Bear Naked (6 page)

I sat the hot water bucket nearby and dipped my cloth into it, wrung it out, and then gestured for Leif to turn around. “Why don’t I do your back?” Anything to not have to stare down his erection.

He obediently turned around and presented me with his back. His long, matted hair wandered down his spine, brushing at his buttocks, and I considered it as I lathered up the bar of soap. “Do you want to cut this mess off or just wash it?”

“You have scissors?” The pleasure in his voice told me the answer.

“I have a hunting knife,” I told him. “Want me to do the honors?”

“Please,” he murmured, and his voice was husky. His spoken language was so much better now that he’d been practicing again. You’d never realize that he’d had to struggle the first few days to even put sentences together.

I was thrilled that Leif was returning to normal. Every step made him a little bit closer to mine.

I fisted my hand into his mane, gathering it at the base of his neck. The scent of him filled my nostrils - not filthy like I’d expected, but warm and earthy and pleasant. I pulled my knife out of my leg sheath and began to saw at his hair. A moment later, his yard-long locks were in my hand, and the hair left on his head brushed his bare nape.

“Much better,” I murmured and watched with appreciation as he rotated his shoulders, flexing.

“I already feel lighter.”

“You should,” I told him, tossing aside the hanks of hair. “I think you just lost a few pounds in knotted hair.” I picked up the soap and cloth again, lathered them one more time, and then began to wipe at his wiry shoulders.

He groaned with pleasure as soon as the cloth touched his skin.

I froze.

The sound he’d made…it made my entire body come alive. Need throbbed in my body, and I fought back the urge to whimper in response. My nipples brushed against the fabric of my clothing, and my skin tingled.

I couldn’t let Leif know, though. Gritting my teeth, I continued to stroke the cloth over his shoulders, wiping away trails of grime as he flexed and shifted in place, trying to subconsciously lead me to the itchy spots. I followed along with his squirming, though I admit that I was probably washing him slower than I should have been. I was just so fascinated with his corded body. Every bit of him was lean muscle, sinewy and full of strength. He radiated heat, and now that I was washing him with honeysuckle soap, he smelled like a mix of flowers, were-bear, and…Leif. I was fascinated by touching him, and unable to stop myself. When I was satisfied with how clean his back was, I continued to wash him, moving to his arms and dipping and scrubbing at my cloth repeatedly to keep it wet and soapy. It wasn’t the only thing wet; I was pretty sure my panties were soaked and they had nothing to do with the bathwater. But, oh god, Leif was pretty, and touching him was sheer joy. I couldn’t help myself.

My wet fingers trailed down one muscular bicep, and I sucked in a breath when it flexed in response.

Leif looked over his shoulder at me, and his eyes were slitted, his expression impossible to read under that growth of heavy beard. “Want to do my front for me?”

I blushed.

That was forward of him. And yet…wasn’t this entire bath thing a little forward? I knew he was turned on just by looking at him, and he’d know I was turned on just by smelling my scent. I considered for a moment, but I wanted to do his front more than anything. So I swallowed hard and said, “Turn around.”

He did…and those blue eyes seemed to glitter as they focused on my face. I dipped the washcloth again, noticing that the water was getting cooler — and dirtier - by the minute. But I continued to soap it, and when it was ready, I reached out and pressed the cloth against the base of Leif’s neck, against his pulse.

He swallowed, and I watched his Adam’s apple bob just inches from my wet fingers. My hands moved on his chest, soaping with one hand and exploring with the washcloth with the other. This was incredibly erotic, and I suspected that we both knew we’d gone from ‘bath’ to ‘foreplay.’

But neither one of us was stopping the other.

It was impossible to ignore the hard length of his cock that jutted from his crossed legs. It pointed upward, the shaft thick and throbbing, the crown a deep purple. I kept glancing at it, fascinated despite myself, and my soaping hands slid lower, brushing over Leif’s stomach and hips, and then moving down his thighs.

He didn’t stop me, just remained completely still while I explored him. I wondered how much he’d let me dare. It was just the two of us on this island, in this tent, in the world. There was only Leif and myself.

In that moment, I felt incredibly connected with him, and intensely aroused.

So I soaped up my washcloth one more time, dropped the bar of soap into the water, and then placed both hands on his straining erection.

