Hollywood Bear: BBW Bear Shifter Paranormal Romance

by Chant, Zoe

  She drew in a breath—and watched avidly as his hot blue gaze flicked to her breasts, outlined in sodden cloth. Maybe it was the fire’s reflection, but his eyes seemed to glimmer a rich golden brown as he gestured toward the trunk. “This place is used by forest service guys. There should be something dry in that trunk. If you’d like to change.”

  “No bathroom,” she pointed out.

  “I’ll turn my back,” he said, and did.

  She huffed a laugh at his gallantry, then froze as he unbuttoned his shirt and slung it onto the table. She stood there, mesmerized by the breadth of his shoulders, the smooth muscles that tapered down toward his hips. Her fingers flexed with the desire to run her hands over his back, to turn him around and feel his chest . . .

  Ever since Dominic the Dunce, she’d been wary about getting too close to anyone. Dates were fine, but she now had a firm rule: always get out before morning.

  Keep it simple.

  This was still like a dream, but so far a good one. Those kisses made it plain that he was as hot as she was. Already she was more turned on than she’d been after hours of foreplay with Dominic or anyone else.

  And this situation was as simple as it could get: they were alone, no strings, no nothing.

  She turned toward the trunk, and grimaced. Her freezing jeans were already starting to chafe her thighs. She bent to lift the lid.

  Whew! Clearly this place was used as a man cave. The flannel shirt on top stank of sweat and cigarettes. She shoved it aside, holding her breath. A pair of pants lay under, even smellier. Then some liquor, a carton of cigarettes, half a package of hand wipes, and two bags of neon-orange crunchy somethings with a sale-date that had passed six months before.

  And under those, a pack of condoms. She smothered a snicker.

  “Find something funny in there?”

  “Condoms,” she said. And then, quickly, “It’s funny because there’s no sign of a bed in here.”

  “Instant invitation to bedbugs,” he replied, laughter roughening his voice. “The guys bring sleeping bags if they don’t have campers.”

  “Oh. Of course.” So this stuff was emergency rations, guy-style. “My guess is, these clothes haven’t been anywhere near a laundry since Y2K.”

  She sat back on her heels, frowning. Stinky shirt or tough it out with wet clothes?

  “Can I just say,” Mick put in, “storm and all, those kisses were worth it?”

  The fire crackled. Hail roared on the roof.

  The heat leaped higher inside her.

  Off came the sodden T-shirt. Her skin prickled all over in the cold air, sensitized—expectant. She unzipped her boots and pulled them off. The floor was disgusting, so she stepped back into each boot after she unzipped and tugged off her heavy, wet jeans. Then she put the boots back on, and standing there in bra and thong, busied herself laying her jeans and shirt over the corner of the table nearest the fire.

  Then she said, “Okay. “

  He turned around, and his jaw dropped. As those eyes raked down her, inch by inch, she felt as if someone had scooped a bucket of sunlight and splashed it over her from hair to toes.

  ***

  When Mick heard the rustle of wet clothing, his imagination went into overdrive. Then she said, “Okay,” and he turned.

  There she stood, wearing nothing but a bra, a sport thong, and those bad-ass shit-kicker boots. Lightning struck straight to his dick.

  Holy shit she’s gorgeous, his human mind howled as he took in the sight of those incredible breasts, the wide, generous hips, the beautiful layer of flesh smoothing out the trained muscles.

  Mine, growled his bear. Mate. And then sank contentedly below the surface of his mind.

  The next thing he knew they were kissing again, wild, searching kisses. He gripped the nape of her neck and made himself slow down so that he could take his time, tasting her sweetness with lips and tongue as his hands roamed down her body.

  When she gasped for breath, her breasts moving against his chest, he kissed his way along her jawline, pausing to take her earlobe between his teeth and suck it gently. She moaned, her head dropping back. He kissed his way along her collarbones, his hands sliding down to her breasts. She gave a deep sigh of pleasure. Encouraged, he slid his fingers inside the damp fabric to find her puckered nipple.

