by Diana Seere
The steam rose up around his muscled chest and shoulders, forming droplets on the dark, wavy locks of his hair. He extended a hand. “Jess.”
She walked to the edge of the pool and ran her hand over her heavy breasts, her rounded belly, her soft thighs, the pleasure tightening inside her like a spring. Nobody had ever looked at her like that before. When her fingers traced her mound, he flinched as if in pain, tightening his jaw, uttering the soft growl of an animal—which, she remembered with a forbidden thrill, he had been only moments ago.
Her heart pounded against her ribs, terrified of where she’d brought them.
“Catch me.” She closed her eyes and let herself fall into the water.
For a moment she panicked, thinking she’d finally gone too far, but then his arms came around her and eased her into the steaming water with him, where his lap waited for her, hard but soft. She reached for his cock because how could she not satisfy that most embarrassing of dreams, even the ones she had when she was sitting on the bus staring out the window, shifting in her seat, chewing on the inside of her cheek in frustration?
She wasn’t going to be frustrated tonight. Tonight she was going to take it all and revel it in like a starving lottery winner at a Las Vegas buffet. No, unfair comparison. He was no cheap mass-appeal smorgie. Derry was a mystical dream come to life, a shadowy fantasy who knew her body better than she did and desired nothing but her own happiness.
His cock was hard, velvety, thick, and when she squeezed it and pulled, he threw back his head on his sinewy neck and groaned in delicious pain. High on power, she did it again, and as she pumped, she stuck her tongue in his mouth and tried to claim him as he’d done her a moment ago, sweeping along his teeth, dancing with his tongue, grinding her pelvis into his balls.
“Jess, wait,” he gasped. “I can’t go slow if you—”
“Fuck slow.” She straddled him, bobbing in the hot water, moving his cock between her legs. Her breasts jiggled on the surface, skimming his chest. Each electric brush of her nipples against the thick hair made her more determined for him to be inside her. “Now. I need you now.”
“Darling—”
She slid the head of his cock between her folds, not caring how she’d totally lost control of herself and was showing absolutely no dignity whatsoever. Floating in the water, she clutched his shoulders with one hand while the other aimed the cock into her pussy.
“Jesus,” Derry breathed. “I can’t stop you.”
“Why would you want to?”
“What about protection?”
“You need a security team?”
He chuckled. “I meant birth control.”
Oh.
“I’m on the pill.” She’d been on it since high school for cramps and skin problems. This was the first time she was grateful for its original purpose.
“Ah. And I assure you I test regularly—at Gavin’s lab, as it happens—and am fine. No shifter has yet tested positive for any of the unpleasant contagions.” He cleared his throat. “Not even the most active of us.”
She frowned. What did he—ohhhhhhh.
“It’ll hurt, sweetheart,” he added. “It’s supposed to hurt. I don’t have much experience with your kind—”
“My kind? You make me sound like some sort of supernatural creature you’ve never met before.” She ignored every delay he was making and sank lower on his shaft, feeling a deep interior resistance that she’d expected him to break through without her having to beg for it. “Come on, do I have to do this all myself?”
“I warned you,” he said roughly, clamping his hands onto her hips. “Remember that.”
She smiled, triumphant. “I’ll remember.”
“Put your tongue in my mouth.”
Breathless, she did as she was told. While he feasted on her mouth, one hand left her hips and found her clit, just above the shaft of his cock. She began to bounce up and down, trying to go for it.
“You’re not ready—”
But she was about to explode. She felt a rushing in her ears, the urge to weep. “The hell I’m not,” she said. “Do it, damn it!”
He stroked her. “Almost.”
“Now,” she said.
“My love,” he cooed. “You’re so beautiful.”
But she was beyond speech. She clung to him, head dropping to his shoulder to bite that thick band of muscle, to make him give her what she needed.
Just as her teeth pressed flesh, he thrust up into her, snapping her into pieces, putting her back together, filling her with the rich, heady taste of sex, love, and dreams.
