Stranger Creatures 2: Bear's Edge

by Christina Lynn Lambert

  “Grant, what the hell happened?”

  Brian, from world history class, third period. That was who the voice belonged to. They traded sick jokes back and forth, but Grant didn’t know Brian outside class.

  “I’m all right,” Grant assured him, shakily getting up, keeping his back to Brian. He waved the guy off. “Just a minor ass whipping. I’m headed home now.” And Grant did his best to keep walking.

  “The fuck you are! Freddy, Joe, a little help,” Brian called out to the other two guys with him who hung back, like they knew not to swarm in all at once. Freddy and Joe approached, and Grant panicked and told them to get lost, that he was fine, but Freddy and Joe and Brian were next to him faster than he could get away. Freddy sent the gorgeous girl, Maya, home, telling her to let Aunt Grace know he’d be late for dinner.

  Grant wanted to get the hell home, to leave in peace. Instead, his shitty day got worse, and he couldn’t do jack about it.

  “Come on, man, we’re not here to hurt you.”

  Grant stiffened when Brian laid a hand on his shoulder, because nobody ever touched Grant except to hurt him or push him out of the way. Freddy stood in front of him, nothing but kindness in his eyes.

  “We’re gonna take you to Brian’s mom. She’ll help you. She’s a nurse.” No wicked grin or look of disdain distorted Freddy’s face. Freddy on one side and Joe on the other, the two helped hold him up. Brian, his left arm still in a cast from a winter sledding misadventure, led the way home.

  Brian’s mom figured out Grant’s sucky life situation after a few questions, and a doctor made a house call. Brian’s dad came home from work early and helped the doctor take the glass and gravel out of Grant’s back. Grant did his best to be stoic, to not cry out in pain. He only lost it once.

  After dinner, Grant thanked Brian’s parents for the food and everything else. He started to leave and head back to his most likely empty house.

  “Son, you aren’t going anywhere tonight. You stay here and come back anytime you need to,” J. D. assured him. Brian’s dad had powerful dark eyes, and his words were kind of like an order but also a promise. That was the first night of many nights that Grant had a safe place to go.

  * * * *

  The oak tree felt good against Grant’s back and the memories, always bittersweet, were a hollow echo of what he’d once had. Losing the people he loved had been brutal, and there were still hard days when the grief sneaked up on him and sent him spiraling. He shouldn’t be taking more chances. He should have had the willpower to just forget about Shayla and the way she made him feel and want and need again. The light spring rain turned to pelting sleet, and he made a dash to grab his clothes off the back porch and head inside.

  He turned on the coffeepot and looked for a clean cup. He poured a cupful and wrapped his hands around the mug, needing something to do with his hands since he wanted them on Shayla. All over her.

  Need her. Just her, the bear growled. She’s meant to be ours.

  Grant ignored the bear.

  He made himself go get dressed, intending to head to the home-improvement store to grab a few things, maybe some paint for the bathroom and a new ceiling fan to install in the kitchen—things to keep his mind occupied and off Shayla. They had a date that evening, and he’d be able to take her in his arms again, pull her flush with his body, and kiss her soft, delicious lips. One day, if she didn’t get sick of him first, she’d be there with him, in the flesh, with his cock deep inside her. He’d just have to keep himself under control.

  He’d managed to stay in control with Maya, to keep things sweet, and kind of hot, but not over the top. Grant hadn’t been a bear shifter back then, though. The bear made it harder for Grant to stay in control. The bear wanted to be just as wild as Grant and then some. Grant always struggled to rein that wildness in. Shayla and this situation with her was different—not temporary—and she was so small and he was so big that he had to be careful. What if he asked for what he wanted and she just wanted slow and easy or “normal,” and he couldn’t keep it that way?

  She’ll like what you have in mind. She wants more than vanilla sex. The bear sounded way too sure of himself.

  Doubt it. Instead of arguing with Grant, the bear flashed him a porn-style image of Shayla on her knees on Grant’s king-size bed, clamps tight on her nipples and beads in her ass while Grant slammed his cock into her, his balls slapping against her thighs. She let out a sob of delight when he used his free hand to rub her clit with relentless pressure. Goddammit, bear, I can’t do that to her!