  Gooseflesh roughened her skin, but he knew how to take care of that. He bent his head and took her nipple into his mouth, teasing the hardened nub with his tongue before sucking gently. When she arched her back, he took total possession, sucking hard.

  “Oh, yeah,” she breathed.

  His fingers traced around to her back, stroking the long, strong muscles there before hooking under the edge of the sports bra. He peeled it up. She lifted her arms and he pulled it off, freeing her breasts, then stepped back to fill his gaze with the delicious sight. She was unbelievably sexy, her head thrown back, those gorgeous breasts free above her smooth belly, and that wicked thong above those wonderful legs in those boots.

  He brought his gaze back to her breasts, one brown nipple tightened from his attentions. Time for some equal opportunity nuzzling.

  He bent her against the table; she gave a hop up onto it and lay back, her knees apart. He pressed his bulging erection up against her as she grabbed his hair and drew his head down. He played with her breasts, cupping them as he took his time bringing her second nipple to a hardened peak. Then he kissed his way down her shuddering belly until he reached the top of her thong.

  He stroked the silky skin inside her thighs, and when she widened her knees invitingly, he stroked his fingers slowly over the promising softness covered by the fabric. She was already wet and ready, but he was going to take his time: so magnificent a woman deserved nothing less. He ran a finger under the fabric, loving the way she hissed. He pulled the fabric down farther so he could run his tongue over her warm, moist folds. She groaned again, and he plunged his tongue deep inside her.

  “Oh yeah,” she said.

  He laved, kissed, and sucked her clitoris as her breath shortened and then she gasped, her hot flesh throbbing under his lips.

  Then she whooped in a breath and sat up, looking adorably flushed. She cooed, “Your turn.”

  Already his erection throbbed in a rhythm echoing hers. He wasn’t sure how long he could stand it as she rolled off the table, those delightful breasts bouncing. Shelley pointed to the spot where she’d lain.

  Anticipation overruled him as he pressed his thighs against the table and lay cautiously back. The rational part of his mind hoped the damn thing was sturdy enough, but he ignored that, blissed out with her taste on his tongue. He wanted more of her. Now.

  Shelley climbed up to kneel on either side of his hips. He shut his eyes against the glorious sight of her parted lips, the erect nipples on her wonderful breasts and the awesome swell of her hips, afraid he was going to lose it right then. Already this was a thousand times hotter than any of his previous encounters. He couldn’t think past the next moment, except to hope that it would last.

  ***

  He was smoking hot. Whatever happened later, she didn’t give a damn. She was going to enjoy every inch of him right now.

  She ran her hands up his rock hard stomach to his chest, pausing to tangle her fingers in the hair she’d admired earlier. It was softer than she’d imagined, and she rubbed her face in it, dragging her own hair over his nipples.

  Then she nipped his hardened nubs, holding them between her teeth as she flicked them with her tongue.

  “Oh, God, woman, I don’t know how much longer I can take this . . .” he muttered.

  “Well, you’re going to have to,” she said.

  When the table creaked warningly, she smothered a laugh and hopped off to lean in between his legs. She cupped her hand over the hard bulge in his jeans, eliciting a hiss from him. Oh, yes, this torture was going to be fun—and she would get to look her fill while she was at it.

  Slowly, slowly she undid the zipper on his jeans until his c
ock sprang free. It was everything she had expected—better. Enormous. A magnificent cock, worthy of a Russian Bear, and right now it was all hers to play with.

  She took hold of his shaft, delighting in the way it pulsed under her fingers. The skin was ribbon-silky, the muscle harder than steel. A gleam of pre-cum glistened at the tip; she tasted it lingeringly before taking his huge head into her mouth. He hissed again, his cock jumping as she played with tongue and teeth, catching and laving every ridge and curve.

  He muttered, “Shelley . . .”

  “But I haven’t even gotten started,” she said, reaching inside his jeans to cup his balls.

  “Dammit!” he growled. “I want inside of you. Now.”

  “We can do that.” She laughed, and sprang to the trunk to get out one of the condoms.

