Sold To The Bears (A BBW Paranormal Romance Book 1) (6 page)

While I was looking at two different phones, she sidled up to me and spoke in a low voice. "Don't worry. Tomorrow night's not that far away."

Beyond irritated, I clenched my jaw and didn't respond.

Despite the fact that the bed in my apartment suite was extremely large and comfortable, and despite the fact that I'd had a very long day that had begun well before dawn, I couldn't fall asleep right away that night. I tossed and turned for at least an hour before getting out of bed and looking through several rows of books on a three-tiered shelf in what I was coming to see as my living room.

I didn't find anything I wanted to read. I paced around a bit, my feet noiseless on a large burgundy-colored rug covering the hardwood. I made and ate a snack in my own little kitchen before returning to the living room to pace some more.

It was about midnight by the time I was finally able to fall asleep. And even then, I didn't sleep very deeply. I awoke around four in the morning after having had a dream about Grant and Adrian in my bed, both of them naked, both of them kissing and touching me.

With a growing sense of shame, I realized that the feminine folds between my thighs had become incredibly slick. I'd also awoken with a dull ache low in my belly. Disgusted with myself, I got up and went to get myself cleaned up a bit in the bathroom. I was determined to curb whatever insanity was beginning to come over me.

When I returned to bed, I reminded myself over and over that Grant and Adrian had very likely had been directly involved in the killing of my adoptive parents. I tried to muster all the anger I possibly could toward them, which wasn't difficult to do at all. And eventually, I fell back asleep again, and this time, I slept hard. I didn't have any more dreams.

The next day, it poured rain, and I didn't leave the house. I didn't even leave my rooms except to have breakfast with Mil, Fiona, Brandon, and Martin in a formal dining room on the ground floor, where we were attended to by household staff. Grant, Adrian, and Samuel were still sleeping after having not returned from dealing with the wolf spies from Howell until nearly dawn.

After I'd returned to my rooms, Mil came to check in on me around lunchtime. For some reason, I just kind of wanted to be alone, and she seemed to sense this. After telling me that Grant and Adrian would be up to share my bed at the appointed time, she left.

I read some, ate a late lunch, and took a nap. I spent some time pacing, trying to distract myself from any and all thoughts of Grant and Adrian without much success. That evening, I ate dinner by myself in my own kitchen. After, I took a long bubble bath, irritated that the dull, frustrating ache low in my belly had returned. Just from picturing Grant and Adrian's handsome faces and briefly wondering a few times if their bodies would look like how I pictured them in my dream the night before. Which was to say, amazing. Tempting.

After my bath, I wound my long, dark hair into a loose, messy bun, then discovered I wasn't quite sure what kind of clothes to wear. Day clothes didn't seem quite right, but pajamas didn't exactly seem right, either. The thought of opening my door dressed in night clothes, to usher in two men I'd just met the day before, just seemed odd. Then again, I was soon to be sharing a bed with them both, so I was sure I should get over the informality of standing before them in pajamas.

After lighting a few tall red pillar candles on the right side of my dresser, I stood looking over a few different modest pajama sets I'd set out on the left side, wondering which was the most attractive. Wondering why I was even wondering which was the most attractive. I didn't care what Grant and Adrian thought about me or my clothes. They were my enemies. And I was simply in survival mode. I was simply in an enduring-my-lot-in-life mode. Or so I told myself. Because if all that were true,

I wasn't sure why my pulse began pounding when a loud knock sounded on my living room door at eight-fifty, a full ten minutes sooner than I thought I'd hear a knock. They were early. And I was still only wrapped in a towel. My skin was still glistening wet from my bath. "Dammit."

I glanced through my open bedroom door to the living room, uncertain if I should go to the door and call out to give me a minute, or just go ahead and continue getting dressed first. I looked back down at the pajama sets on my dresser, deciding that they could wait. I'd get dressed first, and I'd take my sweet time.

