Hollywood Bear: BBW Bear Shifter Paranormal Romance (6 page)

“How about I pick you up . . . how long do you need?”

“Half an hour will do it,” she said, then grimaced, wishing she’d taken Jan up on her offer to bring clothes. “Um, I didn’t bring anything besides jeans.”

“Those will be fine,” he said, and flashed a grin. “That’s what I’ll be wearing.”

Shelley returned to her room to take the fastest shower of her life. As she dried her hair, she kept changing her mind about her skimpy wardrobe. She’d thrown in one long sleeved shirt in case the weather turned cool. She had no shoes besides her grubby sports pair, meant for rehearsals, and her boots. It was going to have to be the boots. She spent the last few minutes before he arrived in polishing them up after the day’s ride.

When he knocked on the door, she opened it. He’d put on a good shirt and a sport jacket over his jeans. Her eyes zeroed to the open button at the top of the shirt, and the blonde curl of hair visible there.

She had to swallow again before she could say, “This was the best I could do.”

Shelley felt awkward—usually she didn’t give a second thought about what she wore, once she’d picked an outfit.

But there was no doubting the deep note of sincerity in his voice as he took her in from hair to the boots, and said, “You look great.”

And that set the note for the evening. He had a beautiful ride, of course—a model of Mercedes designed for tall Northern men. She felt comfortable in it, the way she never had in Dominic’s flashy Italian sports car. That thing had always made her feel like Goldilocks breaking Baby Bear’s chair.

Bear. Bearzilla. Russian Bear. Maybe it was the growl in his voice as well as that remembered reflection in his eyes, probably from the ruddy fire. She kept thinking about bears as they chatted easily, mostly about the day’s work. Well, she liked bears—that is, the idea of bears: big, brown, honey-loving, and strong.

When they got to the steakhouse, they were given a booth. He recommended the prime rib, and he was right.

As they attacked the meal with enthusiasm, he asked, “So how did you get into stunt riding?”

“My brothers,” she said. “We rode a lot up in the hills behind Altadena, where I grew up. Did you ride in Russia?”

“My grandparents emigrated with me when I was a kid.” He laughed. “Everyone tells me I’ve got an accent. I don’t hear it myself. Anyway, I got into dirt bikes in high school. That’s one good thing about small towns in the Imperial Valley—ten minutes and you’re completely out of the urban sprawl. It’s heaven for kids.”

They traded stories about bikes they’d ridden, spills they’d taken, tricks they’d tried and failed or tried and nailed—all easy talk, enjoyable.  When she’d mopped up the last bit of juice with her roll, she happened to glance up to find him smiling.

“What?” she asked.

“I love to see a woman eat,” he responded. “I don’t get to very often. My recent ex would have stopped with the salad, after inquiring into the exact calorie count in the dressing like the FBI interrogating a suspect.”

Shelley shrugged. “Hey, if my livelihood depended on my keeping my weight at 110, I’d exist on kale, too. But I kissed 110 goodbye at age thirteen.”

His lips parted, then he fiddled with his coffee cup as he made a low sound, deep in his chest.

She set her own cup down. “Did you just growl?”

He looked away, his lips compressed like he was about to laugh.

“You did,” she muttered, leaning forward. “You growled! What was that for? Are you laughing at me?”

Clunk. The coffee mug hit the table. There was that molten gold in his eyes as he said in a rumbling, husky whisper, “Never.”

She sat back then. “But you were grinning.
And
growling.”

Now it was his turn to lean forward, his voice so low it resonated somewhere down on the abyss, “I was just thinking. Of you. In those boots. And nothing else.”

Her body flashed with heat.

He added with utter sincerity, “I would like more than anything to see that again.”

She froze, unable to even breathe.
Rule Number One,
the sane part of her mind insisted.

But sanity drowned under the thunder of desire. Who cared about sanity? It wasn’t like she’d ever see him again. Why not part with two memories to take out and revisit for the rest of her life instead of one?

“I can do that,” she whispered, her own voice low and husky.

He threw a couple of big bills on the table.

They got back to his hotel in record time.

The second the elevator doors closed on them, he jammed her against the wall and kissed her. When the ding! went off, she’d slammed him to the opposite wall, kissing him back.

They stopped outside his suite while he fumbled out the key card, both taking quick breaths. She couldn’t get enough of his kisses—gentle and wicked, exploratory and coy, inviting her to attack with tongue and lips, then retaliating with heat that blew her brains to smoke.

The door opened at last and they fell in.

He whispered huskily, “I want to see you first.”

Oh, bossy in the bedroom, was he? Two could play that game!

She smiled and deliberately took her time unbuckling her boots, slipping off her jeans, then buckling the boots back on. By the time she’d finished slowly unbuttoning her shirt, his pale blue eyes had definitely changed to that honey brown again. Funny, that.

She held her shirt by a finger, then dropped it on the floor and took a wide stance, wearing bra, thong, and boots.

“You want more,” she said in a low, throaty voice, “come and take it.”

***

The hard-on had started the instant she purred, “I can do that.”

He held himself together to drive. He barely held himself together during those maddening, smoking hot kisses while getting from the lobby to the suite.

By the time he sat on the edge of his bed while she tortured him with a strip-tease, he was about ready to come in his pants. He tightened his gut, determined not to lose it. There was a whole lot he planned to do first.

Then she said, “You want more, come and take it,” and he knew he was fighting a losing battle.

But this was a battle he wanted to lose.

And a magnificent battle it was, the sexiest foreplay he had ever experienced in his life. Shoes, boots, and socks went flying; both of them were determined to get the other naked. He might have been stronger, but her martial arts skills made her as difficult to pin as an eel. They wrestled, treacherously nipping, licking, and kissing in tender places: she got him with a bite. He shot upright, and she wrapped him in a headlock.