  “I don’t think . . .” he began.

  “Quiet. I’m going to put it on you,” she said, and ripped open the package.

  She stroked his cock again before opening the plastic. Then she discovered what he’d been about to say when the condom stretched. When she tried to tug it down, spang! It shot away across the room.

  She whooped with laughter as he sat up on his elbows.

  “That’s what I was going to tell you,” he said through gritted teeth. “Didn’t think to bring any.”

  “I’m on the pill,” she said.

  “And I’m 100% disease free.” He rolled off the table, glancing doubtfully at the rough legs. “This thing is not going to take two of us, especially if we get going.”

  She peered at him through the sweaty tangles of her hair, wanting him to get things going right now.

  “Come here,” he said.

  She laughed, fever hot with anticipation. He pulled her against him and kissed her thoroughly again, heating her up to mindless desire as his hands stroked her all over. He kept coming back to her breasts, rubbing and caressing them.

  She moaned; she couldn’t get enough of his touch. He hooked his thumbs on either side of her thong and slipped it down. She kicked free. The cool air heightened her awareness of her hot secret places as he turned her around and bent her over the table.

  She balanced on her forearms. He nudged her knees wide. She arched her back as his cock brushed against her opening, up to her clit, then back to her opening, wet and ready. Oh, he was huge. She arched her back further as he began to slide in. Heat radiated through her—he felt fantastic inside her, but he moved with teasing, maddening deliberation.

  “Come on,” she moaned. “I want you inside me. . . now.”

  With one thrust he rammed himself to the hilt. Pleasure spiked through her; he filled her completely, his skin rubbing just enough friction against hers to sent jets of heat sheeting through her. She moved her hips slowly as his hands caressed up her back and over her shoulders. Then he slid his hands under her to cup her breasts.

  “Oh yes,” she breathed. “Right there.”

  The heat began to build as he commenced with slow, deep thrusts. Her breathing matched his as she arched her hips further to invite him deeper, deeper . . . Then the heat boiled up like fiery lava in the world’s most powerful volcano as the thrusts sped up.

  His breathing harshened; she felt herself cresting and held her breath. When she sensed his crescendo she locked her strong inner muscles hard on his cock. He let out a yell as he carried her over the edge, ecstasy ringing outward, his pulsing against hers, and hers echoing back again.

  He lay against her back. They both relaxed, breath shuddering, sweat mingling. Her pussy throbbed and shuddered around his cock. She wished he could stay in there forever, but reality claimed them again when the table gave another warning squeak.

  “This thing is two creaks away from smashing into firewood,” he said as he pulled out.

  Shelley sat up, light-headed with afterglow. She smiled at the way he ran his lingering golden-brown gaze down her body. Then he bent to the trunk. Companionably they split the hand wipes, using those to clean up as best they could. They tossed the used wipes into the fire and then sorted out their clothes. By then they had half dried.

  Gradually the demands of reality caught her attention. As she sat on the trunk to re-buckle her boots over the stiff, damp legs of her jeans, she thought, What just happened?

  She’d just had the best sex she had ever had in her life, with none other than Bearzilla, who had glared at her from his mighty throne on every previous encounter. And he was technically her boss, if only for another day. Awkward enough?

  Only if I let it be, she told herself. He’d clearly enjoyed it as much as she had. As for the rest, she would say nothing. Maybe he’d say nothing. They’d go back to work as if nothing had happened.

  That was easiest. That was best. But a pulse of regret surprised her. No. She shut that down fast. No regrets. Rule One. She was not going to let anything ruin what she knew would become a stellar memory, a welcome thing after so many not-so-good ones.

  As she finished up with her boots, he tidied the room, pausing when he spotted the ripped condom. He snorted a laugh, and attraction swelled in her all over again, causing her to smother laughter. He smiled her way as he wadded the plastic up and shoved it into his back pocket to dispose of later.

  “That was amazing,” he said, and lower, “You are amazing.”

