Leeward Bear (BBW Shifter Romance) (Fisherbears Book 3)

by Becca Fanning

  His eyes a soothing and dangerous gold stood out in the night as he charged at the three men. He growled loud enough for her to hear, but not above the music serenading the oblivious people around the corner. She wondered if she should call for more help. But as Aiden rose on his hind legs and clawed the men who were too stupid to run, she realized that he needed no help. A speck of blood splashed on her face as the last man went down and Aiden’s huge girth walked towards her. His white coat speckled here and there with blood.

  He snorted and she took two steps back from him. Had she not seen him change herself she would have thought for certain he was a wild beast to run and hide from. Then he did the unimaginable- stood still and then lay at her feet. An act of submission to her. She knew instantly he was telling her not to be afraid of him. She stepped forward and ran her fingers along his fur and he slowly changed back to his human form. Naked in the glow of the lamp he was majestic. No words were needed as her fingers traced the contours of him and their lips met.

  “Take me home,” she said not caring about the men bleeding in the alley. They deserved it.

  “I have a change of clothes in the storage compartment on my bike. Run and get it for me while I call these fools an ambulance. They will have a hell of a time explaining their illegal weapons and injuries in an alley.”

  She did as he asked and in thirty minutes they were riding along the driveway of his mansion.

  “I need to shower,” he whispered to her kissing the top of her head. “Make yourself at home and find us something to eat.”

  She didn’t do that though. She wondered around the hallway and found an extensive library. The plush sofa was just beneath the window looking out on the side of the property. It offered her solace and she made her way to it, running her fingers along the spines of the books she passed on the way.

  “I thought I would find you here,” Aiden’s voice said from the end of the aisle. She briefly turned to acknowledge his presence.

  “It is nice here,” she whispered not wanting to break the moment.

  “You are welcomed to stay here as long as you like. Would you though?” he asked. She turned to look at him. His hair still wet from his shower and his chest bare. Lust sparked inside of her and she was almost sure she would not be able to ignore it any longer.

  “I love libraries,” she said stopping to pluck a book from the shelf.

  “They say a woman who reads is a deadly woman,” he said.

  “And a man who reads is worth keeping for a lifetime,” she responded. She knew from the care that he placed in this library that there was no question as to whether or not he did. It went against every stereotype of bikers. She turned to walk away again, but he placed a palm on her hip stopping her in her tracks.

  “You look gorgeous tonight,” he whispered in her ear, as he stepped up to her back and pulled her in against him. She closed her eyes and enjoyed the feeling, willing herself to walk away but wanting every bit to stay.

  He gently nibbled her lobe and the soft scratch of his beard against her neck sent shivers down her spine. His hands wasted no time in cupping her breasts. He dipped his lips to her neck and trailed kisses from her pulsating jugular down her naked shoulders.

  “I tried resisting you but I can’t,” he whispered in her ear as his hands gently and slowly rolled her shirt up. She did not protest. She wanted to resist him too, but it seemed that every time he walked into a room her common senses committed suicide. She slowly turned to face him and stared into the golden eyes. Eyes that now raged with desire where there had been a troubled storm. Had it been some other man she might assumed she was just a mere distraction for the unresolved issues in his life. But she knew with him it was not a case of unrequited love, but one of mutual unadulterated lust.

  He stepped in front of her and looked her in the eyes. His mirrored the haunting sadness in the moonlight that slipped through the windows behind them. She was sure hers burnt with the desire she was fighting hard to control...futilely.

  “Is that really what you want?” he asked her stepping in close to her.

  She smiled shyly up at him, wondering if that question even needed an answer.

  She sighed and was about to speak when he kissed her. She closed her eyes and leaned in to the kiss. The steel resolve she had built up slipping away with every second their lips were together. He tasted like danger on a cool summer’s evening and she was the hopeless maiden caught in the web he spun. A web she had willing walked right into and was sure she was not going to walk out of unscathed. Right now she really did not care. He represented everything she wanted and she was not a woman who was used to being denied.

  She angled her head and pulled him deeper into her. The line where she ended and he started blurring with the passion that washed over her.

  “Be sure this is what you really want, because once I start I will not be able to stop,” he said. He spun her around, and ran possessive and intrusive hands over her curves. It was a gesture of complete appreciation for her body. In that moment she would have begged him to just bend her over and fuck her silly.

  She would have, if she didn’t think that would be giving him her goodies far too easily. SO she shut up and moaned her desire instead.

  “Be sure Anna...” he said again.

  His voice was husky with the desire he was trying to fight, and it sent shivers down her spine. The tiny bumps on her skin that rose as she stepped into him again, were enough to say there would be none of that. She rested the book she had taken down on the chair and turned to cup his face pulling him into her. His tongue snaked into her mouth, dirty dancing with hers. It was then she realized for the first time that he tasted like wild apples. It was a thought that made her smile as she remembered her teenage love for all things that tasted and smelled like wild apples.

