Bear Outlaw

by Candace Ayers

  Inside, the chapel was simple but cute. White walls, white pews, white curtains. It looked very clean. Then Elvis stepped out from the back in a gold suit and sunglasses. "Let's do this," he said and swiveled his hips.

  Derrick couldn't believe how lucky he was. After thirteen years, cheap, meaningless women, he was finally marrying the one. His mate.

  "Wait!" Kristin said, and ran from the room. Elvis started singing "Love Me Tender" and Kristin appeared in the doorway. Derrick's jaw dropped. Her dress stopped at her knees. It was layer upon layer of the most delicate silk Derrick had ever seen. It draped over her body, accentuating the voluptuous curves of her hips and rounding her waist into something so sensual it was almost lewd.

  Thin strands of gold fiber were woven around the hem and bust, showing off her already large chest. Derrick's heart smashed against his ribcage, exploding into a thousand pieces as she slowly walked towards him. His hand almost crushed hers as the singing stopped and they began to recite their vows. Kristin felt the heat radiating off Derrick's skin even in the air-conditioned chapel. She was afraid if he held her hand too long, he might fry her like an egg.

  "You can kiss the bride now," Elvis said five minutes later. She couldn't believe it was all over. It went too fast. A photographer had snapped some photos. Elvis had married them. She'd blinked and missed her own wedding. She was on the verge of a panic attack when Derrick's lips met hers. Any lingering misgivings melted away. Their bodies connected at a primal level that was too intense to go unnoticed. Elvis took his sunglasses off and watched with wide eyes as the heat from their bodies became a physical part of the air around them, spitting sparks onto the curtains and singeing them.

  "Never seen that before," Elvis murmured.

  It was like their bodies knew they'd just been married and were desperate to explore this new world they'd just entered into together. Elvis handed them a card, slipping his sunglasses back over his eyes. "You give that to the clerk at Caesar's Palace and you'll get a discount."

  "Thanks," Derrick said, and pulled Kristin along so fast she almost missed grabbing their paperwork.

  12

  At Caesar's, Derrick asked for the best room they had. "The best room would be the penthouse," the clerk said, sounding snotty.

  "Sounds good." Derrick said.

  "The penthouse occupies the majority of the top floor and is $10,000 per night." The clerk clearly did not recognize Derrick. He stared at Derrick, waiting for a reaction that did not come. Derrick handed him a credit card and then his attitude seemed to change.

  "Can I send anything up to you Sir? Champagne? Chocolates? Flowers?"

  "All of it," Derrick said.

  The clerk beamed and made a note. Kristin wondered if they worked on commission.

  The room was beautiful, almost to the point of being gaudy, but it was fun. Gold pillars ran from floor to ceiling in several places. White and gold curtains hung everywhere. And in the center of the room was a giant 4 pillar bed dressed with gold satin sheets and billowing silk curtains above the mattress that almost matched her dress. The room was lit, but barely. The effect was splashes of color that shined on the walls from the neon signs outside their window lined penthouse. It was like having Las Vegas inside your bedroom.

  Kristin grinned and ran to the bed, throwing herself on top of it and bouncing like a child. Her body moved like a boat on water, bobbing with the waves. Her breasts sailed up and down and her legs crossed each other as she kicked them in the air, oozing sexuality.

  "Come and kiss me," she purred. Derrick knew that technically having sex the night before a big game was akin to cursing yourself with bad luck, but after all they'd been through, he didn't believe in bad luck anymore. Only good luck. And Kristin was his good luck charm. Being with her now could only ensure victory for him tomorrow.

  He went to the bed and she slid forward, wrapping her legs around him as he stood at the edge of the mattress, feet still on the floor. Everything they'd said to each other, all the kisses and caresses since they'd first met over a decade ago, had led to this moment.

  Kristin had thirsted for this hour since seeing Derrick in the locker room her first day with the Peregrines. His feet were planted firmly on the floor, but she thought she could fix that. She hugged his legs with hers, sliding one up and down him like a snake. Then she squeezed just behind his knees and he buckled onto the bed, falling on top of her with a huge grin.

