by Renee Rose
“How did that rate on your scale?” Miranda peeps up at me from under her lashes—like she took shy pills and they’re suddenly taking effect. Her cheeks are flushed a pretty pink, red hair a disheveled halo around her glowing face.
I scowl, because her question makes me think of rating her against other women, which immediately brings to mind Jen.
The doctor flushes a deeper red, though, and I kick myself. Wounding her pride was never part of this. I may have had something to prove, but it wasn’t about her lack of skill or appeal.
I rub a hand over my face and down my beard. “Best sex I’ve had in three years.” That’s a truth I don’t have to feel guilty about.
But she’s too smart. She leans up on her forearms and cocks her head to the side. “Is this the only sex you’ve had in three years?”
I offer a chagrined smile. “You got me there.”
She sits up in the bed, her big tits shifting as she comes to vertical. She’s so fucking voluptuous. So appealing. Even though I just came—and hard—my cock gets chubby again.
She notices.
There’s no game playing in her next question, though. No badgering, no coyness. No judgment, either.
“Did you lose someone, Caleb?” Her voice is soft. Soothing.
A sound tumbles from my lips. A bark of some sort. Not a laugh, not a sob. Something in between. I fall down onto the bed beside her and stare at the ceiling. The vulnerability of looking in her eyes right now is too much. “I don’t know how you figured that out.”
“This place is clearly yours, but it has feminine touches, too.”
“Well, damn. You examined the data, didn’t you? Guess that’s why you have the Ph.D.” I interlace my hands behind my head. I usually get pissed off—or downright rage-filled—when people want to talk about my loss. But for some reason, this conversation comes as a relief.
Like my past is a burden I’ve been wanting to share.
And Miranda’s the perfect listener. She doesn’t speak. Doesn’t ask any more questions. Just offers her silence as a spacious offering. A space I can fill if I like. Or not.
“My wife and young daughter were killed a few years back.”
I hear her shocked intake of breath, but still she refrains from speech. Just lets me talk.
“I found them down by the river. Bear attack. Or so the police said. Their bodies were ripped up by some kind of wild animal. I don’t know—it doesn’t make sense to me.”
She waits a while longer before she murmurs, “I heard about the attack. It didn’t make sense to me, either. I actually chalked it up to small town small-mindedness.”
I turn to look at her. Her words are so welcome. Like a lifeline I can hang onto. I’ve felt like a crazy man for so many months now. Everyone around me, shifters included, said it had to be a bear. Shifters figure it was someone who lost control of their animal—who lost their humanity and went nuts. Kind of like what nearly happened to me after their murder.
Humans thought the bear must be rabid. Or overly aggressive.
But this highly intelligent, well-educated ecologist beside me knew the story couldn’t be true. Just as I did.
She reaches out and touches my biceps with her fingertips. “Thank you for telling me. I can’t imagine how hard it must be for you.”
“Don’t,” I cut her off. I don’t want her sympathy, even if it soothes me like a balm.
“Do… do you want me to go back to my room to sleep?” It’s a sweet offer and one that comes as a relief. I wouldn’t have asked her to leave, but I was suddenly feeling like it was wrong to have her in this bed.
“Yeah. Maybe that would be best.” My voice sounds more gruff than I mean it to and she winces.
Damn.
I catch her hand as she’s rolling away from me. “Miranda?”
“Yeah?” She turns, her red hair swishing over her shoulder.
“Thanks.” I let go of her hand.
She gives a surprised laugh as she gets out of the bed, then grabs one of the pillows and uses it to cover herself. “Not sure what for, but you’re welcome.”
“For this,” I wave a hand to the bed. “And for”—I scrub my hand over my face again—“for listening.”
Her brows arch in surprise. “Yeah. You’re welcome. Thank you for, um, the research data.”
I can’t help the grin that forms at the corners of my mouth. And suddenly the desire to give her a few more data points surfaces.
Good thing she’s already at the door.
“Good night, Caleb.”
Wow. That sounds so familiar. So intimate.
