Dancing Bearback (BBW Shifter Cowboy Western Romance) (Bear Ranchers Book 3)

by Becca Fanning

  His arms wrapped around me, pulling my body against his.His massive prick slipped down between my thighs, my pussy lips spread over the shaft. His hands squeezed my ample ass as he thrust forward, maddeningly needing to come, to spill his seed.

  I pressed my arms against his chest to make space between us, but he was too strong, too crazed with lust. I needed him inside me, and if he spilled his side onto the rug at our feet, I didn’t know how long he’d need to recover. Too long for me to wait, that’s for sure.

  “Frantusa brezonti,” I said, as the wool blanket flew off the bed and wrapped around his wrists from behind, pulling them off me.

  His eyes went wild and he howled, a growl of rage and lust. He jerked his body forward, madly needing to nut. His arms strained at the bonds, but he couldn’t break them.

  I backed away from him, slowly. I turned around, looking over my shoulder back at him. I ran my hands down my body, his eyes following them. When they got to my ass I gave it a little shake, my bare sex already red and sore from riding his shaft.

  His cock throbbed visibly, a small glob of white cream erupting from the tip and falling downward.

  I smiled wickedly, pleased with what I saw. I walked over to his bed and got on all fours. My pussy lips spread apart with a wet smacking sound. I jerked my head to the side, ending the spell that held him in place.

  He exploded across the room, like he was launched from a cannon. With no tenderness, no compassion, he mounted me. Like he’d found a bitch in heat in the forest, he just took me. He pressed the bulbous glistening head of his cock against my tight opening.

  I bit my lip, my logical mind screaming that there was no way he would fit: he was too big. I held my breath, letting out a long grunting groan as my kegel muscles flexed then relaxed. They were done trying to put up a defense. This alpha male was going to have his way with me.

  As he began to slip inside me, he pressed into me harder, with more ferocity. As the head of his popped inside of me, his fingernails sharply dug into my hips. He was going to mate with me, make me his, as that’s what his animal mind demanded. To find a bitch, and fill her with his seed.

  I howled as he hammered home, driving himself inside me fully. The moment when he went balls deep, bottoming out inside me, felt amazing. It felt like there had been something missing my whole life before that moment. My clit cried out in ecstasy as his heavy ballsac swung forward and crashed into it. The dampness of my juices and his cum leaked down his shaft to coat his balls. His wet skin smacking roughly against my wet clit was sending me over the edge of another orgasm.

  His hand pushed down on my back hard, so I was laying prone on the bed. He pounded down into me, smashing me into the top of the poor four post bed. I was sure it would fly apart under us, shearing the nails out of the wood completely.

  He lay completely on top of me, covering every inch of my body with his. Filling every inch of my womb with his thick, hard cock. He kept ploughing me, working my tunnel relentlessly. He brought his mouth to my neck, his teeth grazing the muscle in my shoulder.

  That was what did it. I cried out, coming for the second time that night. My pussy spasmed again, this time milking the cock that was invading it. Pain shot through my neck as he bit down on my shoulder.

  I felt him release inside me. His massive cock, from tip to base, seemed to pulsate with a powerful tide. His balls flexed upwards against his taint, smearing my juice all along the back of my thighs. My womb was filled with his hot sticky seed. He collapsed onto the bed next to me, and I felt his seed pour out of me and onto the sheets we were laying on.

  I turned over, just breathing and relishing the afterglow. Hands down the best fuck of my life. My legs fell open, my sore used sex needing the cool air of the room.

  What a vacation this was shaping up to be…

  WEREWOLF NEXT DOOR TITLE PAGE

  Werewolf Next Door

  by

  Becca Fanning

  WEREWOLF NEXT DOOR

  “They just spilled chips all over the floor,” I said, walking into the kitchen.

  “It’s no big deal, Tina,” my mother said. She was over at the stove, continuously stirring the pot of Swedish meatballs. The savory sweet smell was intoxicating, and I remember fondly getting swatted with a wooden spoon when I’d go in for a taste. Mom wasn’t as fast with the spoon these days, so I’d definitely risk it.

  She looked fantastic. Her apron was spotless, her hair up in a bun. She enjoyed playing hostess, but this was a bit much. They’d moved into this new neighborhood just a few days ago. Yesterday my Dad walked in and said the neighbors had invited themselves over for a housewarming party. It had taken us all by surprised, so we had to whip together this party in the midst of unpacking.

  I’d just enrolled at the university nearby, and classes would begin in a week. I’d hoped to spend that week adjusting to the new place, getting some nice long lazy days of napping in. But no, we had to go meet-n-greet with the two families adjacent to us.

