It makes it more fun
“What are you smiling about?”
Looking up, Fern found Elliott sitting before an empty plate, his phone stowed away, and his eyes solidly on her.
“You, mostly,” she replied with a smile. “I want you to chase me.”
Sucking in a breath, his chest vibrated, and his eyes flashed a warm dark brown—his bear’s—before changing back to blue and brown. “Now?”
“Yes.”
“How?” he practically growled.
She cocked her head in question.
“You’ve got options. Bear or man for the chase, then bear or man for the bite. You pick two, sugar.”
“If I pick a man-bite, are you going to chomp through my skin like a toddler?”
He snorted and pushed his chair back, standing to prowl around the table, the bulge in his pants impossible to miss. “I’d shift my teeth. The mark will be smaller if I stay in human form, more pronounced if I’m a bear.”
Fern stood too, meeting him at the head of the table with her heart pattering and blood rushing in her ears. This was it. His hands wrappedaround her waist, steadying her, and she raised a palm to his chest before whispering, “I choose bear.”
His eyes sparkled, and mirth tugged the corners of his mouth, deepening the dimple on his chin. Then he leaned down to kiss her forehead, the tip of her nose, and her lips. With his beard softly scritching her cheek, he said, “Good choice. Get some shoes on and get ready to run.”
She swallowed a smile at the confirmation that he didn’t realize she already had shoes on. Hiking sandals, with a covered toe and a back strap. She intended to run hard and fast.
When Elliott grabbed their plates and turned toward the island, Fern scampered toward the front door, keeping on her toes so he wouldn’t hear her rubber soles.
Although she tried to push open the screen door silently, the hinges squeaked. His husky voice hit her with, “What are—?”
But she was gone. Not sticking around to hear the rest of his question, she launched herself through the doorframe and bounded down the front steps.
A laugh followed her as she zipped into the middle of his driveway and froze, unsure which way to go. The road to the left would be easier to traverse, but he’d run her down in no time. She’d try her luck in the trees.
Dashing right, Fern arced wide to race around the far side of his studio. His booming voice hit her with a hard warning: “You have ten seconds.”
Her steps faltered as she sucked in a breath. Fear and anticipation thrummed through her. And she was off, feet pounding the springy earth as she wound between trunks, zipped past amorphous shrubs, and dodged a particularly prickly one. Belatedly, Fern realized she should’ve worn pants. Elliott’s big shirt provided ample coverage on top, but the bulk of her legs were exposed, catching small branches and brambles.
A roar shook the forest, and her heart stuttered. Birds exploded into flight, fleeing the premises while she remained trapped on the ground, a willing victim.
She fucking loved it.
Pausing, she planted her palm on a trunk to catch her breath. Distant crashing broke through the trees, confirming he was on her trail. She tookoff again.
Her pussy made itself known, pulsing as she flew toward the river. Another roar, this one on her right, accompanied by heavy huffing, kept her moving, though her lungs burned.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” She skidded to a stop at the water’s edge, unsure if she should go upstream, downstream, or cross to the island beyond. Shady and tempting, the island called to her, so she splashed into the Potter’s Branch.
Both shoes stayed on during her journey, but silt filled them when Fern climbed out on the far bank, and she paused, trying to shake some free. Up on one leg, with her head turned slightly to the right, she caught a glimpse of him in her periphery, at least fifty yards away. Elliott’s grizzly bore down on her in a full charge across the open grass.
“Fuck!” she shrieked, launching herself into the shrubs and scrambling to hide in the trees.
He splashed across the stream, gaining on her. The sound continued—catching up, somehow—and she looked over, only to scream again. He wasrightthere, not ten feet away, and keeping pace as he charged downstream, parallel to her path through the trees.
She kept running, but the forest floor was harder for a human to navigate than a bear, and when Elliott’s beast veered left, angling toward her, she knew she was caught. Putting her back to a tree, Fern faced him head-on, basking in the way fear and desire heated her as he rushed in, teeth gleaming and tongue lolling out.
He rose up and crossed the final feet to her, huge and hulking. She squealed, terror pinning her to the trunk as his claws raked the bark above her head. But his big belly was right in her face, so soft, so welcoming. She couldn’t stop herself from reaching up and shoving her hands in his fur, confident he wouldn’t hurt her.