“Good night, Doctor.”
Chapter 9
Caleb
I hardly sleep at all, which is unheard of for me, especially in winter. It’s like my bear thinks it’s summer or something. He’s happy.
I mean really happy. Who knew all he needed was to bang a pretty scientist?
Even my guilt can’t take away his joy.
Fuck, I’m downright chipper as I slip out of bed at the crack of dawn and start the coffee machine. A half hour later I’ve prepped everything necessary to make salmon, spinach and cream cheese omelets and I have potatoes and onions sautéing on the stove.
“Oh my God, it smells amazing in here.”
I turn to watch Miranda’s entrance. She comes out in her tank top and my sweat pants, dog trotting at her feet. She’s adorably disheveled, her thick hair a mess from the hard fucking I gave her last night, her green eyes bright against cheeks flushed with sleep. It surprises me that the words that rise to my lips are You look beautiful.
Not appropriate by any means. I mean, not inappropriate either, but we aren’t dating. We had sex as a proof of possibilities, nothing more. I can’t go acting like she’s my girlfriend suddenly.
That doesn’t stop my cock from thickening at the way her braless breasts shift under her tank top. I’m suddenly imagining shoving that tank top up and pouring honey all over her tits, just so I can thoroughly lick it off.
She must catch my vibe, because her nipples harden and her breath catches. I catch the musk of her arousal, even across the scent of the food.
“I slept like a rock,” she says with an embarrassed laugh.
“Good sex will do that to you.”
“Yeah.” Another chuckle. She pushes her hair out of her face. “You don’t have to convince me anymore. I’m a convert. You don’t possibly rent out your services or anything, do you?” She face flushes a deeper pink, like she can’t believe she suggested it.
And now I’m harder than marble. “Well, I’m happy to provide you with another, you know, data set or two. I mean, for your research.” My voice comes out rougher than normal.
Her nipples protrude even more.
Her lids droop. She takes two steps closer, her hands sliding up her ribs to cup her breasts.
Fuck. Me.
I’m on her in a flash. I probably moved shifter fast without meaning to. I grab her arms and spin her around until her back hits my fridge. It rattles from the impact. My lips descend onto hers, capturing her full mouth, hell, declaring fucking war on it. I press my hard body right up against her soft, forgiving one, grind my erection into her belly.
She moans, clutching my biceps for dear life.
I shove my hand unceremoniously down the front of her sweatpants and cup her pussy. She’s juicy wet. One finger sinks into her heat without me even trying.
She kisses me back, mouth moving frantically over my lips, tongue twining with mine.
“I’m gonna fuck you right up against this refrigerator,” I growl, lifting one of her legs and placing it around my waist. “Do I need consent for that?”
“You have it,” she pants and slides her hands up the inside of my shirt, pawing my pecs.
“You’re beautiful.” I say it now. Because it should be said. She deserves to hear it often and I get the feeling she hasn’t.
I unbutton my jeans and free my cock as I twist my lips over hers in anoth
er brutal kiss. I yank her sweats to the floor, dropping to my haunches in the process and taking a long lick of her nectar.
“Oh!” Her hips jerk and loll, her bare ass making a warm print on my refrigerator.
I dismiss any notion of going slow and doing this thing properly. My bear needs to fuck her again, and she wants it, so I’m just going for gold here. I stand up and spear her with my erection.
Her green eyes widen and lift to my face. I have to bend my knees, but I lift her leg higher, hooking it over my forearm for better access. It tips her pussy toward me and opens her like a flower. I sink into her delicious heat, drill all the way in. The refrigerator thuds against the wall, condiment jars rattle against the shelves. I love the way her surprised gaze stays glued to mine, like she doesn’t want to miss anything. Or needs more of a clue about what’s happening. Her innocence should make me want to be gentle and go slow, but it doesn’t.
It makes me want to fucking devour her.
Consume her.
I’m the predator and she’s my prey. My next meal.