  "Fancy seeing you here," she giggled. Her legs curled over his ass and she nuzzled her face against his neck, inhaling deeply. His scent seemed to change at different times of day. Right now he smelled like smoke and cinnamon. She'd have her whole life to get to know the different moods of his fragrance.

  Derrick watched her move under him, captivated by the sensuous and suggestive ways she posed herself. She liked to tease, raising her head to kiss him then pulling back before their lips could touch. He restrained himself from going too fast. With the other women he'd been with, his goal had always been to climax. With Kristin, he wanted to explore every inch of her, savor every moment. He wanted her to know his mind along with his actions. He wanted her to feel his love reflected in his movements, not just the lust. The lust was a given.

  He bent his head to her ear and began to nibble. Her body spasmed under him. Her legs wrapped tighter around his backside. The dress she wore was sheer enough at the top that he could see her bra peeking through, all lace and satin. Her breasts were perfect, and he longed to feel their luscious curves as his hands ran over her.

  The hunger he felt for her raged inside him. He went from nibbling to biting. Her neck was smooth and creamy, her skin blushed as he ran his hand along her neck and down to her breast. Her body was precious to him. He started at her neck, lapping at it like a cat at a saucer of milk. The familiar itch of the panther prickled at the nape of his neck. The passion he felt for Kristin ignited a fury in him that he was afraid he wouldn't be able to control. He pulled away.

  "What are you stopping for?" she asked, breathless. He sat back on his knees. She pulled herself out from under him and looked into his face.

  "I'm finding it hard to control myself around you." She saw veins pulsing under his golden skin and the rapid movement of his chest as it rose and fell too fast to count. "What if I hurt you?" he asked.

  "Would you?" Her voice was soft and her hand reached with tentative fingers to caress his face.

  "No."

  "Then don't try to control yourself. I want you to let go."

  She stood from the bed and one hand reached behind her back. Derrick heard the zipper and a second later her dress was on the floor. Her polished skin was lustrous in the Vegas lights that poured in through their open windows, tinting her skin shades of red and gold. Her bra was pale pink with cream colored lace around the edges. It matched her panties. Derrick barely had time to take her in before her hands slipped behind her back again and her breasts tumbled out, round and firm with perfect pink nubs that danced in the neon lights of their room.

  She crossed the floor to him and put one knee on either side of his body as she crawled back onto the bed. Derrick reached out and began to stroke the dark pink nipples that protruded from her chest. She moaned and tilted her head back. Her hair fell over her shoulders in long waves and he touched its softness, like silk, before leaning into her and allowing his tongue to find the soft pink pebbles on her chest.

  She put her hands around his neck and held him to her. His tongue moved over the delicacy of her strawberry nubs, circling her until she moaned again. Suddenly she was leaning forward, her hands pulling his shirt over his head and flinging it across the room. Her tongue licked at his neck, then she pushed him back onto the bed and he grinned.

  "The team was right. You are a wildcat." She bared her teeth at him before pulling his pants off and kicking them to the floor, underwear and all. Derrick was completely exposed to her now, just as she'd wanted. His arousal was obvious, long and thick and jutting out of his pelvis as though it
was pointing at her. She was flattered to see the depth of his longing for her. She wrapped her hand around his shaft and moved it to the rhythm of the buzz that had followed them since the merry-go-round. It pulsed all around them, adding electricity to an already energy charged room.

  She worked her magic on Derrick. His body was as she'd fantasized. The golden color of his skin was not just on his face. It was from head to foot, and the deep lines of his etched muscles stood out on every limb and rippled across his torso. Derrick followed Kristin's body with his eyes as she moved her hand over him, finding her way to the exact parts of him that were most sensitive. His passion soared again as her other hand ran over his inner thigh, and he suddenly sat up, laying her back on the bed as he kissed his way towards the soft mound between her legs. She shivered and spread herself for him as he stroked his tongue, cat-like, over her of her sensitive folds.

