As naked as he was, she felt his excitement against her body as he hardened. This was the man she was waiting all her life to find, so tossing all modesty to the wind, Kelly reached down and grabbed his firm manhood.
Tyler groaned, kissing her more deeply and pressed her back against a wide tree trunk.
Kelly broke the kiss long enough to lick her palm and then returned to his manhood, stroking him. The intense arousal that she’d sensed in him broke free.
With a growling moan, he reached down and tore open her shirt, exposing her breasts and body to him.
Like an animal, he looked down at her, drinking her in, and licked his lips.
“I’m going to claim you,” he said, and she knew it was a promise. “You’re mine.”
Kelly squeezed his stone-hard shaft and said, “And you’re mine. Take me.”
He growled again, the head of him throbbing in her hand with sexual power.
In one quick motion, he tore her pants open and pulled them down, free of her legs. Just like that she was naked.
Tyler pressed his body against hers as he kissed her, and she grabbed onto his shoulders with both hands.
“You’ve made me ready,” he said. “Now I’ll make you ready.”
“How thoughtful,” she said, not sure what to expect.
Tyler dropped to his knees, put her legs over his shoulders, and then stood. The way he lifted her was as though she was made of paper!
The rough bark of the tree pressed into her back as he buried his head into the soft, wet lips between her legs.
His tongue lapped at her dripping juices hungrily, sending shudders through her entire body.
Kelly moaned, running her tongue over dry lips, calling out her pleasure into the wilderness.
In moments, her clit was engorged, practically electrical with sensation as he ran his tongue in soft circles around it.
He held her high as if waving a flag, flicking his tongue over her clit, suckling it, and shaking his head vigorously back and forth until she came.
The cries of her orgasm echoed around her.
Finally, he lowered her and turned her around to face the tree.
“Yes,” she moaned, bending over. “Take me.”
Tyler positioned himself behind her, the swollen head of him pressing into her slit.
“You’re mine,” he said, and thrust into her.
“Yes! Oh yes, I’m yours!”
He grabbed her waist and thrust over and over. “We are one!”
Kelly held her hands against the tree trunk, head down, feeling him stretch her open as he made love to her. It had been far too long since she had been with a man, and she’d tightened up since then. She knew he could feel it.
He was so big that every slight quiver in his body she felt. He cried out wildly, as if finally able to release all of the energy pent up over the months.
“I’ve wanted this,” she moaned, pressing back against him.
“I’ve wanted you from the moment I saw you.”
“Your wonderful body woke the bear inside me,” he said, grunting with every thrust.
“I couldn’t even stand to be in the same room without feeling the need to rip your clothes off of you.”
Kelly moaned again, her fingers scratching against the bark of the tree. The strength of him, the power of his thrust filled her and brought her to orgasm again.
Pushing with her arms, she forced herself back against him to get him deeper and deeper as she came.
When she finished, he pulled away and turned her around. Before she could speak, his mouth was on hers, his tongue pushing its way into her mouth.
She welcomed it eagerly, holding onto him as he entered her once more.
They moaned together as they kissed, his hips dipping and rising.
In an effort, to open herself more to him, she lifted her leg to his waist, and he caught it with a hand behind her knee.
Her body more accessible, he adjusted his footing to getting deeper inside.
“Oh yeah, “she whispered, “That’s it. Just like that.”
“Yeah?” he asked, panting.
“Oh God, don’t stop.” Her fingernails dug into his skin, but she was unable to stop herself.
Inside, he seemed to grow even thicker than before, even more turned-on by her lust.
He grabbed her breast with his free hand, fondling it even as he thrust inside of her. Kelly tossed her head back, quickly overcome with the pleasure of it.
Deep inside, he began to pulse, each matched with a heavy groan. Knowing he was coming close to his climax, she hooked her foot against his body and tried to help him get deeper inside.
She matched each of his sounds with one of her own until finally he reached up and grabbed her hair at the base of her skull and pulled her head back.
Their bodies moved together in a primal dance as the force of his orgasm brought on another of her own. They cried out together, their voices filling the forest as he filled her with his seed.
His muscular body pressed against her own, pinning her to the tree as they panted. They were mates for life, his claiming her with his lust, and she with claws at his back.
The bond they had would never be broken.
***
Taken By The Bearillionaire
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.
New jobs, for me anyway, always brought this sense of unease.
When I was in college, I majored in business, and I thought I could start my own company, work for myself, be a real big shot, but that’s not really the way it turned out.
Like the lemonade stands I had when I was a kid, I could build the stand, make sure I had enough change, and have my lemonade mix to water ratio on point, but I wasn’t skilled at getting people to buy. They’d walk on by without a second look.