“I’m sorry,” he was whispering, “I’m sorry.”
She realized that he misinterpreted her cries. “Don’t be. It’s wonderful,” she whispered. She cupped his cheek, glorying in the feel of him inside her, her inside him, their union.
With a groan of his own, he grabbed her hips again and lifted her, removing himself from her, then hauling her back down. Thank God she was on the pill, she thought idly, breaking the wonder of the moment just as he—
“Oh my G—” She swallowed her own cry as he did it again.
And again.
He filled her, impaled her, claimed her.
The pieces of her life that she had carried around like bits of broken glass suddenly fit together in a seamless whole. The anxiety clinging to her back fell off and drowned in the hot water. Doubt and fear drifted away in the steam, floating out of sight and memory.
All that remained was tight, hot, brittle, spiraling pressure. She had to relieve that pressure. With each thrust of his cock, the tension increased, unbearable tension. Nobody could survive it, not even a god.
Driving into her again, he met her tortured gaze with one of his own over the rising steam. “My love,” he said, voice strained. “I can’t—wait—so—s-sorry—”
All at once, she came around him and with him, shattering into pieces that would never be broken again.
Chapter 14
In his dream, Derry had waded waist deep into the warmest, wettest pool of delightful water. Tendrils from a soft, silky water fairy’s hair tickled his belly, the feel of sweet, spun cotton caressing his abdomen.
He groaned, nirvana enveloping him in an eternal embrace, his cock surrounded by melted butter and hot sunshine, the gentle strokes of Mother Nature a kind of heaven on earth. His hips rode up, demanding more, more, more as his body responded to the powerful ministrations of an ambrosia that made him stir in his sleep, waking sharply and nearly sitting up, but unable, pinned in place by a very eager, very naked bed partner with her head bobbing up and down at his very thick, very aroused, pole.
This was no dream.
This was the best dream come to life.
“Jess,” he moaned, her name on his tongue evoking her taste, which was embedded in his mouth, his throat, on his skin and in the whorls of his fingertips. At the sound of her name, she looked up, coquettish and coy. The sight of her lips wrapped around his cock made an internal rhythm push him up, his body begging for release but his mind catching up to it just in time to stop himself from spilling his seed down the same throat that had cried out his name in ecstasy last night until she’d gone mute.
“Is this… OK? Am I doing it right?” she asked, looking away from him and turning her gaze to the tender, vulnerable flesh she manipulated. “It’s so… fascinating.”
Derry sat up on his elbows and looked down at her. Given his height, it was a fair distance. Her hair was a tangled honey-brown mess, matted in places from the friction of their third (or was it fourth?) time last night.
Once unleashed, her sexual desire had been utterly insatiable.
Apparently.
“Fascinating? Tell me more. Every man dreams of being told how amazing that part of his body is.”
“It’s softer than I thought.” She lightly dragged the tip of one fingernail against his foreskin. “And you’re not circumcised.”
He shuddered. “Why would I be?”
She laug
hed, the vibration of her movement making her breasts bob a bit, triggering more blood to flow into his erection, making the thin thread of restraint that allowed him to have this conversation and not bury himself deep in her right this second unravel that much more.
“Most men your age are.”
“I thought you were a virgin.” And you underestimate my age, he wanted to add, but wisely stayed silent. There would be time to explain. She was twenty-one and likely assumed he was in his late twenties. She’d experienced the shock of seeing him in bear form last night. Learning he was more than four decades older—in human years, but only slightly older in shifter years—would come at a different time.
“Doesn’t mean I haven’t seen one or two of these.”
A cloud of jealousy ripped through his organs. The idea of Jess touching another man intimately made him want to tear apart this cabin plank by plank, stone by stone, and stuff each piece down the guy’s throat.