He didn’t even try to struggle out of it. Instead, he ran his hands lingeringly over her delectable curves, pausing to appreciate every contour of her fabulous breasts, then swooping down to slide two fingers inside her thong to stroke her clit.

She yipped and her hold loosened. He was free in a flash.

Shelley growled, “Not fair,” grabbed his shirt and yanked. It ripped open, buttons popping in all directions.

She pounced, slamming him back on the bed, and kneeling on either side of him as she scraped her nails lightly up his stomach to his chest, circling his nipples. His skin tingled, arrowing fire straight to his cock, which was already threatening to burst out of his pants.

And then she gave him a dare-you-to-move grin and moved her fingers to his zipper.

He contented himself with stroking his hands down her sides to mold the entrancing swell of her hips. And when she backed up to get a better angle on his zipper, he hooked his thumbs in her thong—and ripped it down to her knees.

She hopped backward, thong around her ankles. Then she grabbed the hem of his jeans, and peeled them down to his ankles. They both kicked free of the encumbering fabric. Because she had less to deal with, she was done first, and pounced again, sliding her fingers inside his boxers.

He fell back on the bed, groaning. His cock sprang free. She ripped the boxers off. Then she leaped up to settle astride him once again, raking her gaze down his length with a lustful grin.

He reached up, grabbed her shoulders and pulled her forward to land on him, his cock pressed up against her stomach. As she squirmed, moving her hips to settle it between her legs, he got his fingers at the clasp of her bra and undid it.

She shrugged out of it, and with an extravagant gesture, flung it away.

There she was, gloriously naked. But he was not going to let her stay on top, oh no. Using a combat move, he got a leg around her, slid in an arm and she let out a whoop as he got her pinned down on the bed, wrists over her head.

Her hips writhed between his knees as he lowered his head and slowly, deliberately began to torture her with lips and tongue, beginning with lingering licks around her puckered nipples. Then he took one into his mouth with a slow, hard suck, laughing deep in his throat when she began to moan and thrash about, her breath quickening.

“In me. Now,” she commanded breathlessly.

With one hand he held her wrists, and with the other he slid two fingers into her. Oh, yes, she was so hot, slick, and ready. But he was going to have some more fun first. He bent his attentions to her other breast, taking even longer to lick, tasting the sweet salt of her sweat-damp skin, before sucking even harder.

Her lips parted and her eyes rolled. He shifted one knee inside her thighs, and as she immediately opened wider, he shifted the other to kneel between her knees. His cock jumped, rock hard and ready, but he took a moment to look at her lying there so ready. Nothing in the world had ever been more beautiful.

He had freed her wrists, but she kept them pressed over her head, her back arched as he fitted his cock to her slippery opening.

“Oh yes,” she breathed.

He slid in inch by slow inch, though it took all of his control not to thrust all the way home. She bucked her hips, then locked her legs around his waist, clenching hard. It was his turn to hiss, and with one lunge drove in to the hilt.

“Yes!” And she locked down even harder.

Heat rocketed up inside him, driving him insane. He rode her hard, her hands raking down his back to grip his butt, pulling him in deeper until she yelled, her orgasm throbbing through him, bringing him to white hot heat. His slow build spiraled out of his control. The searing heat of white-hot orgasm blitzed his brain and he gushed inside her. Then dropped to lie beside her.

“Wow,” she said, her breath shuddering. “Wow, wow, wow.”

He levered himself up on one elbow, and leaned over to lick a drip of sweat off her breast.

“Wow is right,” he breathed.

By unspoken consent they got up together, threading their way between the pile of cast-off clothes, boots, and shoes, and stepped into the bathroom.

He turned on the shower, inviting her with a glance. She answered with a flickering smile and followed him in.

The hot water rained over them both. He’d thought himself spent, but then she started soaping him. Her hands lingered over his shoulders, arms, chest, then her warm mouth teased his nipples, and his cock pulsed as if he hadn’t had any for a month. Wow indeed. She was magical.

By the time her hands got down that far, he was halfway hard.

She crooned, “Ah, lazy, I see. Let’s fix that.”

Splash! Down on her knees she dropped, her fingers caressing his cock, stroking and tracing ever ridge. When her hands worked down to his balls, her lips closed around his head. She laved it with her tongue in slow, lazy circles, deliberately. He knew she was doing to him what he’d done to her breasts. Sure enough, then came the long, hard suck.

And he was steel-rod hard again.

He hauled her up as water cascaded over them both. He pressed her against the shower wall and took her in a hot, possessive kiss. She kissed him back with fierce abandon, and he slid his hands around her beautiful round buttocks and lifted her.

She parted her knees, and he rammed in one thrust. Skin to skin they rocked together. This time he came first, and his come sent her over the edge. He held her there against the shower wall until the last throb of her pussy echoed around his cock before he slid out and took his turn soaping her all over.

They got out, dried off, and fell into the bed, limbs tangled.

Utterly exhausted and mindlessly content, he closed his eyes.

***

Shelley lay beside him, tired but also wired. Five hours of sleep before a long, fun day, and then fifty-megaton sex twice had put her in a state of bliss, but her mind would not slow down. She lay next to Mick, aware that sleeping over was breaking Rule One.

And yet she couldn’t make herself move. It had been astoundingly good, a thousand times better than Dominic the Dweeb. Better than anyone. Just thinking about her incredible luck made her want more while she could get it. But dawn would bring him work, and her worklessness. The job was finished. Their lives lay in totally different spheres.

She stirred restlessly, thoroughly conflicted. The part that wanted to stay pointed out that technically it was nighttime, and she hadn’t actually slept. Therefore technically she hadn’t broken Rule One by actual sleeping.