  She responded to his every touch with a tremble or moan. He let his tongue be his paintbrush on the canvas of her soft flesh until the pounding of both their pulses was too much to bear. Then, he brought his face to within an inch of hers. He kissed her, letting her feel his erection against her sex. She pressed her core deeper against him. "Do it," she whispered, "before I go crazy."

  He slid into her slowly, inch by exquisite inch, with such perfection it was like two puzzle pieces coming together. The effect was instantaneous. Her back arched and his stomach broiled. She dug her hands into his back as he moved inside her. "I'm not hurting you, am I?" he asked when he thought he saw her eyes water.

  "No. I don't ever want this to end," she said, then moved her hips against his. Their bodies pulsed together, forming one unit. Light began to erupt around them, stronger than any Vegas neon. It was like they were on the surface of the sun. Kristin wanted to close her eyes but was afraid she'd miss the rainbow colors that emitted from their bodies, pouring forth from their energy. Derrick didn't have to think about what he was doing. His body was acting on some innate sense. It was like he and Kristin had been pre-destined for this moment, and his body already knew the moves.

  His penis throbbed inside her and she felt it press against the sides of her channel, sending shock waves of heat deeper and deeper into her as he rocked faster and faster until finally the sun exploded all around them and Derrick and Kristin had no choice but to close their eyes and let themselves be carried on the solar waves of their passion.

  They fell together, exhausted, feeling like they'd been melted by a nearby fire. "Let's do that again later," she said.

  Derrick nodded and kissed her head. "Anything you say, Mrs. Wellborn."

  13

  Derrick woke up feeling happier than he could ever remember being. He reached out an arm for Kristin and found an empty pillow. His eyes flickered open. She's probably in the shower.

  The big game was today. Okay, it wasn't the Superbowl—not yet—but it was the day Derrick was gonna beat Randy Wolfe's record. He headed for the bathroom. The penthouse was huge. He could get lost in it.

  "Kristin?" he called, pushing open the bathroom door. Empty. There was a second bathroom on the opposite side of the room. He walked to it and pushed the door open. "Kristin?" She wasn't there.

  Panic started to prickle at him. But, that was ridiculous. Why should he panic? Because she changed her mind. He dismissed the idea, walking faster around the penthouse now, shouting for her. "Kristin! Kristin!"

  Her dress was gone. They'd only brought a small overnight bag each. Hers was still there. "She's probably getting breakfast." He pulled his cellphone from the nightstand and dialed her number. He got her voicemail. He tried to sound bright and cheerful. "Hi, it's me. Call me please, I'm looking for you."

  He wandered downstairs. It was 6am. They had a flight that left at 8am. The game started at 3. He had to hurry and find her. Maybe she was upset that they wouldn't get a proper honeymoon till after the Superbowl. He'd make it up to her if that was the problem.

  He walked for five minutes that felt like hours. People passed by, a few stared, most didn't seem to notice him. They were all involved in their own romances, their own games. He called her phone again and this time it clicked over.

  "Kristin," he sighed, relieved. "Where are you? I'm downstairs looking for you."

  There was a low growl from the other end. Derrick thought for a second that he'd gotten the wrong number. "Kristin can't come to the phone right now. She's tied up at the moment." It was such a cliché thing to say, but that's why Randy thought it was funny.

  "Who is this?" Derrick asked. He could barely get the words out.

  "Guess."

  He listened to the heavy breathing on the other end. To the deep tone of the threatening voice he'd heard on the news from time to time. "Randy?"

  "That's right Wellborn. Do as exactly as I say and your girlfriend lives."

  "Wife," Derrick corrected automatically.

  Wolfe paused a moment. Derrick could almost hear him grin on the other end. "Wife," he repeated. "Even better."

  Kristin wished she hadn't gotten hungry during the night. More than anything else at this moment, she wished she'd just gone back to sleep instead of downstairs for a snack. There was a fully stocked mini fridge in their room. Why hadn't she just gotten something from there? Her wrists burned as she tried freeing them from the ropes once again. It had only been a couple hours and her hands were already going numb.

