Romance: My Bear Boss: BBW Paranormal Shapeshifter Romance (BBW Shifter Romance, Paranormal Shifter Romance)

by Ashley Hunter

There was an honest joy in his heart, knowing full well that he was the only one capable of bringing out such sounds from her, the only one she was allowing to do so. He was making her feel good, and that brought him happiness.

  Soon, one of her hands found his hair, gripping tight at the roots as she bucked her hips against his mouth, riding the sensations his tongue pressed against her.

  She was getting close, judging by how hard she was breathing and her moans were climbing. She was almost ready for him, even if she was soaking wet now, but he wanted to bring her to this peak first, before she was ready to climb the next.

  His hardness was straining almost painfully hard against his pants and the sacks beneath were feeling tighter and tighter, but Leo remained dutiful, knowing full well she needed this first.

  So he lapped, paying special attention to the nub at her peak before falling back to her entrance and teasing her cavern with gentle prodding. A few licks and Ingrid was suddenly coming and coming hard.

  Her body tightened up, her mouth letting out a high-pitched squeal that faded into silence. Her juices invaded his mouth and Leo felt completed, and he felt tempted to continue pressing his tongue against her, but when he did Ingrid was begging him to stop.

  “Please, please, just…” She pleaded, twitching.

  “I want you.”

  “I want you too.” He said before pushing himself up and pulling his trousers down.

  He lined himself up to her entrance, stroking himself a few time to get himself going when he noticed her staring down at him.

  When she looked back up at him, she looked nervous, but Leo smiled and pressed a kiss to her lips.

  “We’ll take it slow.”

  And slow he did. Carefully he pressed against her and pushed her legs apart with his hands, and he nearly came apart when she suddenly reached up and forced him down.

  Ingrid pushed him down hard against her hips, practically impaling herself with his member.

  “Ingrid, what—?” Leo began, alarmed.

  Instead, she was shaking her head and breathing hard against his lips.

  “It’s okay,” she insisted.

  “I wanted it… it doesn’t hurt.”

  “Are you kidding me?” He asked, voice tight as he felt her clench around him—it felt amazing.

  Ingrid nodded, yet her eyebrows were furrowed tightly.

  “Please move, Leo.” Ingrid breathed before blinking up dark brown eyes at him, heavy with lust and desire and laced with something he could feel in his heart.

  Nodding slowly, he proceeded the last few inches of himself, pushing out before sliding back in short thrusts. The rhythm was gentle and good for Ingrid but was doing nothing for his crumbling self-restraint. He wanted nothing more than to pound hard against her and make her scream, but he knew that wouldn’t happen right now.

  Suddenly, Ingrid bucked up, meeting his thrusts and enveloping him deeper inside of her.

  The sensation made them both let out a cry in unison, equally surprised and delighted in the sensation.

  “Are you okay?” He asked, barely holding it together.

  “Yes, yes…” Ingrid said.

  “Please go faster…”

  Leo obliged, pumping against her at a quicker pace and nearly losing himself to her body. Her fingers dragged over every inch of his skin, and as he ducked his head down to lick against her nipples, their hips collided in tandem together.

  Soon, Ingrid was begging for hard, faster, deeper and Leo could do nothing but meet her requests with growingly hard pumps that had his flesh slap against hers.

  The bed beneath them began to bounce along to their rhythm, and the cacophony of gasps and moans became the only music loud enough to deafen them both.

  Leo pumped against her, feeling phenomenal with every little gasp she made and whenever he groaned out her name, she only clenched tighter making him groan that much hard and driving them down a delicious spiral of sensations that were leaving them reaching a delicious peak.

  Leo shifted, slinging her legs high over his shoulders as his hands gripped to her thighs and the new angle provided a deeper penetration that had Ingrid’s moans shift into screams.

  He loved every second of it, just as much as he loved every inch of her.