  Grant had been smacked around as a kid, had the shit beaten out of him a time or two as a teenager, and never once had that pain given him a hard-on. He’d never gotten crazy happy about having to punch someone to defend himself either, but thinking about fucking a woman hard, giving her a little pain if she was willing, taking some pain himself—goddamn, it got him off, and he tried not to ever let it.

  A few spanks against a woman’s tight, round ass didn’t sound so bad now that he wasn’t completely inexperienced. The last woman he’d dated had even requested it, though Grant had not dared go any further. Knowing what little he did about his father, Grant couldn’t let himself get too carried away. He refused to be the type of man women referred to as rough and mean.

  What if he was more fucked-up and depraved than he realized? What if he went over the edge and lost his mind and his decency? Shayla might be okay with a few things that tested the boundaries of average, but things he wanted to do were darker than a few swats on the butt. He shouldn’t want to do that to someone he cared about. Or what if she wanted it too? Frustration brewed up inside him. Pain should be a boundary he never wanted to cross. Why wasn’t it? Love was supposed to be gentle. Love shouldn’t involve cuffs and whips. Why couldn’t he imagine gentle things instead of roughness?

  Shayla wasn’t a hookup, and he dwarfed her in size, but if he initiated her, turned her into a bear shifter, she could take it. Just for a moment, he entertained the thought that it would be that easy. He could initiate her and trust that she wanted the same kind of pain that could also bring him pleasure. Shayla as a bear would beg for hard, buried-to-the-hilt thrusts, and she would be able to withstand them.

  Grant undid his fly, and precum gleamed slick on his heavy cock. He tried to focus on just the pleasure, just the idea of being inside her after having wanted her and cared for her for so long, but it all went sideways, somehow, with thoughts of Shayla making promises that it would only ever be Grant. And that she’d always, always be there.

  A vision stormed through his mind of Shayla’s naked body under him. He wouldn’t tie her hands, because he wanted her to touch him and make him crazy any way she could. She’d part her legs for him and take his bare heat inside her snug, wet pussy. Then she’d wrap her legs around his waist, and he would bury himself inside her. Her screams of pleasure would echo off the walls, making him fuck her harder to make her scream some more. Next, after he’d worked her up, he’d smack her thigh until her skin turned pink, and she’d wrap her hand around his balls, tight, until it hurt. She’d moan, and he wouldn’t have to fear that what he wanted wasn’t right, somehow, that he’d be a guy a woman described as mean and rough on women.

  The Shayla in his mind wouldn’t ask him to slow down or be easy. She’d dig her nails into the skin of his back. Not just a stinging bite—she’d draw blood and leave marks over his old scars. While he pounded inside her, she’d tell him she wanted him just the way he was, scars, fucked-up mind and all, and then she’d come for him. Her pussy would grip his throbbing cock in hard, pure possession, and he wouldn’t hold back.

  His back arched against the wall, and his body jerked. Streams of white-hot cum shot onto his abdomen. The sound of Shayla’s name rang out in his quiet house. Grant shuddered, shaken by the aftershocks of pleasure. Jesus, he was in too deep already. He laid his head back against the wall and groaned, acknowledging that he was screwed.

  Chapter Seven

  Grant’s p
hone rang just as he was entering a new level of Build and Destroy, his new favorite interactive video game that let users work together to build a structure with only a few algorithmically designated materials, then use other selected materials to devise a way to blow up their inventions. There were points for biggest structure and points for biggest explosion. An MIT grad student and two Virginia Tech professors were on his team. This was a guaranteed win.

  Shayla’s number popped up on his caller ID. Three weeks dating, and he still lit up like a dork at the sound of her voice. He’d take any chance he could get to talk to her or see her. The game would have to go on without him.

  “Hi, Shay. What’s up, baby doll?” She probably hated that he called her baby doll, but he said it before he could stop himself.

  “So, I know you’re not supposed to pick me up until this evening for the show, but”—she paused—“remember how you mentioned you were good at fixing things?”

