throat. She just wanted to feel him inside her, to taste him, to have him. He wove his fingers into her hair, and guided her up and down his erection- his pace was slow, much to Rosie's relief, as he was bigger than she was used to and took a little acclimatization.

  Once she had grown used to the feeling, he flexed his hips a little, pushing himself further into her mouth, and she did her best to work the underside of his cock with her tongue, wriggling against his seam. Realizing she had hands to spare, she slid one down to cup his balls, and the other into her jeans- she was almost taken aback by how wet she was, by how much relief her touch gave her. It had been a while since she'd masturbated out of anything other than habit, and the feeling was revelatory- she circled her finger around her clit a few times, moaning slightly, and looked up to make eye contact with Win-he was staring down at her, almost delirious with desire. She ran her nails across his balls gently, satisfied with the gasp he let out, and slid two fingers on either side of her clit. Part of her wanted him to finish in her mouth, but she knew she wouldn't be satisfied until she'd felt him inside of her.

  She slowly slid her mouth off of him, licking her lips theatrically and glancing up at him with wide, as-innocent-as-she-could-muster-given-the-situation eyes.

  "Fuck me?"

  "God, yes," he growled, and in one motion, flipped her on to her back. He kicked off his jeans as she hurriedly wriggled out of her's, her body now aching with need for him. He reached into his bedside cabinet for a condom, and quickly sheathed himself.

  "Always be prepared," he quoted the boy scout's motto, and she giggled, unable to focus on anything other than his proximity and how much she wanted him. He pushed her leg back slightly, positioned himself at her slit, and eased himself into her.

  The feeling was exquisite- almost new, it had been so long, but strangely familiar. They both let out long, contended sighs as he pushed his way into her for the first time, stretching her, and she placed a hand on his chest, urging him to go slow. He obliged, moving with almost painful care in and out of her, until she raised her hips to meet him. Wrapping her legs around his waist, he pushed into her hard, and she let out a small cry- this was better than she could ever have imagined, feeling him in her, the relief it gave her, the pleasure. She sank her nails into his shoulder, pulling him closer, and their lips met once again, tongues frantic with passion against each other.

  "Good?" He breathed, gently biting on her lobe, and she squirmed beneath him.

  "God, yes," she murmured in response, repaying him in kind. "Harder."

  Win was quick to fulfill her request, sinking his fingers into her ass as leverage and fucking her hard. She could feel her orgasm building- it had been so long since she'd come with someone else, but now she wanted it more than anything in the world. She frenetically ground her hips up against his, trying to match his pace, craving more of him, as much as she could get. She reached down and slid her fingers against her clit once again, her own pleasure taking control of her every movement.

  And then it hit her- wave after wave of it, shuddering across her body like some kind of nuclear explosion. She let out a small cry, and her body went limp under his for a moment. He tilted her head towards his with his hand, and kissed her- kissed her as the waves of pleasure coursed through her body, as she came back down to earth. Moments later, she felt him finish inside her, their mouths still hard and hot against each other's.

  They lay there for a moment- still kissing, but otherwise still- before Win withdrew, sliding off her and lying next to her on the bed. Outside, the storm was still raging, and he reached over to place a hand on her stomach.

  "I really, really needed that," he smiled at her.

  "Me too," she grinned back. More than you could know.

  They lay there in silence a little longer-listening to the sound of the wind and rain battering the window outside. There were jolted from their post-coital reverie by the sound of a knock on the door. Rosie lazily pulled the covers across her naked body as Win draped himself in a robe and went to answer it.

  Rosie looked after him, admiring his form for a little longer- but as soon as he opened the door, something changed. He conferred quickly with whoever it was on the other side, and then turned back to her, closing the door and running a hand through his hair.

  "What is it?" She demanded, sitting up straight and tucking the covers around herself, even though she knew damn well what the news was. Win took a deep breath before he answered, and she could have sworn there was a little shake in his voice when he did.

  "The wolves. They're here."

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  Breakwater: Custer

  Star Bears III

  by

  Becca Fanning

  Delphine came to slowly, blinking as the light hit her oversensitive eyes.

  The edges of her vision were fuzzy and there was a bitter taste in her mouth, barely detectable under the dry, cottony feeling coating her tongue. She didn’t bother trying to move, recognizing the signs of being sedated and feeling the cool metal restraints around her wrists and ankles.