  “Leo, Leo—LEO!” Ingrid shrieked, bouncing hard against him even as she dug her fingers hard into his skin.

  “Ingrid,” Leo grunted back, and when he could feel her begin to tremble hard against him he couldn’t hold back anymore and ducked his head down to her neck.

  His lips sealed over a particular spot before he bit down and Ingrid was letting out a moan so rich and delicious, it sent him straight over the edge.

  He exploded, releasing every inch of himself deep into this woman who had captured his heart and soul that fateful night they met. Still, they writhed together and he felt her clamp down on his member, making him see stars behind his eyelids and rush waves upon waves of ecstasy through his skin.

  Finally, they reached the very end, and they both collapsed against each other in a disarray of bodies and sweat-slicked skin.

  Ages passed before either of them could move and when Leo managed to hoist himself over her, he was met by her smile and tears in her eyes.

  “Hey, why are you crying?” He asked, worried he may have hurt her.

  “Because, you idiot,” she remarked with a sniffle and a kiss. “I love you.”

  And if there was any moment Leo felt free it was in that moment, especially when he saw her grin back at him, that same cheeky grin he had given her nearly half a year ago when he repeated those same words back at her.

  “I love you too, my lioness.”

  ***

  Chosen By Her Bear

  Ashley Hunter

   Copyright 2015 by Ashley Hunter

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced

  in any way whatsoever, without written permission

  from the author, except in case of brief

  quotations embodied in critical reviews

  and articles.

  This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to any

  person, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  First edition, 2015

  I.

  Why oh why didn’t you, Ava Williams, look that boy in the eye, you stupid girl.

  I had to mentally chide myself every time after such an episode (one would think that I would get used to it by now, but no). What would be that librarian thinking about right now? Probably not me.

  For a bright few moments, he and I were the only two souls in the universe; that is until the stupid woman behind me suddenly decided that she was running late for her weekly Wednesday gym class or something. I would have argued had I not been myself in need of a gym class. Sigh.

  Anyway, this has been my problem as far back as I can remember. Not born with superhuman looks nor inclined to induce anorexia to get a body suitable for a Victoria’s Secret model, I was always on the heavier side and that is where problems started with my love life.

  Nonexistent as it is. I recently passed through college without as much as a boyfriend to my name. If my grandmother had to be believed, and it is extremely dubious that she is, it is your curves, honey.

  I can’t bring myself to tell my dear Grammy that it is 2015. But maybe she has a point. What do I know? I am 24 years old and without a lover. There are not many who can boast that. There are not many who would call it boasting.

  Ironically enough I have always been confident in my life, knowing what I wanted and who I wanted. It was going after who I wanted that was the difficult part.

  My curves always made it difficult to maneuver boys like other girls did, wrapping them up around their bony fingers. As for me, I have always been crippled with the fear that nobody would be interested in me, just because.

  In principle I knew that the world should be a judgment free zone and I should embrace who I am, but damned if the real world wo
rked like that. Everybody likes to dole out principles and paste them on their cars as bumper sticks; living them, that’s a whole different ball game.

  No matter what everybody said, which ranged from looks don’t matter to find someone who loves you for your mind, and not your body, I had never been able to get the confidence to move beyond a certain wall to reach a point where a guy actually fell for my brains.

  I know. So very Jane Austen.

  Anyhow, this is the sum of it: I am a 24 year old graduate (think of Dustin Hoffman, only female and thirty pounds heavier. OK, don’t think of Dustin Hoffman), no men in sight and the weight of loneliness on my still young shoulders, pressing me down.

  Couldn’t a knight in shining armor come along? I shouldn’t think like that. Women don’t need knights anymore. But I need a relationship. No, not need. I want a relationship. Is it too much to ask? Does pining for it make me a villain for my gender? Where’s my John Wayne or Humphrey Bogart? Hell, where’s my Raylan Givens?

  Maybe I should not be thinking about fictional characters.