  One family was the Connors. Maggie and Jason Connor, parents of thirteen year old Conrad. He was a rude little shit, his first words on walking into the house was how it was smaller than his. His parents looked pretty embarrassed, but hell, they raised him.

  The doorbell rang.

  “I’ll get it,” I said.

  “Must be Mr. Hoover,” my mother said.

  Mr. Hoover owned the house on the other side. Dad said he was single, and Mom and I had gossiped on whether we thought he was gay or not. Not too many single men in their fifties owning homes in this suburb. Not unless they were “perpetual bachelors.”

  I pulled the door open and my breath caught in my throat. Mr. Hoover was standing there on our stoop, and I was enjoying the view! He was solid, built like a younger man. He had a gray streak at the temples that cut through his raven black hair. His green eyes met mine.

  “Hi,” I managed.

  “You must be Tina,” he said, his teeth flashing in a perfect white smile.

  “Y-yes,” I said, trying to get a hold of myself.

  “Have I done something wrong?” he said.

  “No, of course not,” I said.

  “Then this is the part where you invite me in,” he said. I watched his eyes roll down my body. They took in my curvy body, spending a scandalous amount of time at my breasts and ass.

  “Hey,” I said. “My eyes are up here.”

  “So they are,” he said, his grin getting wider as he met my eyes again. “Give this to your mother,” he said as he handed me a covered glass dish. “And be a doll and bring me a beer,” he said as he walked past me into the living room. The football game was on, Mr. Connor and my Dad already hooting it up and spilling snacks.

  Flustered, I shut the door and walked into the kitchen. I found my mother peaking into the living room.

  “Mr. Hoover, oh my,” she said to the pot of meatballs. She straightened her apron absently.

  “You’re incorrigible,” I said, leaning in close to her.

  “I love your father, and I love looking at other men on occasion,” she said, smiling impishly.

  “Eww,” I said. “Don’t even joke,”

  “What’s that?” she said, gesturing at the glass dish in my hand.

  “Let’s find out,” I said. I pulled the tinfoil back and below was a delicious looking couscous salad. I could smell the lemon and garlic, and my mouth was watering. “He probably bought it from the store.”

  “That’s not generous, Tina,” my mother said.

  “He’s a handsome jerk. No way is he a good enough cook to make this,” I said.

  I heard a quiet cough behind me. I turned to see Mr. Hoover standing in the doorway of the kitchen.

  “Is this where the beers are?” he said, pointing at the refrigerator. He was grinning that grin again.

  I spun around to hide my blushing face.

  “Hi, I’m Karen,” my mother said, smiling and offering her hand to Mr. Hoover.

  “Delighted,” he sai
d, kissing her hand. “My name is Richard.”

  My mother giggled and nodded at the fridge. “Second shelf,” she said, turning back to the meatballs.

  Beer in hand, he went back into the living room.

  Arms crossed, I glared at my mother.

  “What?” she said, feigning innocence.

  “Oh, nothing,” I said. I could be passive aggressive with the best of them.

  “Babe, them nachos done?” my Dad shouted from the living room.

  “Coming right up,” she said, pulling a cookie sheet piled high with nachos out of the oven. The cheese had gone all gooey and wonderful. She popped open a can of jalapeños and sprinkled a few on top, along with some black olives. “Take this into the living room, dear. And try to remember that these are our new neighbors. Be nice,” she said.

  “I am nice!” I said, picking up the tray and walking into the living room.

  “Then be nicer,” my mom said behind me.

  I walked down the hallway with the tray of nachos, passing by the bathroom right as Maggie Connor was exiting. We collided, and for a brief moment the whole tray of nachos was vertical and about to make the biggest mess in our brand new house. By some miracle, I caught it and didn’t spill a single chip.

  “Great catch,” she said, casually walking into the kitchen as if nothing happened.

  I shook my head and walked into the living room. The three men sitting around the massive television all cheered as someone scored.

  My dad was so proud when this TV got delivered the other day. My mom had thrown a conniption fit, until my dad reminded her that she got to pick the house. She didn’t have much of a response to that, and had no choice but to watch the eighty inch monster get bolted to the wall.

  Right now my dad was besides himself with happiness. He had a huge TV, new friends and cold beer. For the next few hours it would be solid high fives and beer farts. He was in his element.

  I put the large tray of nachos down on the coffee table between them. Mr. Connor and my dad descended on the tray like a pack of starving hyenas.

  “Relax,” Mr. Hoover said, quietly to me.

