Total pages in book: 57
Estimated words: 54803 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 274(@200wpm)___ 219(@250wpm)___ 183(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 54803 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 274(@200wpm)___ 219(@250wpm)___ 183(@300wpm)
It goes on and on, every satisfying stroke driving me into a deeper frenzy. I don’t want it to ever stop, and yet and I need it to come to its natural conclusion with such total desperation I’m clawing at the bedcover.
“Yes, please, yes,” I chant and he slams in even harder, his loins slapping my ass like an erotic spanking.
Caleb lets out a low rumble—a bestial sound and then a louder roar just before he plunges deep and comes.
I scream out my approval, my internal muscles clamping around his cock, squeezing and milking it for all it’s worth. I swear I feel the heat of his cum searing me. Fireworks explode behind my eyes. I’ve never felt so feminine. Been able to receive so much pleasure. Known the throes of passion.
Caleb taught me this.
My grumpy rescuer. The bearded mountain man with sculpted muscles.
Caleb pushes the hair back from my face and I turn my head to look over my shoulder at him. “You okay?”
I nod. “Definitely.”
“You still think sex is overrated?”
My laugh comes out husky and raw. “Not the way you do it.”
His satisfied grin makes butterflies take off in my tummy. He’s so beautiful when he smiles—his teeth gleaming white, the way his eyes crinkle at the corners.
And that’s when I realize—he has smile lines around his eyes. This man used to laugh and smile a lot.
So what changed?
Chapter 8
Caleb
I should be furious with myself. Or at least be wracked with guilt. And I do feel some of that. But mostly… mostly what I notice is how sane I feel.
For three years I’ve been tottering on the edge of insanity. I’ve let the bear run the show too often, lost my grip on reality. On living. On being human. I’ve even wondered sometimes if I was responsible for what happened to Jen and Gretchen. They were killed by bear claws, after all.
And now—after one fuck with a young human female, I’m me again. I can think straight. Clearer. My surroundings seem more in focus, the fog’s lifted.
“How did that rate on your scale?” Miranda peeps up at me from under her lashes—like she took shy pills and they’re suddenly taking effect. Her cheeks are flushed a pretty pink, red hair a disheveled halo around her glowing face.
I scowl, because her question makes me think of rating her against other women, which immediately brings to mind Jen.
The doctor flushes a deeper red, though, and I kick myself. Wounding her pride was never part of this. I may have had something to prove, but it wasn’t about her lack of skill or appeal.
I rub a hand over my face and down my beard. “Best sex I’ve had in three years.” That’s a truth I don’t have to feel guilty about.
But she’s too smart. She leans up on her forearms and cocks her head to the side. “Is this the only sex you’ve had in three years?”
I offer a chagrined smile. “You got me there.”
She sits up in the bed, her big tits shifting as she comes to vertical. She’s so fucking voluptuous. So appealing. Even though I just came—and hard—my cock gets chubby again.
She notices.
There’s no game playing in her next question, though. No badgering, no coyness. No judgment, either.
“Did you lose someone, Caleb?” Her voice is soft. Soothing.
A sound tumbles from my lips. A bark of some sort. Not a laugh, not a sob. Something in between. I fall down onto the bed beside her and stare at the ceiling. The vulnerability of looking in her eyes right now is too much. “I don’t know how you figured that out.”
“This place is clearly yours, but it has feminine touches, too.”
“Well, damn. You examined the data, didn’t you? Guess that’s why you have the Ph.D.” I interlace my hands behind my head. I usually get pissed off—or downright rage-filled—when people want to talk about my loss. But for some reason, this conversation comes as a relief.
Like my past is a burden I’ve been wanting to share.
And Miranda’s the perfect listener. She doesn’t speak. Doesn’t ask any more questions. Just offers her silence as a spacious offering. A space I can fill if I like. Or not.
“My wife and young daughter were killed a few years back.”
I hear her shocked intake of breath, but still she refrains from speech. Just lets me talk.
“I found them down by the river. Bear attack. Or so the police said. Their bodies were ripped up by some kind of wild animal. I don’t know—it doesn’t make sense to me.”
She waits a while longer before she murmurs, “I heard about the attack. It didn’t make sense to me, either. I actually chalked it up to small town small-mindedness.”
I turn to look at her. Her words are so welcome. Like a lifeline I can hang onto. I’ve felt like a crazy man for so many months now. Everyone around me, shifters included, said it had to be a bear. Shifters figure it was someone who lost control of their animal—who lost their humanity and went nuts. Kind of like what nearly happened to me after their murder.