The Lion's Surprise Baby

by Jade White

  After a while, they lay close together on the sofa, arms and legs entwined, taking each other’s mouth in an unending succession of kisses and stroking and kneading each other’s bottom. It was bliss in the wake of bliss.

  “We can stay like this for a while,” he told her. “When we’re getting close to Napa the pilot will tell us. Then we’ll have to get dressed and buckle up.”

  “Until then we can stay ‘buckled’ this way,” she grinned at him.

  “That’s the spirit,” said Brenton, and kissed her. “We’re not even getting started. We’re gonna be like one body, every day, all day long. I don’t want you to hold anything back from me, Tara. Not for a minute, not one time. I want you to love my body, just like you’ve been doing. Put your hands and your mouth and your tongue all over me. Lick me and suck me. Let me eat you out and get inside you for days and days. Never hold anything back.” And he pulled her into a searing kiss.

  “I won’t, Brenton,” Tara said, kissing him along his neck and shoulder. “Just be as wonderful as you are right now.”

  “I will,” he said, squeezing her bottom. “You make me feel like I can do it forever.”

  They lay that way for the rest of the flight. Pressed warmly against him, Tara saw in her mind the way it would be in the days before her. Brenton would make her feel as he said she made him feel—as if his soaring sex would go on forever.

  _______________

  The house was everything Brenton said it was, and more: a small estate, a “McMansion,” lying at the end of a long, wooded rural road in the Napa Valley wine country. Only minutes after they arrived in Brenton’s two-seat roadster, which he had left at the airport, a minivan from the market that Brenton had called pulled up to the front of the house as if on cue. They had obviously timed their arrival for Brenton’s plane’s landing and the time it would take him to reach the house. They were ready for him—not the same way that Tara was ready for him, but ready in the way they needed to be.

  Brenton let the market delivery people in and set them to the task of filling the refrigerator, pantry, and cabinets for the week, while he continued showing Tara the interior of the house, which looked like a spread from Architectural Digest. It was filled with the best of everything, even when Brenton, who was himself the best, was not present. He took her to the far side of the spacious living room, where the entire wall was glass and had a sliding door, looking out on the back of the property, and stood behind her and folded her up in his arms. Tara was treated to a view of marble decks and an expanse of green grass, with sumptuous looking furnishings.

  “Over there,” he pointed to a place where deck furniture and a diving board were visible, “is the pool area, where I’ll screw you in the sunshine after we have a swim. And over there,” he pointed to another, raised place that was done in stained wood, “is the hot tub, where we’ll sit and soak some nights between screwing times. And you can see the lawn, where there’s a lot of space to roll around in and I’ll screw you in the grass.”

  Leaning back against him, Tara felt the power and passion coiled up in his muscles, waiting to be released at a moment’s notice. “You have it all planned out, don’t you?” she said.

  “Damn right I do,” Brenton said, kissing her neck. “Don’t expect to wear a lot of clothes for the next week; you won’t need ‘em for what I’ve got in store.”

  Tara did not respond. She only sighed, her body humming inside.

  A voice came from behind them: “Mr. Morgan, we’re all done unpacking.”

  Brenton released Tara and they both turned and faced the two delivery men. “Thanks, guys,” he said. “You don’t mind seeing yourselves out.”

  “No, sir,” said the young man who spoke. “Thanks, as usual.”

  “You bet. Thanks,” replied Brenton.

  The second they heard the door close behind the grocery workers, Brenton grabbed Tara into a sizzling kiss. “Upstairs,” he said. “Bed. Now.”

  He led her to the stairwell and they ran eagerly to the upper floor.

  _______________

  As Tara could well have predicted, Brenton’s master bedroom suite was as luxurious as his suite at the hotel, if not more so. The most she saw of it for hours, however, was the ceiling—eclipsed by his model-perfect face and straw-blonde locks looming over her in various expressions of lust, ecstasy, and orgasm.

  That, or his mighty pillar descending upon her as he straddled her and fed it to her along with the pouch of succulence behind it. Tara did as he had asked her aboard the jet, and let his body and his loins become her world, a world to which she was ever more thrilled to belong.

  They left the bedroom twice, to prepare meals. It was only hunger for something besides each other’s body and privates that got them up. Tara donned only Brenton’s pullover shirt, which Brenton found so sexy that it was all he could do to stop himself from grabbing her, wrestling her back onto the bed, and shagging her until they both passed out.

  Brenton remained nude, having no use for clothes when it was only the two of them, and treated Tara to the sight of him preparing first a late lunch, and later dinner, stark naked in his five-star kitchen with the polished marble island counter in the center. He wickedly promised her that he would put her on top of that counter and give her a wicked drilling, and also give her a deep and nasty pumping against the stainless steel refrigerator; but they would have to look forward to that. For now, he wanted her upstairs in his bed and bath. Tara was ready for him wherever he wanted her.

