Bear This Heat (A BBW Shifter Romance) (Last of the Shapeshifters)

by Grace, A. E.

  And that was when she realized that it was exactly that: Should he wish it. He had been pleasuring her, massaging her pearl with deft and teasing fingers, bringing her along and then backing her off. It was at the same time frustration and bliss, the bittersweet line between the build-up and the climax.

  She moaned in his ear, pulled at his hair, and raked her nails down his back. She could feel his hardness in between them, and she sent a hand down, and grabbed onto him, jerking him hard and fast. But he still explored her body, as though he simply couldn’t get enough of it. His mouth and teeth touched her everywhere, and his hands were insatiable.

  When he cupped the fullness of her breast, when he squeezed her thighs, and when he grabbed her ass hard, there was no longer any doubt that he loved her curves. Those fleeting, poisoning insecurities were sublimated instantly in the face of his aggressive, desirous heat.

  “I need you to be mine,” he growled into her neck, his baritone voice thrumming into her trembling nerves. “I love every curve of your body. I can’t get enough of it.”

  She panted for him as he traveled down her body, settled in between her legs. The first touch of his tongue to her sex was heaven, and he teased her first, circled her sex, never making landfall on her small bundle of nerves. But when he finally did, it was sparks, and his skillful tongue and up-angled fingers pulled her toward her crisis before he let the imminence wane. She was like ebb and flow of a tide, lapping at the beach’s shore, forever trying to swallow it all, but always pulled back by the gravity of the moon.

  Writhing, unable to take it anymore, she told him breathlessly, “Make me come.”

  And he did. His fingers moved faster, pressed harder. His tongue bathed her bud in bliss. She felt the great swell of tension, the tightness, her body taut, every muscle flexed; a snapshot of ecstasy.

  “Ooohh!” she moaned as she peaked, as she soared, as she was shot into orbit. She hadn’t felt this good in a long, long time. He pulled her through her tight release, lengthened it, drew it out, and then she was left shuddering and shivering, hypersensitive, and panting.

  And absolutely not yet done.

  “Fuck,” she breathed, hand on her forehead. He came up her body and kissed her. She tasted herself, but at that moment, didn’t care one iota.

  He kissed her still, then her neck, then her shoulders, and his hands still touched and groped and grabbed and cupped. And his cock was still hard, leaving across her body as he devoured it some more a trail of his sparkling pre-cum.

  Recovering, having come back down to sea-level, Sasha leaned up and looked at it then, the bulbous pink head as sexy as ever. She sat up, pushed him down onto his back, and sat in between his legs, his musk faint but detectable, and his cock beading liquid copiously.

  She took him in her mouth, worked him with her hands, gave him the best fucking blowjob she knew how to. And it was a long time since she had felt that surge of pride in knowing that she could make a man feel good.

  All thoughts of modesty had melted away, and she groaned as she sucked on his manhood, brought him racing toward the finish line before backing him off like he had done her. She could hear it in his groans, in his sighs, in his great heaves of breath. He could feel it in the way he ran his fingers through her hair, tangled it, and pulled at it before pushing her down.

  She heard a growl escape his lips, animalistic, intense. She didn’t know a man could make a noise like that, but didn’t think more of it. Certain that he was going to explode any minute, she cupped her hand around his balls, and then squeezed lightly. She gave them a small tug and he jolted, and looking up at him, she grinned.

  An old trick she had picked up from an ex who was always too quick to the finish line. His ascent was halted, for now.

  She didn’t want to let go of his cock, but she was ready again, and her aching need for him necessitated it. It was a compromise she was not entirely happy with, but her bodies screams were deafening, and she knew she would obey them. She lay back down on the bed, open herself to him, invited him to her, and he came, holding himself over her, his body rippling, his hair falling down around his face, and on his expressions a look of lust and desire the likes of which she’d never seen before on a man’s face.

