Page 21 of Marcus

I squeeze her hips, no doubt marking her pale, perfect skin. “You have any other tattoos?”

She shakes her head, then gravity impales her all the way.

“Wow, you’re really big.”

“Too much?”

“No. Just really full. No other tattoos. But I wanted to get another across my ribs.”

“Why bears?”

She licks her lips. “I don’t really know. I’ve always been fascinated with them. Collected figurines, jewelry, silly t-shirts and socks. They’ve just been my favorite animal for as long as I can remember.”

That can’t be a coincidence. All of these things about her that clearly make her perfect for me. Like her soul knew she belonged to a bear. Belonged to me.

But there still remains the problem of her humanity. Her fragility. If Heather’s half bear wasn’t strong enough, then what guarantees anything about Aspen.

As much as I hate to admit it. I already know that losing Aspen would kill me. Yeah, maybe not claiming her will slowly drive my bear insane. But at least she’ll be safe.

“You feel too perfect,” I say because I can’t not say it. Then I pull her face to mine and kiss her again. The soft gasp she makes allows my tongue to slide into her mouth.

She rocks her plump body against me, rising, then lowering back down. The slick tightness of her pussy is enough to make me come right now. But I need to feel her come first. Need to feel her gripping me so tight.

Our kiss deepens as she rides me.

Mine. Mine. Mine.

She moans against my lips, and I swallow her sweet sounds.

“I want to see all of you, Sweetness. Want to lay you out and feast on your gorgeous body. I love all your softness.”

“This position is working for me. Or maybe it’s just your equipment. Or you. But I think I’m going to climax.”

“Yeah? That’s right, beautiful girl, you come all over my big dick.”

She gasps, and then cries out her release with my name on her tongue.

It’s enough to pull me over the edge. I tighten my jaw because the urge to bite her, claim her, mark her, is so strong, I don’t trust myself.

chapter

eleven

Aspen

“My parents were missionaries,” I blurt.

He’s still inside me and I’m pretty sure he might still be coming. So yeah, great time to talk about my missionary parents.

“What?” he asks.

I shake my head. “Sorry. You asked about the fish cursing. It’s because, growing up, my parents were missionaries. We lived in places all over the world. Obviously, I wasn’t allowed to curse, and, I don’t know,” I shrug. “One day I just decided on fish, and it stuck. I know that’s ridiculous.”

“It’s adorable,” he says. “Where are your parents now?”

“Dead.”

He winces.