I needed that true maverick for business - the sales person, the true decider, the won’t-settle-for-under-twenty percent kind of person. That’s why I became a secretary.
The problem with being the person in the background making sure appointments are scheduled, parties are planned, suits or dresses are dry cleaned, is having to deal with the personality of the true maverick for business.
My bosses have not been easy. I came from a background of waiting tables before getting into the secretary trade, and I can tell you that bosses are more demanding than even the most difficult diner.
My first boss was a 70 year-old-man who sold organic hair products out of his house. The house was massive, the largest house I’d ever seen in my life, and there was ample room for us young college kids to make sure everything shipped on time and correctly; however, the place reeked of cats. He’d often walk around with one of three of his ancient cats - Alexander, Caesar, and Antony - to check on the workers, show how “cute” the animals were while also conspicuously staring at the females’ chests. He actually took me on a lengthy tour in his Jaguar of the beach town I lived in during my first years of college, telling me about how he found such drives “incredibly romantic.”
His car smelled like cats too. I ended up being fired a few months in after I started wearing more modest clothing and less make-up. He had a high turnover.
My next boss was middle-aged, married for over twenty years, and the father of three grown kids - we got along splendidly. He reminded me of my dad (May he rest in peace.)
Yet, this boss liked long meetings, over-reactions, and, generally, ridiculously high standards. For me, however, I skated along as a favorite of his. It
wasn’t until I (admittedly) took advantage of his good graces and slacked on my duties that he berated me as well. He claimed I was “losing [him] the company.” I quit not long after that to finish school (and save my sanity.)
After college, I tried to get into bigger roles in companies - being the HR manager. It turned out, I wasn’t especially skilled at managing others - I was a bit too critical when it came to my co-workers’ work products.
I also “accidentally” threw a stapler at my office mate, who I’d been dating, after discovering he was dating other girls in the office as well.
So, here I found myself again, a personal secretary. Unlike my other secretary jobs, the person I was actually being a secretary for didn’t interview me - it was actually his HR manager, Vance.
We bonded on my former position and my ability to deal with difficult bosses. Vance warned that, unfortunately, this boss would be no different. I informed him I could handle it.
“All right, what you should know especially is that Mr. Mathan can be a very private man,” Vance instructed on my first day of work after he’d given me a lengthy amount of paperwork detailing my new boss’s likes and dislikes. “On the third Friday of every month, he is not to be bothered if he’s here. Do not speak to him, do not call him, do not email him. He is not to be bothered.”
I nodded in confirmation. Vance seemed like the kind of guy who enjoyed his own voice more than anyone else’s. “Will I be meeting Mr. Mathan?” Does he have a first name?
“I believe he’s in a meeting right now. What’s best is to keep your chat open and your email checked. That’s usually how he asks for things,” he responded. “If I were you, I would get water for his tea ready. You will see from the recipe included in the paperwork he likes it a certain way.”
I nodded again. Vance smiled and offered to start the water for me since I just started. I took whatever I could get as I started on my work. The boss made a list of my duties for the day with none being especially difficult.
He expected his tea to be done in an hour, after his phone conference. Then, we would meet for the first time.
With Vance’s stellar description of Mr. Mathan, I felt about as uneasy as I was riding in the Jaguar with my former cat loving, old man boss.
At the very least, I hoped he smelled better.
II.
I checked over the recipe an inordinate amount of times, making sure it was perfect. When it came time for our meeting (which he reminded me of via the chat Vance had spoken of), I steadied myself, took a deep breath, and walked into his office.
Mr. Mathan leaned back in back in his chair with his legs lounged on his desk as he looked over some paperwork, seemingly making notes on it with the pen pursed between his lips.
He looked like an Armani model, leaning in that fashionably handsome and careless way. His combed-back auburn hair looked effortlessly in place and his cool blue eyes read with a quiet, sexy intensity.
“Is that my tea?” he asked with a very slight, slight Irish accent, but not bothering to look up at me.
“Yes,” I responded. “I made it exactly to your specifications.”
“Those are actually Vance’s specifications, but it’ll do,” he responded, putting down his paperwork and his legs to finally look at me. He gestured for me to sit and folded his hands before him. “What was your name again?”
“Lorelai Tanner,” I responded.
He nodded, reaching out for the tea. He tasted it, frowned slightly, and looked straight into my eyes. I felt frozen by his gaze - behind it was something foreign and animalistic that I’d never seen before. “So, you have a degree in business. What did you expect to do with that?”
“The hope was,” I cleared my throat, “to have a business of my own one day.”
“But you’re a secretary.”
“Yes. I’m better behind the scenes.”