  Sasha touched his chest, his stomach, held onto his shoulders as he nestled the wide head of his cock at her hot and waiting entrance. He pushed inside her with care, and she groaned as she felt him stretch her, and she took inside her his manhood. He was thick, and it felt… really fucking good. The brief flash of a sting subsided as she grew used to his girth, and soon she was lost in the body-rocking bliss of sex.

  With his hand he guided her thigh, encouraged her to wrap it around his waist, and she did, feeling the firmness of his ass against her calf and heel. Her clit, pressed right up against his pubis with each of his thrusts, thrummed with sensation. He filled her up. It was like she was being touched everywhere, like every nerve ending was being stimulated at once.

  He lowered himself onto his elbows then, heat streaks left in the air behind him, until only mere inches separated then, and he kissed her hard, all tongue and teeth. She barely kissed back, unable to concentrate as he made love to her slowly. His thrusts were gradual, eliciting from her glimpses at pure pleasure, just hints, and so she pushed down with her leg, forced him all the way inside her.

  Dylan grinned, and she held onto his neck and kissed him, once again guiding the power of his thrust with her leg against his ass. She pushed him into her again and again, and those ripples of ecstasy turned to a surging tide.

  “Yes,” she breathed, letting him fuck her of his own accord. He angled himself so that his cock rubbed her velvet front wall, and she was lost in it all. She watched as his stomach tensed, as his abs hardened. She saw on his arms all his veins popping out, just symbols of his virility. She wanted to lick him up his body, taste his sweat, and smell his scent…

  “Damn, Sasha,” he groaned, biting her ear lobe. “You’re so tight for me.”

  “You’ve got to finish me first,” she said back through a grin, holding him against her tighter, running her hands over his wide and muscular back, feeling the way the flesh rippled with each of his movements.

  He raised himself, pulled his quivering cock out of her fully before thrusting all the way back in.

  “Fuck,” she hissed, lengthening her body, stretching it like a cat in the sun. He did it again, and again, rocking her up and down the bed, banging the headboard against the wall. He impacted her clit each time, pulling from her even more stands of desire, tugging on her need for more, and eliciting silent gasps as he bottomed out inside her repeatedly.

  “Faster,” she begged, writhing, turning her head to the side, eyes closed, lost in sex. “More!”

  And he did. Penetrating her in entirety each time, over and over, he had her soaring. He leaned his head down, took one of her stiff nipples into his mouth and he pulled at it with his teeth. She yelped, looked back at him, startled but smiling.

  The smell of their sex hung in the air around them. She pulled his head against her breast, and with her other hand guided one of his to her clit.

  Only supporting himself with one arm, there was no shiver in his body to show it. He massaged her pearl as he fucked her, and he was so, so good at it. He was going faster, harder, and she was on the runway; climbing, coiling, winding up, reading to be sprung, to explode.

  “Yes,” she panted, begged, moaned. “Yes, yes, yes, don’t stop! Don’t stop! DON’T STOP!”

  She crested, squeezing around him, pleasure thrilling through her so intense it almost hurt. “Ooohhh!” she screamed as she felt her whole body clamp, every muscle flex, her canal tighten so hard around his thickness she thought he might explode out of her.

  He thrust into her one last time, bottoming out, his balls smacking against her ass, and she heard him grunt, and groan, and growl, and then his cock twitched mightily within her, and he was filling her with his seed.

  “Fuck,” she breathed
as he collapsed on her. She held him tight, basking in the trembling aftermath, their sweating bodies lying flat against each other, in total contact.

  Her whole body felt weak, exhausted, relieved. It was like a great fog had cleared, a tremendous weight lifted.

  “Oh my God,” she whispered. “I can’t believe we just did that!”

  And, though it was odd in itself, everything felt completely, utterly, unquestionably right.

  He looks right at me as he tells me about their love making. There is not a hint of modesty or bashfulness, though it is clear it is something special and intensely personal. I ask him why he is telling me this. I am not above modesty myself, and the details are quite vivid.

  He stops then, and looks at me, his eyes either curious or disappointed. It’s hard to tell. He adorns a didactic tone, as though explaining to a child.