  Oh, how time was the master of bringing all things full circle.

  “I want you Aiden. And nothing can change that,” she whispered against his lips.

  His hands slipped down her side to rest gently on her ass. Then he bit lightly on her lips, causing her to moan into his mouth. She responded by sliding her hand beneath the hem of his shirt to feel his hot skin burning with desire.

  Stop and walk away!

  She knew she needed to...or rather... she should. Every inch of her body wanted nothing but to be devoured by the passion he ignited. He responded with the same. He pressed her ass into his groin so she could feel how much he wanted her. then bent his lips to trail the tip of his tongue against the sensitive part of her neck. She could feel her knees getting weak with the pleasure that rolled over her. He lifted her as if she were paper weight and turned towards his desk, shoving anything in his way to the ground. How he knew exactly what she wanted was beyond her. Nevertheless, she was in no mood for the softness of sweet love and he was right there with her. They were like animals caught in a dance that predated human existence and she lived for this moment.

  He slowly pulled away and every ounce of desire in her protested as she let him. His soft hands cupped her face and his stormy eyes were confused by what he felt from the anger she had dished him. Still they searched her face for certainty. “If you are so sure you don’t want this then walk away and I won’t stop you.”

  He let her go as he bent to kiss her one more time and she hesitated before allowing him to. She could feel herself getting closer to the point of no return. No, she was at the point of no return and she no longer had the energy or desire to fight it.

  His hands found her breast and gently squeezed her nipples before he rolled her pants off her hips. She had not bothered to put panties on, and he smiled. She pressed her heated pussy against his groin. She wanted him just as much and decided not to play coy or wait any longer. She reached to stroke his erect dick through his pants as her other hand freed his belt buckle.

  Their lips met and his fingers wrapped around her slender thighs. She knew instantly that no matter how much self restraint she had; tonight was not going t
o be the night she resisted. She had waited a whole month for this. She slipped her hand into his boxers and released his cock. The heat of her palm touched his manhood for the first time and she enjoyed every inch of the skin she felt. She gripped him and slowly stroked back and forth. She wanted no dry humping and she wanted no child’s play. She wanted him... all of him.

  His lips lowered to her neck and he lifted her off her feet. She positioned his dick to enter her as he slammed her against the book shelf.

  She let loose a primal moan that spoke of the pleasure the pain of his entrance brought her. As he slowly thrust in and out of her she met each thrust with a plea for more. This was no love making, and it was not love making that she craved or wanted. She wanted to be fucked and he gave her exactly that.

  With each thrust she could feel her climax building. The muscles of her pussy clenched and shuddered with the promise of an earth shattering climax. In a matter of minutes they could hold back no longer. He gave one hard thrust into her, groaning from the pit of his stomach in satisfaction. She threw her head back and could not hold back the scream that escaped her.

  She could feel his cock burying his seed deep inside her as it pulsed its satisfaction. They stayed that way until their breathing slowed.

  Aiden slowly eased her down to the floor, his cock still buried deep inside her and growing erect again.

  “You are mine Anna,” he whispered in her ear as he started to move in her again. “Mine and nobody else’s.”

  She would not object, because then and there she knew she would want no other man but him. This was the kind of connection she had waited all her life for. She rode his dick like no other before and vowed never to let him go.

  Bear Anchor

  FisherBears II

  by

  Becca Fanning

  One

  A shadow loomed over the circulation desk just as a throat cleared, cutting into the comfortable silence of a slow Tuesday afternoon. Irina Vasiliev looked up from her computer screen into a pair of amber eyes framed by horn-rimmed glasses. Eyes the color of honey, like the stuff her grandmother used to make medovik with: raw and sweet and sticky.

  And now she craved the layered honey cake, longed for the familiarity, the comfort of it. Medovik had been Babushka’s favorite recipe. Generations of Vasiliev women had made it, back to the days when her ancestors had lived in a tiny fishing village on the Baltic Sea. Irina’s grandparents had been the first generation in America, and they clung to their traditions with an iron grip. She could remember the old woman standing over the stove time and time again, whisking, whisking, whisking. “You must whisk like devil, Irochka, or eggs cook,” she’d say in her thickly accented English. Irina hadn’t made the cake in years, not since Babushka had died.

  But she thought she’d like to dust off the recipe now. Comfort and security were rare commodities in her life these days. The routine of preparing the cake, as well as eating it, savoring it, would be a balm to soothe her tired soul. She wouldn’t be able to eat the whole thing herself, but perhaps she could bring some in for her co-workers. She took mental stock of the ingredients in her pantry. She would need to stop at the market for sour cream and more flour. Maybe this weekend, she thought.

