She did. She’d slid a hand past the waistband of her jeans so she could vigorously rub her clit. It was swollen up like a piece of hard candy.
“So hot,” he sighed, pressing more of his length past her lips. “Keep touching yourself, Ginj. Show me how much it turns you on to have my cock in your mouth.”
It did. Her cunt was on fire. Easily, she slid a finger into inside herself, into her soft, molten heat; she crushed her thumb against her fat clit as she did, making her hips pump. Had she ever been more turned on than she was right now, with this half-animal man stretching her mouth? Only the other times she’d been with him (and Dane, a fair voice whispered. He did the same thing to you).
Inside her mouth, she was running her tongue along the bottom of Hunter’s slow-thrusting shaft, loving its ridged tracery of veins, its naked power. He pulled her hair even tighter, with even less restraint—and her pussy gushed.
“I should be your man,” he groaned, his voice molasses-thick with pleasure. “Look at you… you can’t get enough of me, Ginger. I satisfy you. You were made for me, girl, and I was made for you. I can take care of you… ahh, suck me, Ginger. Suck me hard.”
She pressed a second finger inside her burning cunt, loving the sweet stretch of it—but also hating how inadequate, how pathetic it felt. She needed a real man’s big, rebar-hard cock inside her—not her slender little fingers. The ache in her pussy for more—more—more was agony.
Abruptly, she pulled off his cock, panting, her mouth full of his salt. “Hunter,” she said, knowing her eyes were as gold as harvest moons, “I need you inside me.”
He was breathless, too, his spit-drenched cock twitching in the air. “Do you, baby? Say it again. Tell me what you need.”
“Fuck me,” she whined, and she bit the crown of his cock very, very gently. “Fuck me with this. I need it. I need you!”
He was already pulling off his shirt; the sight of his muscular, hair-shaded chest made her even more desperate.
“Undress, Ginger.”
She did, standing and yanking off her jeans, kicking off her boots while he did the same; then he pulled her roughly to him, and kissed her forcefully, manfully—bitingly, his teeth almost drawing blood from her bottom lip. She bucked against him, wetter than she’d ever been. The animal in her was demanding a mating.
He pressed her down onto the cave floor, the pebbles harsh on her soft, pale back; one of his hands went between her legs, testing her pussy.
“You’re so wet, girl,” he burred, right by her ear, his deliciously muscular weight fully on her. “So wet for me.”
“I want you,” she confessed, rolling her hips. “I always have. I want you so badly, Hunter—please. I need you to fill me!”
He kissed her with fierce, genuine passion. “You’re so fucking precious to me, Ginger. You know that?”
“Show me,” she begged, near-delirious with desire. “Fuck me! Fuck me hard!”
“That’s the only way I know,” he growled, and then he was gripping himself, and she felt the helmet of his cock touch her pouting, glistening lips, felt it start to sink into her heat—
She wailed like a dying thing, the relief of having him inside her was so great. Tears of pleasure beaded in her eyes, while her hot, creamy pussy clenched vice-tight on his cock.
“You’re an animal now,” he whispered, gravelly, right by her ear. “And you need it like this. Raw, deep. Rough.” He bit her ear, kissed her flushed cheek. “And you need a man who can give it to you like that, anytime you want. A man like me, Ginger. Say you’re mine.”
But that was too much—she couldn’t, wouldn’t. She lifted her hips against him instead, demandingly.
That worked. His cock pulled out—slowly, against the lusty resistance of her clutching pussy—and then slammed back in, to the hilt. She cried out.
He fucked her. He fucked her hard and fast, his strokes deep and savage, primally satisfying. She kept gasping and arching her back, driving her hips against his, sometimes gripping his arms and sometimes throwing her hands over her head, frenzied. He pounded her with abandon, groaning, glazed with sweat, his eyes gold with pleasure.