Jess wrapped her palm around his shaft. Her fingers couldn’t touch each other, the girth so great. As she rose up, he sucked air between his back teeth, the combination of her curiosity, fascination, and damned fine naked splendor shattering his mind.
And then she dipped her head down and gave him her mouth, throat opening to take him in, the gag making its expected entrance at the very end, her movement up and look of apology triggering his smile.
“I need more practice.”
“Music to my ears.”
Her eyes roved over him, the covers kicked off, their bodies musky and spent, yet awake for a morning filled with erotic delights.
“You’re so beautiful,” she declared.
“That’s my line.” No woman had ever said such a thing to him, and he felt a stirring within, pleased with her words. Mornings after typically involved walks of shame, the chauffeur called to bring the woman (or, often, women) home. Rare was the bedmate who spent the night and had a morning romp with him, much less this.
Crawling up his body, she made sure her nipples traced a line up his midsection until they were pressed together, chest to chest, her cheek snuggling into the crook of his neck.
“You’re so warm,” she marveled, playing with the thick hair on his chest.
“And you’re so exquisite, Jessica.”
She went silent. Pensive. He felt her heartbeat sync with his, smelled her hesitation. Then she ran one hand from the top of his shoulder, slowly moving down his ribs as if counting them, claiming them, the slow, steady march of her skin against his a tactile warmth that made him tingle by the time she reached his hip, fingers contouring to his ass, her delicious inventorying more than an invitation.
It was the touch of fate.
Mine, said that connection of skin against skin.
Mine.
She kissed his neck, then flicked her tongue against his nipple, making him shiver.
He flipped her onto her back, the motion swift and intentional, leaving her breathlessly squealing as he opened her legs with one knee, his hands busy with those mesmerizing breasts.
“What are you doing?”
“You got to be fascinated. My turn to be captivated.”
“But I—we—I need to wash up! We haven’t showered. It’s…” She covered her face with her hands in a gesture of endearing embarrassment, the way she bit her lower lip so sweet he almost laughed.
“It’s what, Jess?”
“It’s… I… The scent. I must, you know, women have that smell.” Her nose wrinkled.
His face split with a leer. “Oh, yes,” he growled, inhaling deeply. “And it is a testament to our merciful Mother creator that you do. How boring this would be without your imprint.”
“Imprint?” A red, racing blush covered her chest, neck and cheeks. He wanted to eat her up.
But first things first…
“Your unique scent. Musk. Pheromones. Whatever. It’s what makes you, you. It’s how I mark you.”
“Mark me?”
“Note you. How I know who you are.”
“You can tell that by my scent?”
“Yes.” He nudged her thighs farther apart with his nose, one hand sliding up the creamy expanse of her belly, finding a rosy, tight nipple. She gasped and arched up. Ah, she wanted more.
Thank God she wanted more.
“But I thought guys didn’t like the—” She shut her mouth quickly, turning away slightly. The fascinated young woman who’d just been staring at his dick like it was an archaeological masterpiece was shutting down before his very eyes.
He studied her. “You had no problem with this at the Plat in the wine cellar. Why now?”
She frowned, then blushed, her flustered appearance endearing. “I don’t know. I just—”
“Men who cannot appreciate the scent and taste of a natural woman aren’t worthy of the title ‘men.’ They are little boys. Little, selfish boys who focus purely on their own pleasure and who deprive themselves of the joy that comes from the fine bouquet of an aroused woman’s juices.”
“Derry!” she gasped, now deeply embarrassed, yet—intrigued.
Sunlight streaked through the layered curtains in his bedroom, highlighting the delicate, pink folds of her womanhood. He bent at the holy V between her legs and looked up.
“Jess.”
She stayed quiet, though her body exuded excitement.
“Look at me, Jess.” His voice held a demand that he be obeyed.
She did.
“You have a choice, my dear. You can believe the utter bullshit that society implants into the minds of women about standards. What true men find beautiful bears—no pun intended—little resemblance to what society claims men find beautiful.”