  She was sitting in what was, as far as she could tell, a cargo hold. The chair she was in was apparently strapped to a wall, and there were at least three other people in the room with her. A slight, black-haired woman stood next to a tall brunette, leaning into him. The two were talking to someone out of her line of sight and Delphine didn’t want to turn her head, feeling nauseous. Thanks to the dossiers she had been provided, she identified the people in front of her as Zoshanna Kane and Richard Chapel. The third person sounded feminine, which would make her Anyanka Heathcoat.

  Delphine’s vision cleared slowly, enough so that she could see Kane’s eyes widening as she noticed her captive was awake. She tugged at Chapel’s sleeve, pointing.

  “Annie, get the captain,” he said, straightening his shoulders. “She’s awake.”

  “About time,” the third voice, now confirmed as Heathcoat, huffed. “Shoot her if she tries anything.”

  There was the mechanical swish of a door opening and closing. Delphine ignored it, wondering if she could break through her cuffs. Two of her three primary targets were in the room with her and the third would be on his way down shortly. Even if she didn’t get off the ship alive, she could complete her mission.

  She ran over what she knew about the two. Kane was a former street rat, surviving mainly due to her abilities as a thief. No kills that anyone was aware of, favored escape over combat. An easy target. Chapel posed more of a risk; Delphine was fully aware of her own capabilities, but if she couldn’t neutralize him before he shifted she would be at a disadvantage. If she was going to kill them, she needed to do it swiftly, starting with Chapel and finishing before Captain Ingram reached the bay.

  The only thing in her way were the fucking cuffs.

  She tugged at them, but even with her genetically enhanced strength they held. The chair creaked under her but didn’t give.

  Chapel smiled at her. Or, he moved his lips in a way that revealed quite a few of his teeth. The expression held precious little warmth, which confirmed the suspicions the dossier had provided Delphine with that he and Kane were romantically involved. The bruise on the thief’s cheek was ugly and mottled. Delphine wouldn’t have been surprised if her blow had broken her cheekbone.

  “Good morning,” Chapel said in a pleasant tone, the
kind that generally came before a significant amount of pain. “We have a few questions for you.”

  Delphine remained silent, years of experience keeping her face in a neutral expression.

  “I can see you don’t want to talk to us,” he continued. “That’s understandable. Unfortunately, we can’t really let you just sit there either. See, if it were up to me, you’d have a blaster bolt turning your brain into about three pounds of superheated mush. But since we don’t want a repeat performance of what just happened on the docks, we need you to tell us what we want to know.”

  Mistake, mistake, mistake. If Delphine were further from the fog of the sedatives they’d used on her, or less well trained, she’d laugh in his face. Letting your prisoner know they weren’t going to be getting out alive was a misstep. People wanted to believe there was a chance they could live, and removing that made them less willing to talk. What would the point be? Obviously, they were threatening her with torture if she didn’t cooperate, which was another mistake. Even with her training, Delphine was fully aware that everyone, including her, eventually broke under torture. That didn’t mean anyone in the crew had the capability to reach her threshold. She’d read all their files. They were smuggler, thieves, and, when the situation called for it, killers. They weren’t seasoned interrogators.

  As it were, she merely remained as she was, still and expressionless.

  “Rick,” Kane said quietly.

  “I know, I’m sorry,” Chapel responded, his voice suddenly soft. “But she hurt you, Zee, I’m not inclined to be nice to her.”

  “That doesn’t mean you need to be cruel, either,” Kane said. “I know you’re upset, but it’s just a bruise, and I already feel horrible. I don’t want to watch you become someone you aren’t just because I messed up.”

  She was surprisingly gentle for a girl from Lytos.

  Whatever Chapel wanted to say in response to that was interrupted by Heathcoat reentering the bay with Captain Leo Ingram in tow.

  He was, Delphine had to admit, much more impressive than the photo that had been in his file. She’d known he’d be broad-shouldered and square-jawed, with tan skin and curly black hair, but in life he seemed more vivid. She began to understand why people talked about him like they did.

  His anger was harder to ignore than his first officer’s, but still nothing like the trainers Delphine had grown up with. She wondered if he was going to try and intimidate her, or if he knew enough about the people trying to kill him to know that was a futile endeavor. He stared at her, jaw clenched.

  “First things first,” he said. “Who are you and who do you work for.”

