Lustfully Ever After (3 page)

Straightening, shifting forward, he pressed her breasts together.

“Yes,” she groaned, lifting her head to watch his cock slide into the valley created by her soft flesh. Opening her mouth to receive his glans as he thrust forward was rewarded by a groan of approval.

Tasting his excitement and feeling the evidence of it on her skin only increased her arousal. Longing overwhelmed her and she curled upward, wanting him fully in her mouth.

As though knowing her desires, he lifted away and turned so he was lying beside her, facing her feet. With a moan of satisfaction Rosa rolled onto her side and, just as he tore at her G-string, she engulfed his cock, taking him as deeply as she could. For a moment he went rigid, his muscular body stiffening, hips thrusting instinctively. The feel of him on her tongue, his balls contracting in her hand, took her excitement to new heights.

Bear’s mouth covered her pussy, lips sucking, tongue flaying, teeth scraping, and she was forced to let him go, her body going into overload, convulsing with shock after orgasmic shock. And he held her there, keeping her on the knife edge of passion until, with a strangled shriek, she once more succumbed, writhing under the strength of her release.

While she was still trying to catch her breath, her body shuddering with aftershocks, he moved with lithe speed to roll and cover her body with his, bringing them face to face. His gaze was fierce, the tip of his cock poised to thrust into her still-quivering pussy. Instinctively she wrapped her legs around his hips, her arms coming up to hold on to his neck, and he trembled in turn.

“Remember this,” he growled in a passion-thickened voice. “Remember
me
.”

And she knew even as he penetrated her, causing her body to spasm anew, he wouldn’t return. So she held him tighter, tighter yet, lifting her hips to accept and encourage each desperate thrust, wanting to brand this final coming together in his memory—to in turn never be forgotten.

Buried as deep as possible inside her, holding still, he lifted his head.

“Look at me, Rosa,” he demanded.

Blinking against tears she obeyed, meeting his gaze, seeing fear, sadness, and an indefinable something that caused her breaking heart to suddenly soar. When he began to move again it was with slow intent, each motion imbued with the magic he’d brought to her life, filling her soul as well as her body. She would never be completely free of him, she knew, never be the woman she was before Bear entered her life. But she was better for knowing him, and she couldn’t regret anything. Including these exquisite, beautiful, excruciating moments when, staring into his eyes, she felt the end approaching.

There were no words, only emotion and the language of their bodies straining together, climax only one more thrust, one swivel of the hips away. She felt her orgasm start—ripples turning to waves and then a surge of pleasure—heard herself cry out in ecstasy. He responded, driving into her again and again, his voice joining hers in a cacophony of mutual bliss, prolonging her pleasure as he took his, not stopping until the final shudder had receded and she grew quiet once more.

Silently they held each other and Rosa fought sleep, not wanting to miss a single second of being in his arms. Eventually the aftermath of the emotional storm claimed her, but as she drifted off she thought she heard him whisper:

“I’ll be back—if I can.”

 

Dress rehearsal passed in a blur, but Rosa knew her performance was the best she’d ever given. Losing Bear, missing him, was a constant ache that gave her strange new strength, and she put all the emotion tearing at her into the part.

“Fantastic!” The director grabbed her, kissed both her cheeks, grinning like crazy, his hair only moderately askew, which she took to be a good sign. “You were brilliant, love. Do that on opening night and I’ll drink champagne from your shoe.”

He whirled off to speak to someone else and Rosa heard a voice murmur behind her, “He might be happy, but he’s not the one you have to please.”

She turned slowly toward David Short, fighting to keep the smile on her face.

“Did you find my performance lacking in some way, Mr. Short?”

A mocking smile twisted the producer’s lips as he replied. “I thought it a bit wooden. Maybe you need to loosen up a bit. I can help you with that—especially if you bring your blonde friend along.”

There was no mistaking his meaning, and a rush of mingled fear and fury burned through Rosa’s blood.

So this was what it all came down to—a choice between her job and her self-respect? Despite all her hard work she still had to screw the producer or throw away the past six months of effort?