But then a knock sounded again. I swore under my breath once more, now frantically scanning the pajama sets before me. I thought about throwing on a fairly cute red one with a scoop-necked top bordered by a ribbon of sheer red lace. But then, almost instantly realizing that looking sexy or cute was not my goal at all, I contemplated a far more somber-looking navy blue pajama set. The knocking sounded again, even louder this time.

"Oh, fine!"

I'd had it. Now I was beyond irritated. I was angry. If they were going to come ten minutes early, I thought, they should at least have the decency to give me a minute to answer the door. I was going to tell them exactly this. And I didn't even care if I had to do it in a towel.

I stomped over to the door and flung it open, ready to let them have it. But suddenly, all my anger kind of floated away. Grant stood just beyond the doorway, shirtless and in jeans, a tumbler of what looked like whiskey in his hand. Adrian was shirtless as well, holding a bottle of unopened champagne. My gaze flitted from one bare, muscled chest to the other. My heart began to sound like a jackhammer in my ears. The ache low in my belly, that had never really left, intensified.

I took a step back. At the same time, the tucked knot at the top of my towel, which was just to the side of my breasts, decided to loosen. My towel fell to the floor, revealing my still-damp body in complete nakedness.

Grant immediately stepped through the doorway. "I think we'll take that as an invitation to come in."

CHAPTER FOUR

Before I could even cover my breasts or any other of my naked parts, I was in Grant's arms with his mouth on mine. He must have dropped his tumbler of whiskey on the rug, because one of his hands was running up and down my back while another cupped my bare rear. He pressed his full mouth against mine insistently, almost a little roughly, even. He was kissing me like a man long starved.

And to my absolute horror, I was kissing him back.

I ran my hands along the hard ridges of his back, whimpering a little while he began exploring my mouth with his tongue. I tasted a faint hint of whiskey, and I could smell it a bit, too. Though what I could smell the most was the woodsy, masculine scent emanating from Grant's chest. The scent that had threatened to drive me crazy in his truck during the drive from Stony Rapids. That, combined with the feel of his hands on my skin and his mouth on mine was making me lose all control. As if I'd actually even had any from the moment he'd walked through the door.

I continued kissing him while he kissed me back, plundering my mouth with his tongue, and soon I tangled my fingers in his thick dark hair. My nipples stiffened against the hardness of his chest. I felt hands behind me, encircling my waist. Adrian's.

Immediately after, I felt him press himself against my rear, his already-hard manhood unmistakable. He brought his mouth to the side of my neck and began planting a line of warm, slow kisses down my skin, his mouth firm and warm.

At the same time, Grant moved his hands to the small of my back and pulled me against him, and I felt that he was just as hard as Adrian. From what I could tell, both he and Adrian were large. Maybe even very large. And both were definitely very hard. Already. After not even being in my apartment for a full minute yet. I moaned into Grant's hungry mouth, realizing that the feminine folds between my thighs were beyond slick, and the sensitive little bud between them was throbbing.

The feeling of having two sets of hands exploring my body, and two sets of hands belonging to incredibly attractive, well-built men at that, was even more pleasurable than I'd ever dreamed. And that was saying something, since in the past I'd dreamed about what it would feel like, quite a bit. I'd dreamed about it quite vividly just the night before.

I had no idea why I'd thought I could merely "endure" a steamy night with Grant and Adrian. In fact, at that moment, I couldn't even remember if that had even been my plan. I was already too far gone. Already too far carried away by physical pleasure. But after a short while, after Adrian had reached around and begun circling my stiffened nipples with his thumbs while continuing to plant slow kisses along the side of my neck, the pleasure I was experiencing wasn't quite enough. I needed to be touched even more intimately. I needed to feel one of their rock-hard shafts inside of me. I needed to be taken, by each of them. I needed release, and likely several. My desires had been unmet for too long. I hadn't quite fully realized it before Grant and Adrian had come to my rooms, but I'd gotten to a point where I was starving for pleasure and release. Starving for passionate intimacy, which seemed to be the kind Grant and Adrian enjoyed, too.