She was liquid ecstasy, completely surrendered to the feral pleasure of their sex. Her mind was white, her eyes closed, her heart drumming. He was fucking her with pure abandon—one hand buried in her hair, the other bracing him—and he was claiming her, claiming her body—
He kept kissing her mouth, her jaw, rawly, conqueringly. Her feet were locked behind him; she was nothing but the pleasure of their coupling—her tits were jiggling violently, her whole body was—she clawed for purchase on his side, drew blood on his muscled ribs—cried out—
And then she was coming, violently, crashingly. She rose her hips up, high, high, forcing him as deep as she could; he was still fucking her, vigorously; her pussy clenched on his pistoning cock, drenching it with orgasm—a rich, hot orgasm, going on and on and—
And then she was done, gasping like a beached fish, limp as wet silk.
He finished inside her, unable to hold back a yell of release. The ecstasy on his face pleased her; she smiled, watching him—feeling him—come. Her cunt was flooded with his seed, which sent off a wave of fresh, hungry pulses; she whined, bucking.
Sex like that left her with a natural high. Her entire body was flushed.
Slowly, reluctantly, he pulled out of her. She wiggled close to him, into his arms as he settled on his back, panting.
He squeezed her breast, hard. “Fuck, Ginger. That was good.”
Chapter 31
“Come on, Ginger,” he said, shrugging off the blanket. “Let’s get going.”
“Don’t you want to get dressed?” she asked, amused. It was morning, and they were just getting up; they’d been tangled together all night. “Not that I find your nakedness offensive. Just asking.”
His answer shocked her stupid. “No. And you’re not getting dressed, either.”
“Excuse me?” Him saying that made her hyperaware of her breasts, the curve of her hips, the light dusting of hair on her pussy. A shade of very human shame made her cross her arms over her chest.
“There’s no point,” Hunter explained, firmly but easily. “We’ll be changing back and forth all day.”
“Changing…?” The hair on the back of her neck stood up.
“Yup. Bear, human, bear, human. Clothes’ll just get ruined.”
Changing. “No. I can’t. I’m not—ready.”
“You are ready, and you can. You did it once already.”
“And it scared me. I can’t face doing it again. Not yet.”
“Ginger.” His voice hardened with authority. “It has to be this way. If you try and fight me, you won’t learn what you need to, the way you need to.”
She swallowed. Glanced down, at the pebbly bottom of the cave, and then, finally, back up again. She knew he was right. “Alright.”
“Atta girl. Trust me, Ginj—it’s going to be fine. You’ve got this. Ready to head out?”
“What about… breakfast?”
“We’re going to go out and get some.”
“What?!” she asked, startled. “That’s gross. I’m not killing anything this morning or any oth—”
“We’re going to forage. You can handle it. Now come on, girl. Let’s get a move on, while the morning’s fresh.”
The bright, salty smell of the wind did pull at her, just like the warm sunshine glinting off the water and greening the trees did.
A fresh morning. It is.
And I want to be out there. Maybe it’s the bear in me.
She shrugged, letting her arms fall away from her chest. “Okay, then. Lead the way.”
***
They walked along their rocky, driftwood-choked beach, listening to the shush and roll of the breaking waves. Across the strait, other islands sparkled in the sun.
They reached the edge of the forest. “Okay, Ginj. Change now, and follow me.”
�
�How?”
“How?” he repeated, hands on hips. He had hard, muscular hips, narrow, manly… and strong, thick-fingered hands, hairy… deep, unshaven abs… but she couldn’t get distracted admiring him now.
“How do I change?” she asked, forcing herself back to reality.
“You know how,” he said in a no-nonsense kind of way.
“No, I don’t.”
“You do.” His tone left her in no doubt that he thought she was dragging her feet. “It comes as easy as pie, Ginger. I would know. Don’t be afraid of it. Just do it.”
A cormorant glided by, scanning the water for the flash of fish. Ginger swallowed.
“But I am afraid of it.”
“Ginger,” he said more gently, “you can’t be afraid of yourself. Not forever. Just do it. I’m right here.”
He was right. Again.
She swallowed for a second time, trying to ignore the way she was breaking out in a light, hot sweat. It was loathsome to her, this changing into a more-than-half-ton wild animal, a big shaggy bear who would trudge through the woods. But it was her life now, and she had no choice but to adapt. Unless—
“This can’t be reversed, can it?” she asked.
