As he continues to knead my muscles, the press and release encourage a similar pattern in my hips. I rock, pushing my pelvis against his. When I comprehend exactly what’s happening, Iforce myself to stop and break away from the bear’s intoxicating mouth.
“Sorry,” I mutter.
“Use me,” Mahon growls, eyes half-lidded.
One of his hands drops to my butt, encouraging the rocking. A new hardness greets me, and I glance down to find the outline of his arousal pressing against his jeans.
“Are you sure?” My question lacks conviction as my hips sway forward again, and I watch where our bodies meet.
“I would be honored if you humped me.” His words are so solemn that it takes a moment for them to register.
Giggles bubble up just before I reclaim his mouth, plastering my chest against his. The whiskers of his beard tickle my more sensitive face scales, and I kiss my way across his cheek to explore the mass, nipping his jaw when I find the hard angle.
“Yes,” he grunts. “Bite me. Use me. I’m your bear.”
Why is that so hot?
His panted words crash through my body, exciting all my pleasure points. Through my shorts, I grind my clit against his pelvis and thank the gods this part of me chose skin instead of scales.
“Say it,” he growls the command. “Say that I’m your bear.” Both his hands are on my ass now, holding me against his erection.
The need in his voice feeds the erotic storm within me. Mahon wants me. Begging me to claim him. I have all the power.
Sliding my legs around his hips, I lock my ankles behind his lower back, pulling us even closer together. My fingers work into his messy red locks, and I have enough control to make sure my claws don’t slice his scalp. I make fists and draw his head back, putting the column of his neck on display, licking the strong pump of his pulse.
“You’re my bear,” I whisper against his skin.
“Satine. My Satine,” he moans, thrusting himself against me. “I want to lap at your pussy lips until your wings flap so hard that you threaten to fly away.” One of his arms circles my back, locking me against him, while the other massive palm grips my thigh, soft cream against hard sapphire. “By the gods, I’ll hold you to the ground and drive my tongue deep into your slick depths until you scream my name and the whole lake knows I’m your bear. Fuck yes. I’myourbear.”
“Oh—oh I—” The storm hits, and I discover that dirty talk does everything I need to bring on the most intense orgasm of my life. My wings flap, just as he predicted, and I wrap my pulsing, quivering limbs around Mahon, terrified of accidentally separating us and losing this intense pleasure.
“Your bear,” he groans into my neck. “Satine’s bear.” Then, his body jerks, and a strangled noise cuts off any more naughty words as he comes against me.
When our breathing levels out and I regain the ability to think over the demands of my vulva, something like panic tightens my muscles. I force myself to relax enough that I can unwrap myself and slide my butt out of Mahon’s lap. He lets me go, even as his rough fingers drag along my retreating scales.
When there’s a buffer of air between us, I risk meeting his eyes and come up against a sleepy, satisfied gaze. The shifter reaches over to the cooler, setting the mangled watermelon aside so he can open the lid.
“What just happened?” I ask. Is the question for me? For him? For the gods? I have no idea.
One moment, I was agreeing to a kiss. The next, I was claiming a shifter as mine and orgasming in his arms.
Didn’t I just officially meet this man a few days ago?
Mahon finds what he was looking for, coming up with a ziplock bag full of pastries—no doubt from his cousin’s café. Hecracks the seal and plucks out a croissant and offers the flaky bread to me.
“You just rode a bear. Fun, huh?”
6
After our hotand heavy picnic, I hurried the too-enticing bear off my property. Mahon took my retreat good-naturedly, only asking for my phone number before he left, which I gave.
I haven’t seen him in five days.
And I miss him.
I could have convinced myself the bear lost interest after messing his jeans with me, but even though I haven’t seen him doesn’t mean I haven’t heard from him.
Mahon texts me. A lot. Like whole paragraphs of the things he’s doing or funny incidents that have happened to him at the café or around town.