  Reality is stranger than fiction and I had always lived by that rule. But nothing in my life had happened that proved this axiom. That didn’t stop me from believing in it, but I had to agree that the strength of my conviction was waning, as is if often the case when you keep waiting for moments that never come.

  What happened in the next few weeks is beyond strange. I should never have doubted it.

  This is the story of what happened.

  II.

  The Beginning

  It was a dark and rainy night. It really was, I am not stating a cliché of noirs. Thor must be having one hell of a party.

  I had been held back at my office due to a sudden crisis in the Middle East. I worked for a political think tank and due to the uncertain global condition; our work hours usually didn’t limit themselves to Pacific Standard Time.

  I had my umbrella open but it wasn’t doing much good. The rain seemed to be coming in from all four directions; the wind sure wasn’t helping. There were no taxis to be found and it wasn’t a surprise.

  Who would be willing to risk driving in weather like this? I kept on walking, the cold biting my skin like a sharp teethed animal. The thought of finally reaching home, in my warm cozy bed was all that kept me going. If only I had somebody to cozy up to. Hmmm. Wouldn’t that be nice?

  I mentally shook myself. This wasn’t the time or the place to think about such thing; though I couldn’t help but playback the lyrics of the famous song in me: Let me kiss you hard in the pouring rain. Truer words had rarely been said.

  Maybe this was the reason or maybe it was the water pummeling the leaves of the trees and the streets and the buildings that I didn’t hear anything whistle by near me.

  If it had been a quite night, I surely would have noticed something. But this being the night that it was, I didn’t feel someone walk up behind me. I didn’t feel when they pressed a cloth over my face, the smell reminding me of hospital rooms and oddly, bars.

  My scream was muffled by the cloth over my mouth and the strong hand that was wielding it. Had I been able to scream properly, I doubt my voice would have carried over more than five feet, given the extraordinary din that was being created.

  Soon I was oblivious to the noise around me, the water falling from the sky, the cobblestone giving off that strong smell it always does after being washed. Soon, I was engulfed by darkness.

  The Awakening

  It had to be a dark room.

  My eyes opened and at first nothing seemed to make sense. One moment I was wet and walking down the street, the next I am kidnapped and wake up in a dark room. This is right out of a Saw movie. I was shaking. It was weird. I didn’t remember giving my brain the message to quake my body.

  Then the reality dawned on me: I was scared out of my mind. I wasn’t just shaking; I was trembling. Despite the cold rain falling outside, the deafening thunder still pounding away in the heavens, I could hear my heart beating, no thumping, against my chest.

  It was a wonder my ribcage was holding its shit together and not letting my heart pop out. There was a storm of questions in my mind, not least of which was: will I live to see the light of the day? Will I see the light of the day? Who kidnapped me? Why? Where am I?

  I was still trying to figure out the answers to this question that I tried to stand up and immediately I realized that my feet were tied to the bed post.

  I tried my best to get free, without making any sound, but my efforts rang loud and clear. I stopped, so that I could hear if someone was coming and sure enough there were heavy footsteps outside. I immediately lay down on my back.

  The door opened and a sliver of light entered the room. A man carrying a candle stick entered the room. He was holding the candle in such a way that his face was lit up in one of those Hitchcockian thrillers.

  “You are up,” he said. It was not a question.

  I was too scared to say anything. His face didn’t look too frightening, for a kidnapper. If I had to be honest, it was quite attractive, that face. I mentally punched myself: too early to develop Stockholm syndrome!

  “Sorry about the light. It’s the rain,” he said.

  Why was this fella apologizing to me? I didn’t complain about the dark. If I knew my getting kidnapped rules, the kidnapee didn’t have much choice in what happened. So, I remained silent.

  “For a minute I was afraid that the chloroform was too strong,” he said and just as he finished the sentence, light sprang back up, throwing everything in sharp clarity.