I pulled my mouth from Grant's, panting. "Please. Take me to the bedroom. I want you. I want both of you."

I didn't need to make my request twice. Adrian released me, moving to the side, and with a low growl rumbling in his broad chest, Grant scooped me up, carried me into the bedroom, kissing me along the way, and set me on the bed. Adrian turned out the light. Both he and Grant were out of their jeans and underwear in a flash, and I saw that I'd been right. They were both very large and appeared to be granite-hard.

Their long, thick shafts pointed straight up, nearly flush with their washboard abs. The erotic sight alone was enough to intensify the ache low in my belly to the point that it was now nearly unbearable. When I spoke, I barely recognized my own voice, it was so husky with need.

"Please. I want both of you. And I can't wait any longer."

With his lightly tanned skin made even more golden by the bright glow from the tall red candles on the dresser, Grant climbed in beside me first, took me in his strong arms, and began kissing me again.

At the same time, Adrian climbed in on my other side, hooked an arm over my waist, and began letting his fingers wander. He gripped one of my thighs, kneading it and squeezing it, before moving on to gently caress my slick feminine mound. When I felt him gently probe my lips apart and begin stroking my most sensitive spot, I cried out, breaking my kiss with Grant without even meaning to.

"Don't stop, Adrian. Please don't stop."

He didn't, and continued on stroking me with a single fingertip, his pressure not to light but not too firm, while Grant moved his hungry mouth to one of my nipples and began teasing it with his tongue. I moaned, becoming lost in rapture.

Adrian moved his mouth to my ear and spoke in a low husky voice without missing a beat, or a stroke, rather, in his task. "You should know that you're the most beautiful creature I've ever seen in my life. Simply gorgeous."

  To my surprise, I turned my head and pressed a lingering kiss against his mouth. Though I honestly wasn't
that
surprised at myself. Simply because I could barely even recall that he and Grant were supposed to be my enemies. And the teeny-tiny part of me that did remember, couldn't even recall why.

Soon Grant seemed to grow a bit jealous of Adrian pleasuring me and all but shoved his hand to the side. With my head propped up on a stack of pillows, I'd been watching Adrian's finger moving across my most sensitive spot, and now I whimpered with frustration, turning my face toward Grant.

"Why? Just, why?"

His pale blue eyes glinted in the candlelight, and he spoke in a voice barely louder than a gravelly whisper.

"Because I'm ready to take you now."

In one swift, seemingly effortless motion, he pulled me on top of him. I straddled his hips, more than eager to feel him inside of me. And even though
I
was the one straddling
him
, he really did take
me
. After positioning the head of his thick manhood at my slick entrance, he quickly and powerfully thrust his hips upward, driving his stiffened rod deep inside of me.

I threw my head back, moaning. "Yes. Oh, God, yes, Grant."

Gripping my soft hips, holding me up and off him a bit, he began moving his own hips up and down on the bed, thrusting his long manhood in and out of my slickness. At the same time, Adrian, who'd raised himself up on his knees beside me, took one of my hands, placed it on his stiffened shaft, and curled my fingers around it. I began stroking him while watching the action of my hand, the erotic sight almost more than I could bear. I knew I was hurtling toward climax, and fast; and within a minute or so, I was there.

I cried out, gripping Adrian's rock-hard rod, while Grant continued to drive himself deeper and deeper inside of me, grunting. Within seconds of the first ripple of pure ecstasy shuddering though my body, he also began groaning with his own release, his movements becoming even faster and harder.

After the last wave of my pleasure had passed, I collapsed over him, panting. However, I didn't rest for long. Soon it became clear that Adrian needed some serious attention as well, and I was more than glad to give it to him. I rode him while Grant looked on, stretched out on his back, kneading and caressing one of my thighs. Even after his seemingly intense release minutes earlier, he was already becoming hard again.

When the three of us finally began heading toward sleep around midnight, I was completely satisfied for the first time in my life. I stared up at candlelight flickering on the ceiling, dazed. Adrian fell asleep right away, his breathing becoming slow and rhythmic, and one of his arms across my belly.