  “What?” I said, still annoyed at him and even more on edge since almost dumping the nachos.

  “Your heart rate is elevated, your cheeks are flush,” he said, taking a sip of his beer. He wasn’t even looking at me, that’s how cool he wanted to seem.

  “What are you, a doctor?” I said, hitting the ball back into his court.

  “I guess I do have a PhD in Propulsion Physics,” he said casually.

  “Consider yourself lucky, Tina,” Mr Connor said. “Richard went a whole twenty minutes before mentioning that he’s a rocket scientist.”

  Mr. Hoover gave an innocent shrug and sipped on his beer again.

  I sighed and walked back into the kitchen.

  My mom and Maggie were talking quietly, like little conspirators. They saw me and went silent.

  “What are you two chatting about?” I said.

  “Oh, nothing dear,” my mother said.

  Maggie stifled a laugh and leered over my shoulder back into the living room. Her wine glass sloshed her merlot as she made little circular motions with her hand. “Youth is wasted on the young,” she mumbled.

  “Where’s Conrad?” I said, wanting to change the subject.

  Maggie shrugged. You’d think she would be more concerned about the whereabouts of her only child, but right now it seemed she had one thing on her wine-addled mind: Mr. Hoover.

  “Your father set up a game system for him in the basement,” my mother said, pouring herself another glass of wine. “Would you go check on him?”

  “Happily,” I said. I wasn’t really happy about it, but it was better than hanging around a pair of old horny hens. Before leaving I scooped a spoonful of Mr. Hoover’s couscous dish.

  It was magnificent. Damnit. It was so good it made me mad. I tried to convince myself that he bought it at a store, but the depth of flavors betrayed a serious culinary knowledge. Mr. Fucking Rocket Scientist, excuse me, Dr. Fucking Rocket Scientist also knows his way around the kitchen. Why did he have to be such an old asshole? Sometimes life isn’t fair.

  I stepped down into the basement, floor to ceiling shelving on both sides as I descended. It was an older style, probably right after the Great Depression, when it was important to stockpile years of canned foods. The basement was going to get a major renovation, but that was far down on the to-do list. For now Dad had enough on his plate with my school and the new mortgage.

  “Conrad?” I said, reaching the bottom of the stairs. The walls were a dim brown, wallpapered in a distinct 70’s design. Say one thing about our new house: it had a 70’s mindset. I walked into the main area of the basement, boxes stacked everywhere.

  On top of a box was a small flat screen TV. It was making a familiar noise, the music from a video game I used to enjoy when I was younger. It was probably older than Conrad, now that I thought about it. I came around the stack of boxes and saw the system on the floor, the controller laying unattended on the ground.

  “Conrad?” I said, sighing. The game brought me back to my own childhood for a second, but the nostalgia passed and I turned the TV off. No surprise he wasn’t down here playing it: it was ancient to him. He probably had better games on his phone.

  But he had to be somewhere, and little boys were mischievous at the best of times. I ducked into an unfinished room in the basement. A cracked concrete floor was ice cold, and I pulled on the string attached to the bare lightbulb above. Hot white light filled the damp smelling room. No little neighbor boy in here.

  I tried to be logical about it, putting myself into Conrad’s shoes. Where would a thirteen year old boy be? I let out a little scream and bolted for the stairs. The little shit! The wooden stairs creaked under me as I vaulted up them as fast as my legs could carry.

  “Aha!” I said, gasping for breath in the doorway of my bedroom.

  “Uhh!” Conrad said, slamming a drawer of my dresser shut. A blue lace frill of my panties stuck out of the drawer like the most cliche evidence. His was bright red, obviously caught in the act. He spun around, hiding himself from me. Hiding a particular part of his body from me.

  I stalked into the room slowly. “What do you think you’re doing in here?” I said. I was enjoying this far too much. I was super pumped that I caught him in the act.

  “I was just,” he said, stammering.

  ”You just what?” I said, getting closer to him.

  “I was looking for the bathroom,” he said. His desperation was palpable.

  “Does this look like a bathroom to you?” I said.

  “No, but,” he said.

  “But nothing! You snuck in here, you little pervert,” I said. I walked over to my dresser, ran my finger over the part of my panties that stuck out of it. “Were these what you wanted? These turn you on?”

  “Eww, gross,” he said. His eyes followed my fingers, enchanted by what I was doing. He licked his lips.

  I opened the drawer and took my panties out. “Do you like the lace on these? Do they look sexy?” I said. I knew I was torturing him, teasing him, and I reveled in the power.

  He looked past me and ran out of my room, not saying another word.