“Hmm,” his frown hadn’t budged. “Well, if you can look over this paperwork and tell me what you think, that would be great. It wasn’t the next task on your list, but our meeting ended early.”
“Okay,” I took the paperwork and headed out the door.
“And Lorelai, if you could, please dress a bit more modestly. Vance tends to hire women he can ogle, and we both know you’re better than that.”
I only nodded, unsure of what to say. I wore a normal button up and pencil skirt. I felt I looked professional. My other bosses never said anything about the outfit. Of course, I guess they wouldn’t have.
“You may go.”
I nodded again and skittered out of the office like a roach away from the light. Though I had worked with difficult bosses before, I never felt so nervous when meeting one. It was as though he were the predator. And I was the prey.
When I got back to my desk, he’d sent a message: “Next time, let the tea steep longer and add more sugar.”
The man was devastatingly handsome, but he also was disarmingly condescending.
III.
Mr. Mathan had a particular way of “constructive criticism” (as he liked to call it.) Each morning while delivering his tea, he’d gesture for me to sit down, give notes on my work (one day he said he simply didn’t like the way I typed and suggested I do some typing exercises at home “on your off time”), have me read whatever paperwork, and then ping me with what was wrong with the tea.
It was interesting reading the actual paperwork for business deals, but painstakingly making tea every morning - while constantly being criticized for it - was starting to wear on me. And I’d only been his secretary for a week.
At least he hadn’t asked me to dress more modestly again. After that note, I noticed Vance came by to check on me less and less. Though Mr. Mathan was a jerk, he did have Vance’s intentions right.
Another thing about him - besides being arrogant, rude about tea, and employer of oglers - was that haunting quality of his cold blue eyes. Even while I sat hating his guts, I couldn’t get those eyes out of my mind.
I both dreaded and looked forward to our interactions in the morning because they were the only interactions we had. He always appeared calm and collected as he made his disappointment clear, much different than my second boss who’d yell and scream like a spoiled child.
I wanted to hate Mr. Mathan with every fiber of my being, but a small part of me (a tiny, minute part) thought he was unbelievably sexy. I think that miniscule part might be a masochist.
On the Thursday before the third Friday of the month (my first third Friday, if that made any sense), I made his tea as usual. The day before, he’d mentioned he’d like to try it with honey instead of sugar, so I attempted to melt the honey with the hot water while the tea steeped.
I figured I’d give it a shot. Once done with the tea, I returned to my desk to see the boss himself waiting for me.
I immediately thought he’d telepathically figured out my new tea attempt and already was going to tell me what was wrong or to simply remake it.
“Good morning, Mr. Mathan,” I greeted.
“Good morning, Ms. Tanner,” he replied. “I assume that’s my tea?”
“It is. I added honey instead of sugar.”
The lack of caring on his face made me feel foolish for even mentioning it. “Oh, wonderful.”
Dark circles etched under his eyes, and he had a slight five o’clock shadow. His voice, though still chillingly calm, sounded weary and slow - he normally had a certain cadence to it that seemed to be taking a nap. His tie hung slightly crooked, and his suit slightly wrinkled.
He looked far less put-together than normal, which caused a new sense of unease. However, the masochist within me thought this change of pace was even sexier than the perfectly put together version of Mr. Mathan.
“Is there something I can help you with right now?” I asked, not sure of what else to say since he’d never been waiting at my desk before.
“No, I was just waiting here for the bus to take me into my office.”
“Does Vance drive it? He doesn�
��t come by in the morning anymore.”
Those blue eyes opened and closed, only watching with no kind of emotional response. “I have a large project for you if you can follow me into my office.”
Note to self: jokes not appreciated. I followed him without another word. His gait seemed slower as usual, though I normally didn’t see him walk anywhere since he was just behind his desk. He handed me a tape recorder and a stack of papers.
“I have dictated my plans for an environmental project to help conserve the habitat of bears in logging areas,” he said. “Please transcribe my dictation, and refer to the facts in this paperwork. I expect this to take you at least today and tomorrow. You are welcome to do over-time through the weekend from home if necessary.”
I nodded in response. He gave a slight frown, but continued.
“When you finish, I need you to bring it by my house. I will be out tomorrow, but I’ll email you my address. I expect this done before work Monday at the very latest. Understand?”
“I understand.”
He reached for his tea and took a drink. “Remake this. It was better without the honey.”
Well, so much for that. “Right away, Mr. Mathan.”
“My name is Oliver,” he said, rubbing his weary eyes and appearing like an actual human being for once. “Please stop calling me Mr. Mathan.”
Romance: Bearilicious: BBW Paranormal Bear Shifter Romance Collection (Werebear, Bear Shifter, BBW Paranormal Romance) Page 6