“No,” he said, holding her eyes. “I’m sorry, Ginj, but it can’t. Now change, and let’s get going. We have a lot of ground to cover.”
His inflexibility actually helped. It gave her structure, direction—pressure to move forward. So she closed her eyes and fished inside herself and found he was right: changing was easy. It was right up against the surface of her mind, available to her whenever she needed it, natural as drawing breath—and now, supported by him, she accepted the shift.
It was effortless, and fast. She was a girl, and then she was a bear, heavy and powerful. Her body felt huge and unwieldy; she snorted, then lowed.
“Good job,” Hunter said, watching her approvingly. It felt strange not to be able to answer him. “Don’t get spooked, now. Hold it for awhile. I’ll join you.”
And—right before her eyes—he changed. She realized then that she’d never seen him as a bear: he was big, easily as big as Dane, and stacked with raw muscle under a shaggy coat of fur. His hump was enormous: he had to be six feet at the shoulder. Standing up—rearing up—he might be eleven feet tall. The bear part of her approved, in a new, female way.
He grunted, shaking his head toward the woods—That way—and then started up the rocky slope into the shadow of the trees.
She followed.
***
She was trying to do what he did, digging at the earth, nosing around the base of the plants’ stems. She was making a mess of it, though, and getting frustrated—the ground was clawed deep, pitted, and mucky.
She didn’t even know what she was trying to get out of the ground; it smelled good—starchy—but that was all she could tell. Irritated, she hissed and snuffled.
Hunter shifted back into a man, so he could talk to her. “You’re doing fine. It’ll take you some time to get used to using the paws, but you’re well on your way. Keep digging.”
She flowed back into a girl, abandoning bear shape to speak. “Oh, what would you know about it, Hunter? You were born this way. Not to quote Lady Gaga.”
“Yeah, I was, but I’ve known turned bears before,” he said, without missing a beat. “I know it’s an adjustment and I know it’ll take you some time to feel fully at home in that body. But it’s your body, Ginger, and you need to learn to use it, and what to feed it. Change back and keep at it.”
“What even is this stuff?” she asked, scrunching her nose. As a human, she couldn’t smell anything except disturbed soil.
“Sweet-vetch bulbs. Next we’ll go for some dandelions and devil’s club—and grass, if we can find any that’s good.”
“I thought bears were carnivores,” she said sourly.
“Omnivores,” he corrected, unmoved. “Wild bears eat mostly plants, Ginj. So you will too, in bear form. Now change back and dig up those bulbs.”
She sighed, but dropped to all fours and shifted back into a sow. It was getting easier—less frightening—to turn. If Hunter kept her changing and unchanging and changing again, all day, every day, soon it would be normal. And she’d have to be thankful for that. She’d never been afraid of herself before and it was more than she could live with, more than she could stand.
“After this we’ll try fish.”
Bear Ginger snorted.
“I’m serious. Fish and clams.”
Bear Ginger chuffed. Sarcastic laughter. Fishing was not her thing—never had been.
“You can catch one, believe me. It’ll be instinct now.” He paused, running a hand over his mouth thoughtfully. “But I might offer a reward if you do it. An incentive.”
Her ears pricked up.
“Yeah. Maybe. But keep digging, for now. You—there you go!”
She’d dislodged a large tussock of sweet-vetch, and with it came the dirty, hairy bulbs. They smelled good; edible. She lowered her head and bit one, crunching it in half. Its taste—half potato, half pea—flooded her mouth.
She let out a triumphant bark. Hunter put his hand on her big, flat head.
“Good girl. Now dig out the rest.”
***
She’d followed Hunter’s big, high-shouldered bear-bulk through the forest, both of them traveling at a sedate pace due to their size. She was trying to fully inhabit her bear form: listening to the bird calls, which were so much crisper this way; smelling the woods, which were alive with musky and fibrous scents; accepting the enormous, head-spinning strength coursing through her stocky limbs.