But, like me, Grant stared up at the ceiling. His hands were laced behind his head. His expression was unreadable. He was so still for at least a solid minute that it startled me when he spoke, which he did without even looking at me. He kept his gaze locked on the ceiling.

"When you were a little girl...when you were a little girl of maybe six or seven...did you ever wear flowers in your hair? White flowers...tiny rosebuds, maybe. And double French braids. And the flowers were somehow woven into the braids."

Thoroughly dumbfounded and mystified by what he'd said, I didn't answer right away. It took me several moments to find my voice.

"I...I don't remember exactly how my mother did my hair. And...." I paused to study his face in profile for a long moment, confused almost beyond words. "And why do you ask? What does it matter?"

"Never mind. I already know the answer to my question anyway."

His response had only deepened my mystification. I stared at him, as if his handsome face would eventually make things clear. But it didn't, and after a moment or two, he closed his eyes. And that's when I remembered he'd walked into my apartment with a glass of whiskey in his hand. Who knew how much he'd had to drink before then. And maybe he was still feeling the effects. I knew that for certain people, alcohol could make them ask the oddest questions and say the most nonsensical things. And Grant clearly seemed to be one of those people.

I soon fell asleep, thoroughly exhausted.

The following day, I awoke very late in the morning and found myself in bed alone. Grant and Adrian had surely left to run patrols with some other shifters shortly after dawn. I sat up immediately, recalling the events of the previous night, a flood of emotions crashing over me.

I felt guilty. I felt ashamed. I felt angry at myself. I couldn't understand how I could have been so weak as to give into temptation, to practically hurl myself headfirst into a night of passion with two bear shifters. Though at the same time, I
could
understand how I could have been so weak.

They may have been bear shifters, and they may have taken part in the attack on Gray and Estelle. In fact, they likely did. Or, at the very least, had full knowledge about it. But they were still men, and unbelievably attractive ones at that. And I was still a woman. A woman who'd been starved of physical pleasure for so long.

Thinking things over, I decided to forgive myself. What was done was done, and I figured that what had happened might even work to my advantage in my plan to get a better feel for who Grant and Adrian really were and if they were murderers. The closer I became to the two of them, the more they might reveal to me. So, I decided I couldn't pull back now. Not to mention, I wasn't sure I'd be able to even if I tried. The physical pleasure I'd experienced had been far too satisfying.

For the next week or so, although I only rarely saw them during the daytime, my nights of passion with Grant and Adrian continued. I began to feel as if I were becoming somehow addicted to the pleasure the three of us shared.

However, this didn't really reveal any more to me about who they were as people. I still didn't feel as if I could trust them, Grant especially, and I was determined not to. Grant, in particular, always made me feel as if he were hiding something from me. Some secret he wasn't telling me about. Sometimes before we fell asleep at night, I'd catch him looking at me with a look in his eyes I could only interpret as one of pain. Once I asked him if he had something to tell me, and he simply closed his eyes and went to sleep.

After another week went by with a few similar instances, I became certain. He had killed Gray and Estelle. And whether Malachi had told him, or whether he'd found out some other way, he knew they'd been my adoptive parents. He knew. And he was feeling guilty.

I began stewing about whether or not I should confront him and demand he admit what he'd done, or whether I should just resolve to never say anything and simply choose Adrian as my husband instead. Because while I didn't yet trust him a hundred percent, or even anywhere close, I couldn't deny that I just felt in my gut that Adrian hadn't had anything to do with the attack. I guess there was something about him I was beginning to trust maybe just a teeny-tiny bit.

Before I could decide what to do, confront Grant or simply choose Adrian without a word, I began to realize that something terrible was happening. Something so profoundly terrible I couldn't even admit it to myself at first. But eventually, after a few glasses of wine alone in my rooms one evening, I couldn't deny it any longer. I was developing some sort of a bizarre attachment to Grant. Though beyond articulating it to myself like that, as a bizarre attachment, I couldn't quite define what it was.