I thrust up hard, make her breath hitch each time I slam my hips against hers, slam her ass into the fridge, the fridge into the wall. She lets out a tiny whimper and I dial it back.
“You okay, Doctor?”
“Fuck, yes,” she bursts out, making me laugh.
“Good,” I rumble. “Because I’m going to fuck you so hard you won’t walk straight.”
“I-I think you already accomplished that,” she gasps, laughter and lust mingled in her melodic voice.
“You’re going to take it because you know I’ll make you feel good. Don’t you?”
“Yes! Yes, Caleb.”
I love hearing my name in those passionate tones. I find her asshole with the middle finger of the arm that’s holding up her leg.
She gasps and her pussy gushes fresh lubricant.
“You’ll even let me take you here when I decide to,” I taunt her. I don’t know why I have to trash talk, but she responds with a moan-cry that sounds like she’s about to come.
“Aw, that makes you hot, doesn’t it, Doctor?” I massage her anus, slap it lightly, all the while I’m fucking her so hard I’m in danger of sending the refrigerator straight through the wall to the outside. And the walls of this cabin are solid logs.
“You want me to fuck this tight little hole?” I continue to lightly slap her anus with a couple fingertips.
“Oh my Gawd.”
Heat flushes through my body. My teeth lengthen like I want to give her a mating bite. I’d better come soon or this could end badly.
“You ready to come, Doctor? Are you gonna scream my name when you do?”
“Yes, Caleb, yes.” I pound into her with unforgiving strokes, making sure she feels every inch of me, learns what it means to take giant shifter cock.
“Scream it,” I command, fucking her into oblivion.
“Caleb, Caleb, Caleb, ohmygod, yes! Yes, Caleb!”
I shove deep and come as her walls squeeze and tighten around my manhood. My bear roars in satisfaction. Or maybe that was me. All I know is the gratification shooting through my entire body, pouring well-being through my limbs like a healing balm. My emotions soothed, my mind calmed to a state of stillness.
My vision clears and I realize I still have her pinned against the fridge, shuddering and panting, her large breasts sliding against my chest with each breath.
I let go of her leg first, but don’t pull out. It changes the angle of entry, enhancing the feeling of still being seated deep inside her. Then, reluctantly, I ease out. “You okay?”
“Uh huh.” She licks her lips. Her knees buckle and she gives a shaky laugh. “But I don’t think I can stand.”
“I’ll hold you up, baby. I’m not gonna let you fall.” I kiss her temple. It’s an affectionate gesture—different from the raw sex we just had. It feels wrong. No, that’s not true. It felt right, that’s why I did it.
But I want to make it wrong. I need to make it wrong. Because I am not wooing this lovely female to be my mate. I am simply pounding out a carnal desire with her. Nothing more.
She doesn’t want more.
I don’t want more.
End of story.
She holds onto my arms for a moment, then Bear whines by the back door, and she gives me a gentle shove away.
I bend to pick up her sweats and hand them to her. “Hungry?”
Her smile brightens the entire kitchen. “Famished.”
Miranda
Holy snowballs. I now understand the term “the throes of passion.” It’s when your body takes over your brain and you’ll do anything to get satisfaction.
And I definitely got satisfaction. My mountain man is a freaking beast.
Like serious man-beast. How could I have not thought sex was fun?
Ew, because I had the lamest partners in the history of copulation, that’s how.
I yank on Caleb’s sweatpants, walk to the door and pull it open for Bear, then shriek as snow tumbles in. Bear wags his tail like the snow is a friend who wants to play. It’s drifted almost to the top of the door, but there are six inches of daylight there, and the sun streams right into my eyes.
There’s nowhere for Bear to go, so he pees on the top step, where the overhang kept the snow from falling.
Caleb appears behind me and slaps my ass. “I guess it stopped.”
“Um, how do we get out?”
His chuckle is low and sexy. “Guess we’ll have to tunnel our way through it.”
Oh. Wow. It sounds so fun when he says it. Like it’s a game we’re going to play. Right before we build snowmen and an igloo.
