Page 5 of A Beary Merry Christmas

Something my dad told me several years ago was, “The right woman will turn you into someone you don’t recognize; she’ll have you doing things you never thought you’d do, and she’ll have you doing them with a smile.”

It wasn’t that I didn’t pursue women I found to be attractive, just never with so much vigor. Usually by this point, they’d done many things to annoy the shit out of me.

She was the exception. I couldn’t put my finger on it, but she was different. Or maybe I’d hit my desperation point and didn’t give a fuck anymore.

Staring at my phone, I knew that wasn’t the case. I was anxious to meet her, to see her curves in person, but not because I didn’t have other options. They just ceased to be viable options after she came into my life.

Scrolling to her name in my contacts, I quickly shot her a text. ‘Good morning, beautiful. Sorry about last night.’ I could only hope she was a forgiving woman.

Climbing out of bed, I went to take a hot shower. If I was lucky, the steam would help me breathe through my nose again. I sounded like damned Darth Vader breathing through my mouth with swollen glands. That was a guaranteed turn off on any date.

My gut knotted, my bear poking his head up as regret slid through me. I should have gone last night. I should have sucked it up and gone through with it. I wouldn’t be standing here like an idiot, wondering what she smelled like, although I couldn’t technically smell at the moment, or what her skin felt like to brush against.

I wouldn’t be here with a massive fucking erection based off of curiosity. The erection part would probably still exist, but from concrete facts, not musings from the mind of a needy werebear.

Pressing my palms against the tiled wall, I let the scorching water cascade over me. Even sick, the thought of her curves had me ready to hoist her against the nearest surface and thoroughly fuck her sweet pussy. Add her softness with her unintentionally sweet voice, and I was on the verge of coming without a single stroke.

Fuck. My cock strained, the tip brushing my lower abdomen. Closing my fist around my prick, I hissed. I’d never been so damned hard from merely thinking about a woman.

Oh, God. To feel her luscious lips around my cock, hear her tender voice moaning as I fucked her, see her swells and swerves bounce as I pounded into her.

Fuck! I gasped for air, my body on fire for a completely different reason. Before I knew what I was doing, pre-cum oozed from the tip of my prick as pleasure slithered through my lower half. One hand pressed to the shower wall, I furiously pumped into my other, the mental image of her driving every maniac thrust. Water slid between the creases and seams of my closed hand, lubricating every caress.

Every breath was a heavy gasp as my body tensed, as every muscle stiffened. My limbs began to burn, my need multiplying, turning me into a frantic, ravenous beast.

Closing my eyes, I focused on her breasts. Damn. What I wouldn’t give to suckle her luscious melons right now and then watch the small mounds bounce as I drove into her again and again, listening to her cries.

Fuck! Heat shot down my spine, pooling in my groin before shooting from my cock. Clenching my teeth, I bit back a groan as relief flooded every inch of me, pleasure tumbling like waves through my core.

Breathing heavily, the humidity coating my throat with every sharp inhale, I stilled, opening my eyes. Glancing down, I sighed. Damn. It’d been a long time since I’d come that hard. It made me all the more determined to meet her.

Fuck it. Cold or no cold, I was going to meet her today, even if I had to comb every street in her town to find her.

Right after I headed to Beast Mode to ensure everything was running smoothly.

Chapter Five

December 19th

Lora

It’d been four hours since he’d sent the text according to the timestamp, which meant he was awake at six-in-the-morning on a Saturday, when he was sick.

I frowned, worry niggling in my belly. Either he was a stubborn fool who wasn’t allowing his body to rest and recover or he wasn’t actually sick.

Working my bottom lip, I stared at the screen. There was one way to solve all of this: call him. I’d been a nurse long enough to know when someone was faking.

Pressing the icon beside his name, I put the phone to my ear. Three rings later, he answered, and I knew right then that he wasn’t lying.

“Hey, beautiful.” His voice was deeper than normal, more husky and hoarse, and the stuffed-nose syndrome he’d had a touch of the other night had intensified. The phone muffled, as if he’d covered it with his hand, but I still heard his cough.

My heart cracked at the edges for him.

Until I heard the pound of metal against metal in the background.

Brows furrowing, anger flared within me. “Why are you at work?”

He chuckled, but it turned into a half-hack, half-laugh mess. “I own the place, sweetie. I have to make sure everything is running properly every day we’re open.”

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