  “Whatever’s broken, I can probably fix it.” Even if he had no clue how to fix it, he’d figure it out. He wanted to spend every second he could with her but tried his best not to take up all of her time and look pathetic since everything was so new between them. He didn’t mind her knowing he wanted to see her, but she didn’t need to know how badly he wanted to be with her. All. The. Fucking. Time.

  “It’s my back door. It came off at the hinges a few minutes ago, then fell in the floor and splintered. Nearly hit my feet. I think I can put a new one on, but I’ll need some help. Actually, a lot of help, if you don’t mind.”

  “I don’t mind. I missed you.” Why? Why does she make me so honest? They’d gone out after work the night before, so he shouldn’t be missing her so bad, so soon. Saturday was a whole new day, though, and he was addicted.

  “I missed you too.”

  “I’ll be there in a few minutes to see what kind of parts you’ll need. Do you have a screen door in the meantime, you know, to keep the animals and people who don’t belong out?”

  “Oh. No. That broke last month.”

  Grant swore under his breath, but she just laughed. “Don’t worry, I sprayed some spider- and bug-killing spray around the door frame so nothing would crawl in except the stray cat I’ve been trying to feed.”

  “Well, that’s good, at least. I’ve seen that feral cat hanging around your porch. It’ll probably eat any mice and rats that want to get inside.”

  “Yuck! Jeez, I didn’t even think about mice! Hurry up and get here!” She sounded adorable disgusted and mildly panicked.

  “See you in a little while, baby doll.” He tried to remind himself that Shayla’s missing back door didn’t pose a real threat in the middle of the day in a nice area. Still, he couldn’t shake the worry that held tight to him. He grabbed some decent clothes to take to Shayla’s place so he could change later for their evening out and hauled ass to her house.

  TWENTY MINUTES AFTER she’d called him, Grant stood at her front door holding a big toolbox. Having a tall, brawny dude show up on her doorstep ready to flex muscles and fix things with a box of tools made her all kinds of hot. Shayla smiled and hoped it wasn’t obvious that her handyman fantasy had hit the real-world level. He grinned back and winked. Grant was shy, not oblivious.

  After taking some measurements of the back door, Grant tacked up a heavy plastic sheet to the door frame so no squirrels or rats or any other furry or creepy creature that lived in her yard could come inside. Stray Kitty sat on the back porch, eating a bird instead of the cat food Shayla had set out in a bowl the night before. A short while later, she and Grant returned from the DIY store with all the supplies, and Shayla followed Grant to the laundry room where the broken back door had nearly fallen on her earlier. Good reflexes had made her jump back just in time to avoid having a really shitty ice-pack-and-stitches kind of day.

  They steadied the storm door and the regular door together, and then he drilled screws into brackets. The central-air system didn’t really do anything for her laundry room, and the ceiling fan in there had never worked. Sweat dotted Grant’s T-shirt as he installed the dead bolt and doorknob. He didn’t take off his shirt, though. Disappointing. She hadn’t seen him fully naked yet. Through unspoken agreement, they’d been taking things slow, or at least not at breakneck headfirst-into-the-rushing-river pace. After Grant turned the last screw into the door frame, she swept up the mess.

  “Do you mind if I borrow your shower? I brought clothes to change into for later tonight.”

  “Oh good. Then you don’t have to leave.” Oh Lord, she sounded way too overeager to be hanging out with him. She bit the inside of her lip to keep quiet. What had happened to calm, cool Shayla who always sized up a situation before speaking and who always made sure she had the upper hand? “The shower’s down the hall, second door on the right. Just go through my bedroom. There’s a cool old-fashioned tub in the bathroom too, and you’re welcome to use that if you’d rather.”

  Grant smirked. “Think I’ll fit?”

  Shayla looked him up and down and laughed. “Probably not.” Not in her tub, anyway. “I’ll make us something to eat. Take your time,” she offered, then headed to the kitchen in an effort not to offer to join him. He hadn’t asked, and she wouldn’t push.