  “You see, it confirmed my suspicion that there was more to being a shapeshifter than simply shifting.”

  I nod. It doesn’t escape me that he has used many words to say very little.

  “Our mating was not by chance.”

  I murmur something meaningless while I consider the term ‘mating’.

  “We were drawn together. Look at the sheer coincidences. Look at the sequence of events. I didn’t know it then, but I felt something for Sasha that I had never felt before. Of course, back then, I mistook it for lust. I couldn’t make sense of it.”

  “When did you make sense of it?”

  “It wasn’t until she-”

  But he is interrupted by a knock at the door. He never finishes the sentence.

  - Excerpt from The Youngest of the Old by Circe Cole. Printed with expressed permission.

  *

  Sasha woke, her ears picking up the familiar dull buzzing from her mobile phone on the coffee table. “Ugh,” she groaned, sitting upright and smacking her dry lips together. “I must have fallen asleep.”

  She looked at Dylan who was sat at the coffee table, still completely naked. “It’s your phone,” he said, nodding at her purse. “It’s been doing that for a while.”

  “What?” she asked, alertness flooding into her consciousness born of panic. “Why the hell didn’t you wake me up?”

  He shrugged. “You looked tired. It’s probably someone trying to sell you something at this hour.”

  “Shit,” she breathed, feeling sluggish as she got out of the bed. It was definitely no sales call. One of the benefits of being on the force was that you got private numbers that were never sold. She hated it when she fell asleep in the afternoon or early evening. It meant she always woke up feeling terrible. “I shouldn’t have gone to sleep.”

  “Don’t blame you,” Dylan said. “You worked hard today.”

  “You didn’t exactly help that.” She smiled at him briefly, before picking up her phone, now no longer vibrating. Three missed calls.

  “Fuck, I left my radio in the car.”

  “Plainclothes carry radios?”

  “Sometimes.”

  “Who’s been calling?”

  Sasha flashed him an irritated look. “Who the hell do you think? The station!”

  “Oh.”

  Punching in the non-emergency number to the station, she put the small phone against her ear. Goosebumps pricked up all over her skin as she shivered, standing directly beneath the air-conditioning vents. Dylan was at her side with a bathrobe, and he draped it over her shoulders.

  “This is D.I. Monroe,” she said.

  “Hold on, Ma’am,” the young man on the other end. “Transferring you to Superintendent O’Neill.”

  Sasha looked at Dylan, mouthed the word ‘fuck’ at him. Obviously the phone-jockey had received particular instructions.

  Dylan grinned back.

  “Superinten-”

  “Monroe, where the hell have you been? You missed check-in!”

  “Sorry, Sir, it’s been one hell of a day. I’ll explain later.”

  “I was going to put someone out after you, you know! And you know damn well we don’t have the units to spare because you took a kip in your car.”

  The superintendent was in a mood, and Sasha knew better than to argue back. “I’m sorry, sir. It won’t happen again.”

  “Well, fine. But hurry up and get down here.”

  “Why?” she asked. “What’s happened?”

  “Couple of uniforms from grid two picked up your man. Tall, dark t-shirt, black hair, solidly built?”

  Sasha looked at Dylan, one eyebrow raised. “They did?”

  “Yes. They radioed in that he fessed up, too.”

  “What?” Sasha shouted into the phone. “He confessed to what?” She glanced at Dylan to see that he was already on his feet, putting on his clothes.

  “One of the uniforms just said he confessed. Probably he asked the man.”

  “So why did they pick him up?”

  “He was trespassing.”

  Sasha almost laughed. That was exactly what she had planned to use to bring Dylan in. “Trespassing?”

  “He was climbing a fence into someone’s back garden.”

  “So, what, the officers just drove by?”

  “Yes. You’ll find this one good, Monroe. He was completely naked.”

  Sasha looked at Dylan and mouthed the word ‘naked’. She found it odd that he didn’t look surprised.

  “Is he at the station?”

  “No.”

  “No?”