He’d brought them up to a stream, a broad, shallow one dappled with the moving shadows of the pines. He’d growled at her—Watch me—and waded into the fast-running water, staring down at the current.
She watched as he picked a place in the middle of the stream and waited. She got bored with the waiting and settled down heavily on the ground, muzzle on her paw. Waxwings trilled in the spruce overhead.
Then, suddenly, there was a splash—and he had a steelhead. Striding out of the stream, he ambled up onto the bank and dropped it by her paw.
She shifted into a girl.
“How did you do that?”
He turned into a man again, a wet one. “You always want a shallow run of water, Ginger. Get me? It makes it easier to see the fish, and get them—you can see them kind of”—he weaved his hand in the air illustratively—“struggling over the pebble-bottom. Sometimes, if there’s a side pool off the course, they’ll hover in there, too, to rest—easy pickings.”
“Right.” She glanced at the rushing stream. “My turn, I take it?”
“Damn right. Get in there and give it a go. Every grizzly needs to know how to catch a fish, Ginj.”
I’m not a grizzly, she almost said.
But she was.
So she morphed back into a bear—a big, shuffling, brown-and-gold-eyed bear—and stepped off the bank, into the water. She could barely feel the cold of it through her dense fur and fat layer.
She strode to the spot he’d chosen, and braced herself against the fast, clear water. She stared at the bottom of the stream and waited.
It took a while, but a fish finally came, another trout. She bit for it—but not fast enough. It shot away, wrigglingly, over the rocks.
The same thing happened with the second fish. She just wasn’t fast enough, and her strike wasn’t clean enough: big, messy splashes kept exploding and blinding her when her mouth or paw hit the water.
After she failed on the fifth fish, she lost her patience. She changed back into a girl—and shrieked. The stream was icy cold. She went hopping back to the bank, and jumped out.
“What’s feeding this stream?” she huffed, clutching her chest. “A glacier? On Mars?”
Hunter didn’t answer her. He was lying down in bear form. In fact, he hardly looked at her.
“Come on. Talk to me.”
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br /> He woofed shortly.
“I’ll never catch a fish. It’s just not going to happen, and it’s fucking stupid, anyway. If we want fish, there’s a grocery store on Saltspring. And there’s tackle on your boat.”
He rolled his eyes up to look at her—she could tell it was a dry, unamused look.
“Well… it’s true,” she faltered lamely. “I mean, you’re a fisherman by trade. Right? So you know this is inefficient. It’s fucking ridiculous!”
He exhaled, a kind of bear-sigh—and then shifted back into a man and sat up.
“Listen, Ginger,” he said, and his voice was serious. “Part of the reason you learn to forage, and fish, and hunt is to help with your urges. The wild part of you needs to do those things, strictly necessary or not. Got me? If you don’t feed your instincts, they’ll fester, and that can make you dangerous. Will you try to understand that?”
“I don’t want to,” she said softly. “What you’re saying scares me.”
“There’s nothing to be afraid of, as long as you know yourself and do what you have to.” He put a steadying hand on her shoulder. “Now, the other half of the reasoning behind this exercise is the fact that bears spend a lot of time in the wilderness, where there are no convenience stores. Oh, yeah. I guarantee even you will need the wild sometime, Ginger. We all do. We’re animals, it’s just how it goes. I don’t want you to starve to death in the Canadian backwoods because no one ever taught you how to feed yourself.”
She stared down at the bank.
“So get back in there and catch a fish. I’ll fry it for us—how ’bout that? I won’t even make you eat it raw today.”
“What if I just… can’t?” I wish I was home.
“Don’t be like that. You’re better than that.” He gripped her chin and tilted her head up to look at him. The warm, rich caramel color of his eyes, with their band of pure gold, made her stomach drop. “Be the girl who didn’t think it was impossible to paddle back to Vancouver, alone, at night. Be the girl who impressed MacAlister over and over—and me. Be the girl who tried to fight Gunnar, as a girl, not as a bear. Be that girl. Get that fish.”
Rescued & Ravished: An Alpha's Conquest (A Paranormal Ménage Romance) Page 33