  Thank goodness she’d been to the store the previous day, so her kitchen held plenty of food choices to distract her from her wish to find out if Grant had tried to fit into the bathtub or if he was standing in her shower soaping up his sweaty body with her oatmeal-and-coconut soap. She set out cheese and crackers, cut sandwiches into fourths to give her hands something to do, and placed apple slices and grapes in a bowl. She set out a pitcher of water and one of iced tea with fresh-cut chunks of lemon at the bottom. The banana bread she’d made that morning would be a nice dessert. There would be dinner at the comedy show, but she wanted a snack now anyway. Sydney sometimes joked that Shayla had the metabolism of a rabbit on crack.

  Grant walked into the kitchen looking drop-dead sexy with damp hair, wearing faded charcoal-colored jeans and a white button-up shirt. The white shirt contrasted beautifully with his bronze skin. And oh sweet Jesus, the jeans he wore were just the right amount of worn-out and snug without being too tight. He joined her at the table, and she leaned over to give him a kiss on the cheek followed by a short, sweet kiss on the lips. “Thanks for fixing my door.”

  “You’re welcome, baby.” He kissed her a little harder, a little rougher than she’d kissed him. His tongue opened the seam of her lips, and she greedily took it into her mouth, tasting him. A needy sound left her lips, and Grant responded by threading his fingers through her hair and kissing her deeper. Then he pulled away and kissed her softly before resting his forehead against hers.

  “Iced tea or water?” she asked him after they’d caught their breath.

  “Tea, please.”

  She filled his glass and handed him a plate. He went for the fruit first. He always did. She decided she would plant some fruit trees in her backyard for him. They sat side by side, and Shayla had a whole lot of questions for the man who didn’t ever talk about his past.

  “You weren’t exaggerating the other night when you said you were good at making repairs around the house.” Grant had known exactly what to look for at the hardware store, and he knew some of the clerks too. He was no amateur.

  “I’ve done a lot of work to my own house. Replaced everything in the bathroom and all the floors in the kitchen. Installed new appliances, redid the kitchen cabinets. Stuff like that.” He shrugged.

  “Did your dad teach you how to do all that?”

  Grant looked down. “No. I, uh, never met my father. My friend Brian’s dad, J. D., taught me. Brian, Freddy, Joe, and I used to follow J. D. around and help him fix things. He was really patient with us.” Grant smiled, but his dark eyes were so sad.

  “Wait, you never met your dad? Did he die before you were born?” Shayla didn’t want to push, but she wanted to know at least the basics of Grant’s past.

  “Honestly
? All know is that my mother refuses to talk much about him, and what I’ve heard doesn’t sound great. I don’t think he knows I exist. I don’t know his name or even what he looks like.”

  “Oh Grant. I’m sorry.” She felt so bad about looking for answers to his past. But this was all part of getting to know each other, right? “Are you and your mom close?”

  “No.” He shifted in his seat. “She had some…problems. Things weren’t great when she was around. She wasn’t around much, though, so that worked out all right.”

  “How did you turn out so wonderful without anyone there to help you?”

  “I don’t know about wonderful, but I guess I’m no deadbeat or serial killer.”

  “And you fix things.”

  “I’m also a pretty good kisser. Don’t forget that part.” His cocky grin made her smile.

  “Come here and show me,” she dared him. Grant picked her up out of her chair and had her backed up against the kitchen wall faster than a man built like a brick house should have been able to move. Shayla wrapped her legs around his waist, and Grant grasped her lower back and pulled her hard against his arousal. He brushed her forehead, her unmarred cheek, and then her scarred cheek with his lips. His tracing the shell of her ear with his tongue sent a shiver down her back, and when he pressed his full lips against her neck, she sighed. He bit down. Just a nip, but she demanded he do it again. He bit her more forcefully this time. Shayla circled her hips in a slow grinding motion against him. The pressure from Grant’s jeans-covered hard-on ground against her core just right. He nipped at her neck again, and she almost came.

  Grant made her feel out of control in a way she hadn’t felt before. Could she find a way to enjoy everything happening between them without letting herself get too carried away by the fire starting to burn her from the inside? Grant was huge, extra-large-condom-size huge, and she trusted him to make it feel right, to make her come with his big dick and not just get off and then forget about her. She wasn’t supposed to want him this much, or trust him this much, not so soon. She smiled and took his hand. He followed her to the bedroom, and she turned on the light. When they faced each other, her breath caught.