  “He, uh” the Superintendent said, before stammering. He was obviously having difficulty with what he was about to say. “He got away.”

  Sasha balled a fist. “What? How?”

  “Took down both men, climbed out through the front seat, best we can tell. They’ll live, but it’s similar to Charlie Kinnear, from what I hear.”

  Sasha blinked, unable to speak for a moment. “What do you mean similar to Charlie?”

  “They’ve been scratched, or raked, something like that. Badly, too. Lots of blood.”

  “Concealed weapon?”

  “Monroe, I don’t fucking know if this prick had a gardening fork shoved up his shithole or not! Just get down here.”

  “I’ll be right down.”

  “He attacked police. Remember that, Monroe.”

  “Tell the boys not to hurt him too bad,” Sasha said. “I got questions for this son of a bitch.” But the superintendent hung up without replying. She knew all too well what happened to people who attacked police. She had to find him first, to find out why he killed Charlie Kinnear, or at least be the one to bring him in. This was her first case, and she wasn’t about to lose it to a couple of squaddies with big egos and itchy trigger fingers.

  Dylan had gathered all her clothing, and handed it to her. Though she might have felt the scraping brush of modesty at any other time, Sasha was too concerned with the developments to care.

  “A car picked up a man matching a description I gave for you earlier today,” she said.

  “You didn’t tell them you were with me?”

  “I missed check-in.”

  Dylan winced. “And now he’s gone?”

  “Yes.”

  “Took down a couple of guys, I take it?”

  “Yes.” She hastily buttoned up her shirt, hating that she was climbing back into sticky clothing. “And get this, Dylan. He was naked.”

  “Yes, you told me.”

  “So why do I find it funny,” she continued, doing up her buttons. “That you seem completely unsurprised by that little fact?”

  “I’m not-”

  She jammed a finger in his face, silencing him, her nostrils flaring. “You’re coming with, and you’ve got some fucking questions to answer!”

  She stormed out of the motel room, with Dylan in close step behind her. In similar fashion, she tore out of the car park, car tires complaining with a deafening screech.

  “Faster,” Dylan said, and Sasha turned sideways to glare at him.

  “Don’t,” she replied. She let her voice brandish an edge o
f anger. “We’re already over the limit, so don’t tell me to go faster.”

  “Look,” Dylan said, and he gestured with his hand for her to look at the road. “We need to get this guy.”

  “Why? Why is he so important to you? What aren’t you telling me? How did a naked man take out two armed police officers from the back of a fucking cruiser? Why did my boss just tell me their wounds were similar to Charlie Kinnear’s? You haven’t been straight with me from the beginning! Fuck, I can’t believe I fucked you.”

  A burning, seething rage was broiling in her blood, she had no outlet for it. “Did you have information that could have prevented this?” she asked.

  Dylan remained silent, staring ahead. She repeated her question, shouting it at him.

  “Yes.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me? Why is this guy so important that you’d protect him?”

  “Because!” Dylan shouted, and he banged his fist against the dashboard. “He knows what I am! I didn’t want anybody hurt! It’s not my fault he’s a psychopath. But he’s got answers, and at the moment, I don’t care about anything else.”

  “Really?” Sasha said. “So what if it had been me that picked him up later tonight? What if it were me?”

  “Fuck, Sasha.”

  “No, fuck you, Dylan. Two men are wounded bad, critical maybe, and all because you stayed silent. Now tell me, what is this guy’s deal?”

  “I told you,” Dylan said. “He knows what I am.”

  “What are you talking about? Your condition?” Sasha spat, exasperation creasing her face. “You lied to me, Dylan.”

  “I didn’t lie.”

  “So, what, this person with a rare blood thing just so happens to be a violent murderer?”

  “Yes!” Dylan cried.

  “You’re holding out. I want the truth.”

  He sighed. “I’m not normal.”

  “What do you mean?”

  He sighed. A great big heave of a sigh, and Sasha looked to her side for a moment to see that he was pinching the bridge of his sharp nose, rubbing it slowly.