Jess swallowed, the delicate skin of her throat making him wish he had two mouths.
“This scar,” he said, pointing to a crooked, pale line on her knee. “What is that from?”
“A bike accident in second grade,” she said with a smile.
“And this,” he asked, cupping her breast, his hand not quite big enough for her bountiful flesh, a condition which pleased him to no end. “You’ve been told they’re imperfect, have you not?”
She nodded, eyes still wide, her expression unreadable.
“Wrong. They’re perfect.” He sucked one nipple into his mouth, rolling the sweet pebble on his tongue, enthralled by how the heat on her skin made her break out into a light sweat, her scent morphing.
“You,” he said, regretfully letting go of her breast and cradling her face in his hands, “are perfect as nature made you. I am imperfection personified. And still I rejoice in life, lived in two very different worlds.”
“I’ve been living in two worlds too, Derry,” she said with a sigh. “The same society that draws tight lines I can’t live within, and my own, lonely world where it’s easier to keep everyone out so I won’t feel rejection. I thought it was easier that way.” Her doe eyes met his. “Until now.”
Her openness made him feel more naked than being nude could ever achieve. Her reserved facade was just that—a shell she used to keep the vagaries of the word at bay. Tenderness consumed him, replacing the rutting need that had built at his wakening, and he pulled her to him, too desperate to be connected to her to care that he was dropping his own shell, too.
Her mouth tasted like ambrosia as he kissed her, pulling her up into his lap, curling her body to mold with his as he sought out her tongue, dancing with the same abandon he’d felt last night.
That his feelings had only deepened in the hours since sleep had overcome him was a disturbing realization, one that gave him pause. As his hands filled with the warm, buttery feel of her waist, her breasts pressed against his chest, her body squirming to center herself over him, he stopped.
“What is it about you, Jessica?” he asked, his voice hoarse with the craven need for a true answer. “No woman has ever made me feel so… so… so this.”
She did not smile, instead brushing his long locks off his face, the gesture tender and intimate. Eyes th
e color of amber with rich cocoa swirled in the irises met his own. She did not answer with words, eyes raking over his face, her neck tilting as she took him in, searching him for the answer to his own question.
Suspended above him, now resting her weight on her knees, she took her hands and pressed them flat against the base of his torso, sliding up, fingers threading through the thick hair at his waist, moving toward his pecs and shoulders as she skimmed him like a blind woman reading Braille.
“I don’t know,” she answered truthfully, mouth trying but failing to smile, eyes wide and open like the sun. Her slow, deep inhale was music, a melody made for him, a heart song shared only by the two of them.
The sunlight made the room so bright, and as he sat up and stretched over her, moving his hand to her breasts to imitate her own motions, he nudged her legs open once more with his hands, then nose, burrowing into her scent, covering himself in it.
Branding him.
He was becoming hers with each kiss, each stroke, every thrust, and all the sounds and scents.
Hers.
“Oh, Derry,” she moaned, her hands on his shoulders, fingers digging in as his tongue found the soft flesh that he knew would drive pleasure through her body. Last night she had wanted him inside her, heedless of the pain he knew it must have caused, finding ecstasy in the ache of a new self being born.
He was privileged to be her guide on this journey of self-exploration, and he damn well knew it, her blood pounding in his ears, his own rushing to his groin as she writhed above him, one hand seeking his, her fingers intertwining, sharing her intensity.
Every touch made him crave more. Every hitched breath made him need a thousand like it. The endless capacity for the enjoyment of time spent with her, for the rush of hunger that seemed insatiable, for the sense of mourning that they were not immortal and could not spend eternity together, made all his earlier years on this earth feel trivial. Child’s play.
Mere practice for this moment, this gasp, this climax that roared from his lovely, beautiful soul mate as his tongue drove her to new heights, her hips grinding into his face, embedding her scent in his pores, on his taste buds, in his cells.