Leaning close, she smiled even wider and softly said, “Fuck you, Mr. Short. I’d rather go back to waiting tables.”

“You’ll have to,” he said as she turned to walk away. “That, or stripping, is the only job you’ll be able to get.”

Fuming, she pushed through the still-milling crowd, refusing to look back. Going backstage, she pulled off her costume and, without stopping to remove her makeup, threw on her street clothes. She hesitated about packing up her bits and pieces, finally left them scattered on the table. If they really were going to fire her, it was going to have to be in front of the entire cast. There was no way she’d go quietly.

The rest of the company was still celebrating, and it took a while to find Blanche. Pulling her aside, she said, “I have to get out of here. You coming?”

Blanche shook her head, although concern showed in her expression. “I have to stick around. Some of the crew members
are moving on to other jobs after tonight and I promised to hang with them for a while. Are you okay?”

Rosa grimaced. “Short just threatened me again.”

“Shit.” Blanche glanced over her shoulder at the crew. “I can cry off.”

“No,” Rosa squeezed her arm. “I’m fine. We’ll talk about it when you get home.”

She slipped out the stage door into the foggy night, pulling up her collar against the drizzle. As she started down the shadowy alley the door opened behind her, and she heard Short’s voice.

“What do you mean it’s delayed? I booked the car for eleven. Tell the chauffer to get his head out his ass and get here, now.”

There was a click as he snapped his phone shut and, hoping he hadn’t noticed her, Rosa glanced back just in time to see a figure stalk out of the shadows and approach him. She froze, wanting to call out, warn him, but something held her frozen in place.

“David,” it was a low, dangerous growl, and Rosa’s heart leapt. “I’ve been waiting.”

Short spun toward Bear, backed up a step. “A…Alex. What are you doing here?”

Bear paced closer, light from the bulb above the door glinting in his eyes, off his teeth and claws. “Did you think I wouldn’t realize you were the thief? I’m here to get the talisman, and my life, back.”

Short gave a little scream, turned to run, but Bear was on him. In a flash it was over, and Short lay curled on the damp ground. Bear took something from the other man’s neck, placed it around his own.

“Rosa,” he came toward her, stopped an arm’s length away, holding out his hand. “Come.”

Without thought she placed her hand in his, heard his little growl of pleasure as he lead her to the mouth of the alley, where
a limousine waited. When they were settled inside, he put his fingers around the amulet hanging around his neck from a heavy gold chain. A blinding flash of light and a sharp tingle, like electricity, filled the car.

Rosa opened her eyes, blinking to dispel the spots dancing across her vision, and gasped. The handsome man, with smooth chocolate skin and an attractively shaved head, was startlingly familiar.

“You’re Alex Dean.”

Bear—Alex—nodded. “David knew I’d be trapped in my other form without my amulet and decided to steal it, and our company, from me.” He shrugged lightly, his fingers tightening on hers. “There were others who could have done it, so it took a while to figure out, especially since it was so hard to move around looking the way I did.”

“Why…?” She hesitated, not knowing how to ask, but she didn’t need to say any more.

“I saw you the day I came to rehearsals and knew you were mine. I couldn’t stay away, even risking your revulsion.”

Rosa shook her head, still marveling how, even almost hairless, it was still unmistakably
him
. “I didn’t truly notice you when you came to the theater—too caught up in my own world—but when you came to my door I knew you were mine too.”

He growled—an endearingly familiar sound—and leaned close. She raised her face, anticipating his kiss, heat uncurling in her belly, uncontainable happiness storming through her heart.

Their lips were only a breath apart when he paused to murmur, “I have to warn you. We mate for life.”

“So do I,” she whispered in reply, cupping his cheek and urging him closer yet. She wouldn’t be content until they were skin to skin, but this would do for now. “So do I.”

 

 

 

 

 

H
e slid his mouth along my throat, over the thrumming flutter of my pulse and to my jaw. At my ear, he paused, his breath full of sweetness and promises of candy as he asked me to follow him upstairs.

It was an offer I’d heard before.

Still, he wore me down with the way he touched my lips with his, broad hands on my hips and a posture that told me he knew how to do this. How to touch and how to kiss. I wondered what else his lips could do.

