Lustfully Ever After (2 page)

Strangely though, she kinda did. Would he climb on the table—
climb on her
—and howl to the moon?

“So, nothing then?”

Now his gaze settled fully on her, eyes seeming to penetrate into her soul, and warmth flashed over her skin. Beneath
her white T-shirt her nipples came to attention and a buzz of arousal took residence in her pussy. She wasn’t aware of licking her lips until his attention dropped and a low growl issued from his throat. Even when she forced herself to stop, his eyes didn’t move, stayed on her mouth.

Her legs wobbled.

“I’ll have whatever you’re having.”

“Screwdrivers,” Blanche said, uncharacteristically decisive, already heading for the kitchen. “I’ll get the ice.”

With trembling hands Rosa poured the vodka, awareness tightening her skin, blood flowing thick and hot, like lava, in her veins. Blanche came back and dropped cubes into the glasses, added a splash of juice to each, but she may as well have been a ghost. All Rosa could focus on was the creature across the room—the hint of his scent filling the apartment.

Blanche took her drink, leaving two glasses behind. Rosa stared down at them for a moment, trying to pull herself together, but his allure was too strong. Picking up the drinks, she walked over and gave him his, shivering slightly at the brush of his fingers, her heart rate picking up speed. Her mouth was dry so she took a sip, hardly noticing the cool bite of the alcohol going down. Like a mirror image he did the same, and she watched the powerful throat move, yearned to put her lips there, feel the muscles shift.

Who are you
, she wanted to ask,
what are you?
But although the questions lingered, they didn’t seem important. The only one that mattered was whether it was her or Blanche he chose. With her long legs and willowy figure, quiet Blanche attracted lots of guys, although Rosa couldn’t complain. Her more rounded figure, Latin looks, and outgoing personality garnered attention enough, and they never fought over men. But, this time, Rosa wanted the beast for herself.

He growled, a low, sustained sound, and leaned forward slightly. His eyes burned, matching the heat already inundating her body, melting whatever hesitancy remained. Letting her gaze drop, she saw his cock rising, long, dark and thick, from the hair of his groin. Stepping toward him, she nudged his legs apart, knelt between them.

“Damn,” Blanche sighed.

“She’s the one,” he replied. “But you can watch, if you like.”

Rosa ignored them, intent on his growing cock. It curved up toward his belly, the head so smooth she salivated to taste it. He plucked the glass from her hand and she smiled, reaching for him. When she circled his cock with her cold fingers, he growled again, and a giggle escaped her.

Then there was no more time for laughter.

His glans filled her mouth—texture, taste, and arousing scent exploding in her head all at once. It was like she’d been starved but now had a feast, and she wanted to devour him. Licking and sucking, learning the shape of him with her tongue, his fingers tunneling into her hair to hold her in place, she couldn’t get enough. The base of his cock pulsed, and she laved a thick bead of pre-come from the tip, knowing he was close, wanting to hear and feel him let go in her mouth.

When he pushed her away, she fell, gasping, on her ass, the sense of loss indescribable.

“Oh, no you don’t,” he growled, and she saw his muscles bunch, poised to spring. “No, no, no…”

He was on her, ripping her T-shirt away, tearing at her panties with his teeth, and everything became a slow-motion blur, a cacophony of growls and gasps and moans, a tsunami of sensations. He licked and nibbled his way over her body, pushing her breasts together with his powerful hands, sucking and growling around her nipples. Working his way down, parting her legs,
swirling his tongue between the lips of her pussy, surrounding her clit, the knowledge of those strong teeth close to her flesh bringing her to a screaming climax.

And could he fuck! He made her glad for the stamina and flexibility brought on by years of dancing, because
missionary
clearly wasn’t in his vocabulary. Twisting her, this way and that, clutching with his claws, cock unerringly finding its way home, he gave her orgasm after orgasm. At the end Rosa found herself practically doing a split on the back of the couch, his cock driving into her from behind as she held herself aloft with a death grip on the cushion in front of her hips. Blanche stared up at them, blue eyes wide, her usually pale cheeks bright pink, lips open as she panted. She was thrusting a neon-green vibrator into her cunt, fingers of her other hand pinching and tugging at her nipples.