  They took their late lunch, and later dinner, in bed, and between lunch and dinner they were each other’s dessert. They devoured each other in bouts of oral sex and Brenton topped her for an energetic shagging. After dinner, as night fell, they lit candles in the suite and laid out pillows and quilts next to the fireplace, where Brenton built a roaring fire. Then he slipped under the quilts with her and while the logs burned beside them and lit them with a dancing glow, he slid his own log into Tara’s wet, pink chute and filled her with his whitewater rapids. After this they fell asleep by the light of fire and candles in their own glow of satisfaction.

  Sometime in the night Brenton stirred awake. He looked over at Tara sleeping beside him with the most contented expression, and wondered if perhaps she might be dreaming of him. After last night and this day, he thought, her sleeping mind ought to be as filled with his body and his sex as her waking hours had been. The wood surged between his legs again and he thought, Damn, I want to wake her up and bang her senseless. And he would have done exactly that—if another urge had not taken him over at that moment.

  Brenton leaned over and kissed Tara’s forehead, the softest kiss in the world, careful not to wake her. She mustn’t awake yet. She might find him missing and come looking for him, and she mustn’t find him during what he needed to do at this moment.

  Carefully, he slipped out from the quilts and left Tara sleeping there. Again, not bothering with clothing, he padded his way out of the bedroom and downstairs to the glass door letting out onto the deck and into the backyard. The deck lights had come on automatically and lit both his way and the sensuous movements of his muscled frame, even as with every advancing step his body transformed.

  He started out walking on two legs and by the time he reached the edge of the deck by the grass, he was walking on four. His entire body morphed from biped to quadruped. Fine, tan fur broke out all over his muscled flesh. He grew a tail. Hands and feet turned to mighty paws. His long, golden brown locks grew many times longer and filled out into a full, thick mane. His head, face, and ears morphed from man to big, predatory cat. What had left the bed suite was a man. What stepped out onto the grass was a lion.

  Brenton in lion form purred at the feeling of the grass under his massive paws and the night air on his tawny fur. He stalked across the cats like the “king of the beasts” he was, showing huge fangs in the parted jaws of his lion snout. He walked to the center of the yard and sat himself down on his hind quarters, and peered up at the star-stre
wn carpet of the night sky, appreciating the splendor of the Milky Way presiding over the spread of thousands of points of light that glinted and twinkled in his lion eyes.

  He enjoyed his times in this, his other body, and they were necessary. His dual physical nature required times of releasing his human body to this one. Becoming a lion for part of the time was as necessary to his well-being as abundant sex. As much as he needed food and air and water, Brenton needed to feel himself penetrating a female, and he had done plenty of penetrating since he was fifteen, first with females of his own kind, but soon developing a taste for human sex.

  For years he had moved back and forth from female werelions to female humans, from one bed to another, from his own bed to others’. Sex embodied his very being, and in countless times with dozens of partners he had never had a bad lay. But then he had also never had a lay with any other female quite like his times with the one now sleeping by his bedroom hearth. When he first spotted Tara Phillips, he somehow knew he was going to find her an especially delightful bedmate, but even he was unprepared for how good his human body and hers were together.

  He would be sad, very sad, at the end of this week when they had to say goodbye. But in the meantime, he would give her the full measure of his relentless and insatiable sex drive and make her even happier than her late husband did before releasing her back to her own human world.

  Emitting low growls into the night, Brenton fell to one side onto the grass and rolled about as he wanted to do with Tara, twitching and kicking, enjoying the full pleasure of being a lion and the mighty power in his lion body. He filled the nostrils of his lion snout with the smell of the grass and the night air, and let the side of his nature that was in every way a wild, predatory animal take over. The only vestige of his man self now was the thought of the woman he had left sleeping in the house, the things they had done to each other, and the things they would yet do for days to come.

  And he growled and snuffled and kicked and tossed, reveling in the beast that he was now and the beast he would be when he put his human body down on top of Tara Phillips again. Just wait, Tara. You think I’ve been a f…ing animal so far? Just wait ‘til I get back between your legs…

  A little later, a human Brenton returned to the master suite and found Tara stirring awake. She reached dreamily for him and snapped to alertness when her reaching hand found nothing but quilt beside her. She reared up, searching for him, and found him standing proudly naked with a growing erection just a few steps away. “Brenton?” she whispered. “Are you okay?”

  He took his hard-on in one hand and shook it at her. “Lie back down and see for yourself,” he said. Smiling in the candlelight, Tara settled back onto her pillow and reached a hand up for him as he stepped over to her. He slipped back between the quilts, kissed the hand that he offered her, then gathered her up into a tight embrace and a deeper kiss.

  “I want you, Tara,” he whispered back to her. “I want you, all of you.” He kissed her again. “Damn, I want you.”

  “I want you, Brenton,” she replied, submitting to him.

  Brenton wrestled Tara onto her back and put the log that he’d brandished a moment ago deep inside her again. She sighed loudly at the penetration and received his urgent, animal humping once more. And on they went into the night.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  One morning, Felicia Mackey received a most startling text message on her phone.