Another breath against my ear was all it took, and I felt myself nodding, my fingertips seeking out buttons, eager for the drag of a zipper. I longed to grip the width of firm male flesh. And it was easy to be swayed by promises.

On the way upstairs, I scattered my clothes like bread crumbs. I knew full well the dangers of wandering out into the forest of love alone.

Laying me down across his bed, he put his mouth to the
center of my collarbones before surrounding the tip of my breast. And then he went lower still. Succumbing to the soft pleasure of that warmth against my flesh, I held my own legs open with my hands. It gave him the freedom to explore.

I’d heard a man could eat a girl alive, and that’s exactly what he did. Licking and sucking, stroking lips and teeth and tongue across my apex, he devoured. From the sounds of things, the low moans and quiet words against my flesh, he relished it. In the heat, I burned, and when he pressed his fingers deep inside, I felt myself consumed.

And yet I survived. I lived to kiss my liquid from his lips and to feel his body’s sweetness. Intermingled with salt and bitterness, he fed himself into my mouth, and I took everything he chose to give, sucking greedily until he grunted low and deep and flooded me.

I licked it all up. Just like candy.

In the morning, I slipped out from underneath his arm and followed the trail of my own scattered clothing back to safety. Only my apartment felt cold, the shelves all barren. There was nothing there to eat. There was nothing to sustain me.

When he called again a few days later, I was sitting on my counter, nibbling at my fingertips and staring at cobwebs. Over the phone, he asked me, “Will you come?”

“Repeatedly.”

On my way to his apartment, I bought a loaf of bread to feed the hunger in my stomach and my heart. It was a good, rich bread. Poppy seed.

Although I had traversed it many times before, the route I took to love that day felt unfamiliar. Squishing bread between my finger and my thumb, I let a lump fall to the ground, and then another. Behind me, the white puffs looked far too small against the sidewalk.

So insubstantial—so impermanent—my tether to the place I’d called my home.

With the last of it deposited, I stuffed the final piece into my mouth and chewed. I knew that I could be alone and that I didn’t have to starve.

But I wanted what he offered me.

I knocked, then held my breath as the door swung open, uncertain what precisely I would find. Staring at the tender lines of his face, I searched for warts. I sniffed his breath for a hint at what he’d been eating, and I kept on the lookout for the charred bones of children.

A single girl had to be careful, after all.

He laughed and pulled me forward, tilting my head back to kiss me. I let him. I let him slide his lips along my skin and to my ears and throat. And his promises were still so sweet.

We didn’t make it to the bed this time. This time, he stripped me down beside the door, slipping hot fingers through the lips of my pussy before holding them up for me to taste.

“It’s so good,” he whispered. He kissed my cheek and let me suck on his fingers. “You taste good enough to eat.”

Some memory haunted me. Some plea for caution. But in the face of pleasure, I let my safeguards slide away, my breath catching as I asked him, “Then why don’t you?”

He sank to his knees, still half-dressed, bare chest against my thighs and warm hands parting me. With one leg over his shoulder, I threw my head back, and my hands moved to his hair to keep him where he was. To pull him closer.

And as I tightened, my whole body soaring, I wondered if this was what I’d been missing. I wondered if what I’d really needed was someone to feed.

He drank down everything.

Still trembling from the brilliance of climax, I melted against
the door and pooled across his shoulders, stroking his hair as I laughed and smiled and breathed.

“God, you’re beautiful,” he told me.

Maybe he was the one feeding me.

Rolling us until I lay beneath him, he asked me if he could, his body hard and naked then and pressing to my thigh. His tip was wet, the whole length of him hot, and I was wanting still. So I told him, yes, please, to take me.

As he sank into my body, I gripped him just as tightly as I dared, all arms and legs around his frame and lips around his breath. He felt so good, hard and male and filling me up, up, up, pushing and making all these sounds inside his chest. I made them, too. I made them when he pulled almost all the way out and pressed back in. When he ground himself against my hips. When a hand snaked in between us and he begged me,
Please
.