  She sensed that he was wondering if she was going to try to make that encounter more than it was— a sweet but one-time thing. She searched for something to say that would reassure him that she wasn’t going to pressure him for anything more.

  “You’re pretty amazing yourself,” she said, proud of how casual her voice came out. “I think the sun is out.” She pointed to the floor, where lines of light painted the filthy floor between the warped boards of the shutters.

  “All right,” he said. “Can we talk later?”

  She hesitated, not sure what to say. While she considered a range of possibilities, he moved out into the rain-washed air amid a musical orchestra of drips from trees, awnings, bushes, straight to a plastic gallon milk jug that someone had cut the top off and positioned under the awning. It was now half-full of dirty water. This he carried inside, and a second later came the hiss of the fire being put out.

  He replaced the carton where it had been, then picked up his helmet and gloves. She picked up hers too.

  Shelley followed him outside to the bikes, thinking hard. While she liked his concern for the environment, his going straight to that milk carton meant that he knew this place.

  Well, of course he did, she told herself. If he knew these mountains, he’d probably been up here with other women. She didn’t know whether to be grossed out or amused. Shelley reached for amusement. This was clear evidence that the episode for him had been nothing more than casual sex, probably something he did every day in his highly-paid Hollywood lifestyle.

  When he glanced over at her, she remembered his question.

  She jammed on her helmet. “I’m good.”

  Shelley pulled on her gloves, threw her leg over the bike, and fired up the engine. That was cool and casual enough, wasn’t it?

  ***

  He couldn’t think—he almost couldn’t talk. His bear was very close to the surface. The bear was content because human Mick was euphoric after that mind-blowing sex, but insistent, too.

  Mate! She’s the one.

  “I’m good,” Shelley said, and fired up her bike.

  The careful set of questions he had been considering blew away like smoke. His head was still reeling. He hadn’t thought beyond the bike ride. But like the thunderstorm, the sex had just happened. Was that why it had been so incredible? No. Her laughter, her strength, her pleasure, the way her rhythm had matched his so miraculously, that was all Shelley.

  But who was she really? While he would never regret one second of it, he had no idea what should come next.

  Mate, his bear insisted. That’s the one.

  Lust, he granted. If a man was even breathing, he would find her a turn-on. But he’d spent
a lifetime learning the bitter lesson that attraction wasn’t the whole package, and he didn’t know this woman at all.

  As they maneuvered through the muddy ground toward the trail, he fought the rising tide of memory, like his first disaster when he was twenty. He’d been so sure he’d found ‘the one.’ True, his bear had never claimed any of those women as ‘the one’ but what did the bear know? He was a bear! Mick was the human, the rational one, the one who actually lived in the human world, where ‘happily ever after’ only happened in the movies.

  His dad had certainly not had any happily ever after. Mick knew very little about his parents’ marriage, as his mother had taken off before Mick turned four. So much for mating for life. Maybe that was realistic in his grandparents’ day.

  He glanced at Shelley as they started down the trail under the crystal drips of the trees.

  Mate, said his bear insistently, rising again so strongly that Mick gasped. The bear was so close to the surface—he felt the prickle of telltale blond hairs on the backs of his hands under his gloves. Making a fierce effort, he fought the bear down, revved up his bike, and sped down the trail. Shelley closed in expertly behind.

  No speech was possible on the ride through the tumble and rush of streams and the slick mud resulting from the storm that was now grumbling in the distance. He had to keep his attention on the treacherous trail, but he knew he had to say something. She had shared herself so generously—so mind-blowingly generously, and . . . yeah, he hated the thought that it would never happen again.

  At that thought his bear surged up once more and he nearly lost control of the bike.

  I’ll talk to her, he promised.

  His bear subsided below the surface again.

  How could his bear know? It made no sense. Until today, the only contact he’d had with Shelley was covertly admiring her across the distance of the studio set half a dozen times.

  In all the months of his marriage with Oona, his bear had only surfaced during the full of the moon, when so many shifters felt the pull of their other natures. Mick had made certain to be alone during those times. He had never dared to tell anyone he’d been involved with the truth about his dual nature.