  The large man standing in front of her cleared his throat, and she shook her head, trying to banish the visions of medovik dancing through her head. I’ll add berries this time, was her final thought on the subject. It’s still early in June. Strawberries should be in season.

  She looked up at the man again. “Can I help you?” she asked politely.

  “I put in a request last week,” the man said, holding up a call slip. “I got a call earlier that my book is in.”

  She took the slip from him, along with his library card. She glanced at the title printed neatly on the small scrap of paper, raising her eyebrows. They didn’t get many requests for Kierkegaard at the Sitka Public Library, unless one of the students at the University was writing a last-minute paper.

  “Let me take a look,” she said. She turned from the desk, walking to the back room to retrieve the library’s only copy of Either/Or.

  She returned a moment later to see that another man had joined the first. The newcomer seemed younger, rangier, than the man in the glasses, long and lean where his companion was solid, almost stocky. He was turned away from her, facing the first man, but she could just make out a scowl twisting his mouth. “You already read all this stuff!” He rocked back and forth on his heels, as though standing completely still was beyond his capabilities.

  “I have,” the man in the glasses agreed, calmly and indulgently, like they’d had this argument many times.

  “So whaddya need to read it again for? You ain’t in school anymore, Sherman.” The second man brushed his hair out of his eyes. It was pale, white-blond, like the finest silk. It was beautiful hair, but much too long. It hung in his face and curled over his ears, like he was a mop-topped kid in a boy band. She had the strangest urge to offer to cut it for him. “You don’t need philosophy while we’re out on the boat.”

  “I don’t read because it’s useful. I do it because I need it to thrive. ‘Anyone who stops learning is old, whether at twenty or eighty,’” the man in the glasses quoted.

  “‘Anyone who keeps learning stays young.’” Irina finished the quote before she’d even realized she’d spoken.

  The younger man turned to her, at last giving her a good look at him. He all but took her breath away, he was so beautiful - but in a contradictory way. A study of opposites. Delicately sculpted cheekbones in a deeply tanned, slightly weather-beaten face. That white-blond hair, but with dark eyebrows and lashes. Full, almost feminine lips above a square, strong jaw. His accent sounded vaguely southern, a rarity here in Alaska. And his eyes were almost identical to his friend's, though the two men looked nothing alike otherwise. Deep amber, exactly like honey. Curious.

  He smiled at her in a perfunctory way, observing those social niceties that Irina had never been any good at. His eyes skimmed over her, taking in her unremarkable features and plain clothing, noting the bun and headband she used to tame her thick, unruly hair. He seemed to almost look through her, as though she was the least interesting person he'd ever come across, and she was surprised to find herself a little indignant at the idea. Blending into the background had been her goal in life after her marriage ended. She no more wanted to attract a man than she wanted to be mauled by a bear.

  So why did she feel a sudden flash of ire that this beautiful young man was so obviously not attracted to her?

  “That a quote from one of your philosophers?” the blond man asked, turning back to the one he’d called Sherman. He drummed his fingers on the desk, and Irina had to ball her hands at her side to keep from holding them still. She couldn’t stand fidgeters.

  The other man laughed lightly. “Henry Ford,” he replied, his eyes smiling at Irina from over the top of his glasses. “You a student of Industrial Age history?” he asked her.

  She shook her head. “My grandmother taught it to me.” Babushka had collected little quotes about education and learning, writing them down on little cards. It’s how she’d learned English back when she’d emigrated to America, more than sixty years ago.

  “Oh, how sweet,” came the library director’s voice from behind her. Irina’s smile vanished like smoke in a breeze at the arrival of her boss. She turned to see Betsy looking at her reproachfully. “Irina never tells us anything about herself,” the older woman continued, now speaking to the two men on the other side of the desk. “And she’s so dour. Always frowning. She’ll never catch a husband that way,” she tittered.

  Irina frowned, as if Betsy had somehow extracted it from her. The antiquated idea of wanting to “catch a husband” would have been laughable, had Irina not abandoned her sense of humor in Anchorage. If the older woman only knew why Irina kept to herself, she’d never be so flippant.

  Irina made no answer. She didn’t have the patience not to snap at her
boss today. She turned back to the two young men in front of her. “Will that be all?” she asked, scanning Sherman’s library card, then the Kierkegaard volume.

  “Where’s the movies and stuff?” the blond man asked. He was fidgeting again, now shuffling his feet and rolling his shoulders. He looked like the kind of man who would probably still be twitching in his coffin. That dour enough for you, Betsy? Irina thought.

  Wordlessly, Irina pointed him in the right direction.

  “You need a library card to check things out, Finn,” Sherman called after his friend. Finn. Interesting name.

  Finn turned around, scowling. “Then I’ll just use yours.”