His cock went deep and he leaned into Rosa, teeth grazing her shoulder, scraping up to her neck. No reason why that should make her lose control, but it did. Entire body shuddering, she was the one who howled, pumping her hips with short, hard, movements, his cock moving with delicious friction in her pussy.

“So tight,” he growled into her ear. “So wet and sweet.”

She couldn’t answer, could do nothing but let the waves of orgasm break over her, revel in him filling her, hearing his words dissolve into the primal sounds of his release.

The last things she remembered was asking, “What would happen if I gave you tequila?” and his answering chuckle.

 

Waking up, blinking against the sunlight coming in through the window, she realized the warm, soft body snuggled with hers on the couch was Blanche’s.

“Wow,” Blanche stirred, yawned. “I had the wildest dream.”

“Did it involve a hairy man-beast thing?”

Blanche went still. “Yeah,” she replied slowly.

“And do you own a neon-green vibrator?”

“Damn…so it wasn’t a dream?”

Rosa didn’t bother to answer. What was there to say?

 

The winter fell into an otherworldly pattern—working during the day and Bear, as they took to calling him since he wouldn’t tell them his name, at night.

For the first time in years Rosa and Blanche were working on the same project, an off-Broadway production by the world-renowned team of Short and Dean. Still in rehearsals, Rosa had one of the leads while Blanche worked on the set designs, so they spent even more time together than usual. Normally Rosa would have been stressed to the max with opening night only six weeks away, but somehow she floated through. Not even the tantrums and scathing remarks of producer David Short, who often came to monitor the cast’s progress, fazed her.

This easygoing attitude must be linked to Bear’s nightly visits. They didn’t have sex every night, but for the first time she was getting both quality and quantity, along with a friendship she came to treasure. Although Rosa was the focus of his attention, Blanche didn’t seem to mind.

“I never thought myself a voyeur,” she said one day when they were standing near the stage door at the end of the lunch interval. A touch of color brightened her pale cheeks, and her eyes sparkled. “But watching you two together is amazing.”

“Well, we all knew I was an exhibitionist, although not in that way,” Rosa replied. “Bear brings out the beast in me.”

They were both laughing when David Short came by, the heavy woolen cloak he affected swirling around his ankles.

“Well, what have we here? Two of my favorite girls. You really must come by my place one evening.” He winked, his
lascivious gaze causing a shiver of distaste to trickle up Rosa’s spine. “We’d have fun, I guarantee.”

He left without waiting for a reply, letting a blast of cold air and a swirl of snow into the corridor. As he went out, the wind slammed the heavy door shut behind him, catching the hem of his cloak between it and the jamb. Rosa and Blanche stared at the fabric for a moment then exchanged a look. There was no way for Short to open the door from the outside.

“Asshole,” Blanche said. “His partner seemed nice when he came that one time, but this guy gives me the creeps. Ignore it—the porter will be back in a while and set him free.”

Rosa shrugged, already moving toward the exit. “He’s a jackass but also the producer, and it’s cold out there.”

But the fabric had jammed the door shut and it took both of them shoving before the door sprang open. Short had obviously been tugging hard on the other side, and the sudden opening of the door sent him flying, face first, into a snow bank. Rosa bit her cheek in an effort to stop the laughter welling inside.

“You stupid bitches,” Short snarled, once he’d spat out the snow. “Look what you did. I’ll have you fired for this.”

Without a word Blanche nudged Rosa back inside and closed the door. “Wow,” she said. “Just, wow.”

“Asshole,” Rosa bunched her fists. “The union will make him eat his balls for breakfast if he tries it.”

But at night, when she let Bear in, everything outside the apartment fell away, and he was all Rosa cared about. She’d never had a lover like him—one who concentrated solely on her, even ignoring Blanche who often stayed to watch while they made love. Whether she was there or not, it was always the same. Bear made sure Rosa was exhausted with pleasure by the time he slipped back out into the cold dawn, and she’d drift to sleep, carrying the memory of his eyes into her dreams.