  Felicia was sitting down to breakfast at her apartment in Chicago when the message came. She was pleased to see that the message was from her friend and business partner, Tara Phillips. An African-American woman with straightened hair and a smiling personality, Felicia had been Tara’s primary support system through the bereavement and grieving.

  She had understood when Tara wanted to take an extended time-out. Not only had she not resented it and not felt as if she were being left “holding the bag,” but she had risen to the challenge of keeping the business going while Tara was gone; risen to it and welcomed it. Granted, it was not at all easy running a travel agency in these times when people could more easily book their passage and accommodations online.

  But Tara and Felicia had persevered and made a go of it by becoming experts in specialty packages like their popular ecology tours. Tara had made a point of sending E-mails, photos, and selfies of everything she’d done and every place she’d seen at every leg of her journey, and Felicia had enjoyed both running the business on her own and living Tara’s long trip abroad vicariously with her.

  All the same, she was excited about having her partner back and returning to business as normal. She had been planning to give Tara a welcome-home lunch when she got back into town, and looking forward to having a long girl-to-girl sit-down to talk about everything that went on in the places Tara had been, and everything that had been happening at home.

  Which was why the content of Tara’s message had so startled her: Sudden change of itinerary. Everything’s fine, just not coming back till next week. Spending this week in Napa instead of home. Tell you more later, he’ll be waking up soon.

  The plan had been for Tara to come home today. Felicia was going to pick her up from the airport and help Tara get back to her own place, and Tara was going to spend this week settling back in and return to work next week. It was not only the abrupt change in plan that made Felicia’s mouth drop open, flabbergasted. It was of course the last line of that message: Tell you more later; he’ll be waking up soon.

  Felicia’s eyes bulged as much as her mouth hung open. After a moment of just staring at her phone while her breakfast got cold, Felicia blurted out, almost cackling from the implication of it, “Girl, you are not…!”

  _______________

  But of course Tara was. And so was Brenton. Oh, was he ever—constantly.

  This last part of Tara’s long sojourn away from home was proving by the day to be the least restful—wonderfully and erotically so. Brenton made good on his word and then some. He wore no clothing and kept her wearing none or very little. He was a kissing, groping, humping, pumping mass of pure, raw sex. He had her everywhere, all the time. And Tara was as totally amazed as she was elated.

  While she wondered how it was even possible for such a man to exist, she shoved the question aside every time he moved her down onto her back, or turned her on her side to lie with her like spoons and enter her from behind, or put her on top of him for a deliciously bumpy ride, or backed her up against something for a hot bout while standing up, or sat down in a chair with his pole pointing straight up and had her bring herself down onto it.

  She began to measure time as the interval from one orgasm to the next. He truly never quit, and Tara took her ultimate delight in knowing he never would.

  The days and nights wore on that way in sexual abandon, each day burning off more time until the inevitable Sunday afternoon when Tara would have to leave this place where she had found such happiness—and leave him. It was the beginning of Thursday night when they cuddled together in the hot tub, watching the last of the sunlight recede in pinks and violets over the horizon. Brenton sat behind Tara in the perfectly warmed, churning water, and spooned her breasts and fondled her down below, his maleness pulsing as hot as the water at the small of Tara’s back. At the thought of one more day going away, Tara sighed, “Oh, Brenton…”

  “What is it, sweetheart?” he asked solicitously, licking and nuzzling at her ear.

  “Tomorrow is Friday,” she said.

  “Yeah,” he said, sucking her earlobe. “Thank God it’s Friday.”

  “Ordinarily I would think that,” she said. “But…”

  “But what?”

  “It’s the start of the weekend. And you know what happens Sunday.”

  “I know what’s gonna happen every day as long as you’re here,” he said, sticking his tongue in her ear to suggest what he’d be sticking someplace else.

  “But after Sunday I won’t be here, Brenton. I’ll have to go.”

  He turned her aro
und to face him, putting her thighs across his lap and his arms around her shoulder. “Don’t think about that,” he said, and kissed her lips.

  Tara fondled the big, muscle plates of his chest and kissed him back. “We have to think about that,” she said. “In a few days this is going to be over.”

  “It’s not over yet,” Brenton said, “and we’ll make the most of it. Baby, I’m gonna sex you so much more these next few days. Just think about that.”

  “Oh, Brenton,” she said, “you’ve been something I thought I’d never have. This has been something I thought I’d never do. I never saw myself just letting myself be picked up in a cafe, spending the night with a man, and then changing all my plans to run off with him to a place like this and let him have sex with me morning, noon, and night. It’s not as if I’ve lived like a nun, but I’ve never done anything like this.”

  “Then it was high time you did,” he said, “and I’m glad I got to be the one you did it with—and the one who did it all to you. And I’m not finished with you yet.” He kissed her hard to drive home the point.