I shut the door and throw down the towel he used last night to soak up the snowmelt all over the floor.
Caleb’s already headed to the kitchen where he washes his hands and then breaks eggs into a bowl.
I saunter over, drawn like a magnet to his body. “Whatcha making?”
“How do you feel about a salmon omelet?”
“Oh my God, are you serious? It sounds like something I’d die for.”
He turns and pins with me a dark stare. “Too soon.”
I laugh.
“No dying on my watch.”
Warmth blooms in my chest. In my cheeks, too. I guess I’m blushing. Caleb grunts that my omelet is ready.
I take the plate from him, which is piled high with potatoes and the best-looking omelet I’ve ever seen. “Thank you. I’m so excited. I’ve never had a salmon omelet.”
Caleb’s eyes crinkle.
It’s my new favorite thing.
I sit to eat while he returns to the stove to cook a second omelet. “So you really like fish? I would’ve thought a guy like you would be more of a red meat kind of man.”
Caleb shrugs. “I eat red meat. But I like to fish, so I eat fish.”
It’s such a straightforward answer from a straightforward man. I may have found him grumpy at first, but at least he never plays games. His intentions are always clear. I like that about him.
I get up and serve myself coffee, enjoying the comfortable way he moves over and lets me in. Like I belong here. Or I’m welcome. Like we’re roommates—with benefits.
That actually makes me smile.
I start humming to myself as I pour the two cups of coffee and add milk and sugar to mine. I noticed he took his black yesterday.
He sits down with his finished omelet and we eat together in a companionable silence—so different from yesterday’s awkward conversation gaps.
“So do you think I’ll get back to my cabin today?”
Caleb snorts. “Doubtful,” he says with his mouth full of food. “Depends on how bright that sun shines today. There’s a lot of snow that needs melting first. I don’t think we’ll manage to tunnel all the way there.” His eyes crinkle again with a smirk and my heart does a little flutter.
Wow. Thirty-six hours and I’m falling in love.
No! I can’t fall in love. This is just about sex. And researc
h. And I hate men, anyway.
Except sex politics mean nothing in this cabin. There’s no status or posturing or trying to prove I’m as worthy. He insists on calling me Doctor, for God’s sake. Definitely not a man who’s intimidated by my degree or intelligence.
We’re just two people stuck in a cabin together.
We finish eating and I shower, then put on the clothes I was wearing when he rescued me. When I come out, I find Caleb wasn’t kidding. He’s already started tunneling out the front door and has cut a path about two feet wide and ten feet out. The snow walls are taller than I am. Bear barks with joy, running out into the snow and wagging his tail.
I laugh, my own joy matching his. It’s like our own Dr. Zhivago. A beautiful winter wonderland. Caleb moves with fluid grace and apparent ease, using a shovel to toss snow a full five feet to the banks on either side. I stop and watch his muscular ass in his jeans, admire the power behind his movements.
After a minute, I touch Caleb’s back. “Want me to take over?”
He’s wearing a knit cap, but otherwise isn’t overly bundled. I suppose shoveling is hard work. His forehead wrinkles with what appears to be incredulity and he frowns. “Ah, no, Doctor. No disrespect, but I got this.” There is a touch of pompous sexism in his words, but instead of offending me, they warm me. Because I can tell he thinks giving me the shovel would be unchivalrous.
And I’m happy to let him be the man in this instance. Especially when he looks so good doing it.
“Well, thanks. Where are you heading?”
He lifts his chin. “I should hit my truck soon, unless I’m off.” He looks up at the trees and back at the house. “No, the truck should be up here in ten feet or so.”
“Then what?”
“Then I’m going to dig it out and see if the plow will work. It’s a big truck, but I don’t think I’ve ever plowed anything this deep.”
Oh thank God. He has a plow. Of course he does. It fits the mountain man / construction crew vibe.
“And if it doesn’t?” I don’t know why I’m asking so many questions, but I’m so out of my element here. I’m completely at the mercy of his knowledge and expertise. I can’t go anywhere unless he gets me there.