  I shielded my eyes; going from immense dark to sudden light wasn’t a picnic. After a few moments, as my eyes adjusted to the light, I opened them slowly. The room was plainly decorated, rather drab. There was a window (so I was going to see the light after all) and another door which presumably led to the bathroom.

  Then my eyes focused on my captor and I gasped. He was the hottest guy I had ever seen. He was tall, muscular and his eyes were a color I had not seen before. What to call this color: bottle green?

  He was wearing jeans which looked as if it was sewn onto him (like the rumor that got around for that Marilyn Monroe dress….Happy Birthday, Mr. Presiiiiident). He didn’t look like a kidnapper but he sure was one. What are the chances of getting kidnapped by this guy?

  As my mind tried to register the whole situation, he moved closer to the bed and I instinctively recoiled. Hot or not, this man was a creepy kidnapper and there was no happy ending to that story.

  He took a knife out of his pocket and my heart skipped a beat. This was it. I wasn’t going to see the sun. Then, with a single stroke, he cut loose the rope that was tied to my leg and the bedpost. I immediately drew my legs inward.

  “Sorry, I had to tie you up,” he said and he genuinely looked sorry. It was all very confusing. “I didn’t know how you would react and I couldn’t take the risk.”

  “Where am I?” I said in a trembling voice.

  “I will tell you everything,” he said, his eyes avoiding mine. “But you must be hungry. Come down. I have set the table. We will eat and talk.”

  He said this and left the room, closing the door. This was definitely strange. Why was the stranger, no scratch that, kidnapper, being so nice and all? Was this to lull me in some false sense of security and get a jump on me? Nothing was making sense but I knew one thing was sure: I was hungry as hell.

  He sat across from me on the long dinner table which made it very awkward. I could not help but think of the scene from Beauty and the Beast when Belle had dinner with the beastly prince.

  Well, this guy sure ain’t no beast. The food was pretty good and ample. At first I restrained myself, not knowing what was going on but when he started eating, so did I.

  The food was eaten in silence. Towards the end, he broke it.

  “My name is Damien,” he said, in a way that suggested that he was going to tell a long story. That was fine by me: I wanted answers and quickly.

  “I am Ava,”
I said.

  “I know,” he said simply.

  “How?” I asked quickly.

  “Wait and I will answer all your questions,” he said, in a calm voice, one that somebody uses while trying to explain to a kid why his favorite cartoon cannot be played on the TV all day.

  “I belong to the House of Knightrunners. My father is advisor to the king ---“

  “What king?” I interrupted him. “This country has no king.”

  Damien smiled; heart, beat, skipped.

  “You wouldn’t know the king I am talking about. Let me finish.”

  I decided to zip my mouth.

  “So,” Damien said, getting up and pacing the cavernous hall. “Our realm is the Greenworld, ruled by King Jacob. There was a prophecy, about 30 years ago, a few years before I was born and when Jacob was a boy and his father ruled the Greenworld. The prophecy concerned the future bear king ---“

  “The what?” I couldn’t help myself. Did he say bear king?

  Damien stopped in his tracks. “Yeah. Did I not mention that earlier? We are half bears. We can turn into bears.”

  My jaw hit the floor. I was too stunned to say anything. Surely this fella was out of it.

  “You’re crazy,” I said weakly. My mind was trying to wrap itself with what he was saying.

  “It might sound crazy,” he began. “But please let me finish and I will prove everything to you.”

  I once again quieted myself.

  “So, where was I? Yeah, the prophecy. My father, who was advisor to the last king, was there when the prophecy was made. It said that the future bear king can save this clan from this curse of shape shifting by one thing and one thing only.”

  He paused and he was now positively avoiding my eyes.

  “He has to impregnate a virgin with a pure soul. The virgin should not have seen 25 cycles of her life,” and when he said this, his eyes finally looked into mine and my heart was racing faster than ever. “You fulfill the criteria. You are a virgin and you are---“