Sometimes he was fierce, fucking her hard and long, slamming his cock into her pussy until the entire world shrunk to just that one amazing point of contact and she exploded into orgasm. Other times he was tender, loving her slowly, touching, kissing, licking, sliding into her with infinite care or rolling so she was on top and could take him at her own pace, in her own way. Then there were the nights when he took one look at her and suggested a game of poker if Blanche was around or a movie if they were alone.

It was always right. Somehow whatever she needed on any given night, he willingly, ably, supplied.

On the mornings after a night of sweaty, limb-tangling, balls-to-the-wall sex, Rosa would be energized, raring to hit the street running. After one of the slower, dreamier nights, she woke up mellow, able to take everything in her stride. How much better life seemed with Bear in it—more balanced, easier to handle.

He made her feel indomitable.

 

Spring approached, along with opening night. The theater was chaotic but Rosa moved through final rehearsals with confidence, despite a number of run-ins with David Short. They were all silly incidents, like him getting angry when she told him his phone, which he’d left on a seat while he spoke to one of the grips, was ringing. Or the day he pushed past her on the stairs and tripped. She’d instinctively grabbed and stopped him from falling, but he’d still bawled her out for inadvertently tearing his shirt while she did.

The director called Rosa aside one day.

“I don’t know what you’ve done to Short,” he whispered, obviously not wanting anyone else to hear, “but you better watch yourself. He’s talking up your understudy, nitpicking about your performance.”

A chill of fear careened through her veins. The part was her big break, her first lead in a production of this size. “Are you thinking of replacing me?”

“
I’m
happy with you—think you’re doing an excellent job—but I don’t hold the purse strings.” Raking his fingers through his hair only made the strands stand up even more, and the nervous energy emanating from him was palpable. “I wish the other partner, Dean, was handling this project. Word is he’s far easier to deal with.”

He didn’t say any more but the inference was clear. Short could force Rosa out if he really wanted, and the director couldn’t—or wouldn’t—protect her.

When she told Blanche, her friend was horrified and recounted her own problems with Short.

“He’s been constantly questioning everything I do. Worse, today I accidentally caught him and Daria in the prop room, fucking.”

“He’s screwing my understudy?” Rosa had the urge to punch something.

Blanche nodded, “Yep, and apparently doesn’t care who knows. They weren’t even discreet.”

Rosa dropped her head into her hands. “Between that and the incident with the snowbank, we’re screwed. If we both lose our jobs, we’ll be in shit for sure.”

That night Bear was later than usual, and anxiety sparking under her skin wouldn’t let Rosa sit still.

“Calm down.” Blanche checked her watch and picked up her clutch purse. “I’ve never seen you so keyed up. I almost hate to leave you in this state.”

Rosa forced herself to sit, realized she was convulsively tapping her foot and held it still too. It was the first date Blanche was going on in ages, and she didn’t want to spoil it. “I’ll be fine.”

Finally there was a knock, and she ran to answer. Bear came in, but there was no lessening of her nervous tension. Instead it ratcheted higher.

As the door closed behind him, Bear picked her up and carried her down the hall toward her bedroom. Rosa clasped her legs around him, pressing close, burying her face in the soft pelt on his neck, digging her fingernails into his back. His chest vibrated with a barely audible sound, his cock rising, nudging her satin-clad pussy, and she rocked against it, already yearning to feel it inside, stretching her, bringing her to orgasm.

Dropping her in the middle of the bed, he straddled her legs.

“Why do you insist on wearing so much clothing?” he growled, breaking the straps of her bodice with strong twists of his hands. “I don’t want you hiding from me.”

She was caught in the dark need of his gaze, hunger for him churning inside her, making her nipples tingle and ache, her hips rise in silent invitation. In reply he shredded the central lace panel of her teddy, peeled aside the satin covering her breasts, chuckled as a shudder of anticipation wracked her frame.

Swirling his tongue from one side to the other, he didn’t miss an inch, teasing the undersides, the outer curves and valley between, scraping his teeth against her skin. Holding on to his shoulders, she tried to open her legs but he effortlessly held them closed between powerful thighs. His cock rubbed against her mound, the sensation entwining with those from his mouth, and Rosa arched upward, eyes closing in ecstasy.