  Delphine wondered if she should simply tell them. The fact that she hadn’t checked in yet had most likely already alerted the leader of Mason Corporation that she had failed or been delayed, and once they were certain she was useless to them they’d send a team. It wouldn’t matter how much or how little information the crew of the Breakwater got from Delphine to prepare for the onslaught. She had seen them at work before. The knowledge she was still capable of fear had come as something of a surprise.

  In the end, she opted for silence.

  “I had a feeling you were going to be like this,” the captain said. “Strong, silent type. You know, ninety-nine percent of the time I can respect that. Congratulations on finding the one percent.”

  The door opened again and several sets of footsteps grew louder.

  “Right on time.” Captain Ingram turned towards the other three members of the crew. They kept their distance from Delphine as they walked towards the captain. The shortest of the three handed him what appeared to be a medical pouch. “See, as much as I’d have loved to strap you to the top of the Breakwater, you have information we need. Things like, ‘who hired you’ and ‘what should we be on the lookout for.’ And I can’t afford to wait around until you feel like telling us. So what I have here,” he said, removing a syringe from the pouch, “is a delightful little compound an acquaintance of ours sells. It should loosen your lips.”

  Delphine couldn’t do anything but glare as he walked up to her and jerked her head roughly to the side. The hiss as the syringe punched through the skin of her neck seemed implausibly loud. She was sure that her genetics would counteract some of the effects of the drug, but she couldn’t be sure how much or how it would combine with the remnants of the sedative still in her system. Clenching her jaw, she looked around the room.

  The newcomers were easy to identify. Dominic Banner, 35. Close-cut hair and beard. Neat, quiet, short. Suffered from Rogerson disorder; neutralize pre-shift, do not engage otherwise. Hyde Jones, 36. Skin dark, like hers. Dreadlocks swept back behind a bandanna. Missing right eye due to infection. On the run from a murder charge. Anthony Monroe, 35, currently using the name “Custer.” Hand lost to malfunctioning blaster. Manic and unpredictable.

  She knew them better than they knew each other, had spent hours going over the files that contained their whole lives over and over again. It was doing precious little to help her now. Banner was scowling at her quietly, Jones looked as though he would be perfectly content to just kill her and be done with it, and Monroe had a toothy grin stretched across his face.

  “We’ll just give that a moment to kick in, shall we?” the captain said.

  “I still say we just…” Jones mimed pointing a blaster at his head and firing.

  “Hear, hear,” murmured Chapel, wrapping a protective arm around Kane.

  “Now, now,” Monroe said. “Where’s the fun in that?”

  “Where’s the fun in getting rid of the person who hurt Zosha?” Chapel raised an eyebrow. “Well, honestly, I’d call it more ‘satisfactory’ than ‘fun’ but I’m sure I could dredge up some sense of enjoyment.”

  “Not now, Rick,” the captain said. “Answers first, murder second. Ready to talk yet?”

  Delphine remained silent. It was somewhat harder to do so than it had been five minutes ago.

  “You sure we can’t expedite the process a bit, Captain?” Chapel asked.

  “Is this going to be a problem?” Ingram furrowed his brow. “Because this sort of sounds like this is going to be a problem.”

  “I’m just glad to see the mighty Richard has a temper like the rest of us,” Monroe sighed.

  “Custer, I swear to God—”

  “Aw, come one, Dick, you know I don’t mean anything by it.”

  “Can you be serious for five fucking minutes?” Chapel seethed. “She hit Zosha. She could have killed her if Hyde hadn’t tranqed her fast enough.”

  “But he did,” Monroe answered breezily, “and thus, your lovely girlfriend is saved from an assassin who, more likely than not, went after you and tripped over her.”

  “You—”

  “It’s a decent question,” Heathcoat chimed in, her auburn hair spilling over her shoulder as she tilted her head. “Was she aiming for Rick and ran into Zosha? Or was she after Zosha?”

  “Both,” Delphine said.

  Every head in the room turned towards her as she tensed. She hadn’t meant to speak, hadn’t even known she was going to until she already had.

  Sloppy.

  “Good to know,” Heathcoat said slowly, taking a step forward. “And were you targeting anyone in our crew other than them? I assume you were. They aren’t involved in anything that the rest of us aren’t.”

  Delphine kept her jaw clenched tight. As long as she focused, she could keep herself from saying anything she shouldn’t. The question was, was it worth it? What were the advantages of remaining silent versus revealing information that wouldn’t help them in the long run? She didn’t think she could lie convincingly with the drugs still in her system.