  "I have to pee," she called from the closet where she lay squinched up like a bug. The door opened and a man she didn't recognize stared down at her. He placed a bowl on the floor and shut the door again. "Are you serious?" she yelled.

  She had no idea where she was. She barely remembered anything after bumping into Randy Wolfe. She'd thought it was a funny coincidence that he was in Vegas at the same time they were, until he'd pulled a gun on her and made her follow him to a limo waiting outside. She thought it was hilarious being abducted by a superstar in a limo, until the man inside the limo hit her from behind when she turned her head, and everything went black. She woke up tied up in this closet. She only knew it was a closet because there were clothes hanging in it.

  "Hey!" she screamed again. "I'm not peeing in a fucking salad bowl!"

  The door opened again, only this time the man who opened it had a bat. Kristin felt it collide with her head, and then she felt nothing else for several hours.

  Derrick sat in the locker room, his head in his hands. His palms were sweating. He thought he was gonna puke again. Coach had been waiting to pounce on him for going to Vegas the night before a game, but when Derrick had finally arrived at the stadium he'd looked so bad, Coach had said nothing. Wolfe had sent Derrick a picture of Kristin, her hands tied, her face bloodied. The room spun as someone slapped his back to congratulate him again on his wedding. He was going to kill the fucker. Painfully. He put his head deeper between his knees and resisted the urge to shift that always tried to overtake him under times of great stress. Now was not the time. He had to think.

  Let him have it. Wolfe could have the record. Derrick didn't care. All he cared about was getting Kristin back. If that meant he had to fake an injury and pull himself from the game for the rest of the season, so be it. Nothing was more important than saving her. Then he’d kill Randy Wolfe.

  "You alright Derrick?" Tate asked, coming up beside him. His arm was still in a sling, but his depression had lessened.

  "Fine," Derrick mumbled.

  "You don't look so fine."

  Bolero yelled from the back, "Didn't you hear? He got married last night? He'll never be fine again." The team cackled and Derrick put his hands over his ears.

  Tate watched him carefully. "Where's Kristin?" he asked.

  Derrick shook his head. Randy hadn't told him what to say when someone asked about her. "Out," was all he could think of.

  "Out? What does that mean?" Tate laughed.

  Derrick looked at him and Tate jumped back. His eyes were red and glowing a horrible black color that made him look like he belonged in a h
ospital bed.

  "Come on guys. It's game time," Coach yelled. Derrick put his helmet on before anyone else could see his face and followed the others onto the field.

  Tate couldn't believe how badly they were doing. The first quarter was just ending, and the Peregrines were down by 21. To nothing. Derek hadn't made it five yards across the field. Every time he moved he seemed weighted down with invisible sandbags. Coach was yelling at him on the sidelines. Tate wondered if he should say something to Coach. Derrick had looked more than a little sick before the game started. He’d looked like death.

  Maybe if I get Kristin on the phone it would help. He couldn't believe she wasn't here. She was one of the few women he'd met that had a true love of sports. Derrick was lucky to have her, she was a pretty awesome lady.

  Tate watched Coach scream some more at Derrick—he hadn't stopped screaming since yesterday when Derrick had left that message saying he was in Vegas. Tate finally felt bad enough for Derrick that he went down to the locker room to get his phone and track down Kristin. Only problem was, Tate didn't have Kristin's number. Derrick's locker was open and his phone was unlocked, sitting on the shelf inside. He opened it up and saw a new text message. Maybe it's her. Maybe they'd had a fight or something and she was texting now to say she was on her way.

  He opened the message and almost dropped the phone. It was a picture of Kristin. Her face was a mass of bruises. Blood pooled around her nostrils. Someone held her head up by her hair, a picture of a Greek sailboat on the wall behind her unconscious head.

  The message read: Try harder. We don't want people to think you're throwing the game, idiot.

  Tate replaced the phone in Derrick's locker. He recognized the background in the shot. Son of a bitch. He'd seen that painting on the news recently when Randy Wolfe had bought it at auction.