Leif groaned. His hands moved forward and grasped my shoulders, and the next thing I knew, he was kissing me, his lips mashing to my own.

I was so startled that I couldn’t respond at first. I just sat there while his mouth moved over mine.

He seemed to realize that I wasn’t kissing him back as boldly as I’d touched him. The kiss changed, gentled, and his tongue flicked against my lips in a silent question.

I opened my mouth to his, my answer to that question an unequivocal
yes
.

Leif’s kiss became deeper, gentler. His tongue stroked against mine and I moaned at the feel of his mouth, the wiry bristle of his beard against my cheeks. The need banked in my body had turned into a full-fledged roar, and my wet hands tightened around his cock, holding him as we kissed. His hands dragged over my breasts, cupping them and then teasing the nipples, trying to give me the same pleasure I was giving him in return.

Oh god, Leif’s mouth felt so good on mine. I sucked on his tongue as it slid against my own, thinking how perfect he was for me. He’d be ideal for my heat. He’d…

I pulled away so fast that our lips made a wet sound as we separated. And I stared at him in horror.

He had no idea why he was responding to me like this. Just being around me was going to arouse him, because of the state my body was in. And I felt…ashamed at that.

Leif didn’t even remember that he was in mourning, and here I was, molesting him to suit my own needs.

God, that made me a shitty person.

My hands slid off of him as guilt surged to the forefront. “Why don’t you finish cleaning yourself?” I said, jumping to my feet. I sounded breathless. “I think I need some air.”

And I turned out of the tent and ran.

I hated myself for being so manipulative to Leif. He didn’t remember the last sixteen years. For all intents and purposes, he was a widower, wasn’t he? And here I was with my heat-scent, shoving it under his nose and trying to get him to mate me.

If I was a decent sort of person, I’d remind him of his grief, allow him to get it out in the open, and see how it was affecting him. If he was beside himself with sadness, then I’d know he didn’t want me. If he truly seemed like he’d had time to grieve, then maybe I could continue with my plan. I’d then tell him my problem and ask him how he wanted to logically proceed. Did he want to give a mating a go with me? Or did he want to return to the wild and continue grieving Katja?

The sad thing was…I was terrified of his answer. What if he
wasn’t
over her? I didn’t know if I could compete with the memory of a dead girl, and so I kept things from him.

It was awful and wrong to withhold information from Leif, and I couldn’t seem to help myself. I shoved my wet hands into the pockets of my coat and paced down the beach, waiting for my body temperature to cool a bit.

I walked for hours, circling the island. Leif didn’t catch up with me, didn’t even come out to see if I was okay. When I returned to my tent, the water had been disposed of, the bathing items cleaned and put away. Leif was gone.

Damn it.

I wondered if I’d chased him off for good. If he came back, I resolved, I would tell him everything.

No more secrets. I had to make sure Leif knew his reaction to me was purely driven by hormones. That he wasn’t attracted to me. That he’d left because his beloved Katja had died.

Once he had the truth, then he could decide how he wanted to handle my heat, instead of me deciding for him.

As much as I hated it, it had to be done.

That next morning, I woke up to an ice sculpture of a whale. It looked as if it were cresting a wave, riding a snowy embankment. The sight of it was a good sign, though. It meant Leif was still in there, and he wasn’t mad at me.

Yet.

Still made me feel better, though.

To my relief, Leif returned
a few hours later.

The bear lumbered into camp like nothing had happened, and just outside of the small circle of my encampment, he crouched and began to change to his human form. I placed his clothes out for him, and as soon as he shifted to a man, he immediately began to dress.

I tried not to stare at him as he did, but failed.

Leif had shaved. Not only had we cut his long hair, but he’d cut it even closer to his scalp and shaved his face with my knife. Bristle curved the strong lines of his jaw, but the long, crazy beard was gone.

Leif was gorgeous. Young, strong, and delicious. My hormones sang in response when his attention fixed on me, and the firm lines of his jaw clenched. Without the beard, his nose seemed to dominate his face, a bit too long and prominent to make him model-beautiful, but I liked the look of his face.

I liked everything about him. I was so screwed.

He stared at the fire, and I obediently scooped the last of my instant coffee into the thermos, waiting for the water to heat. Leif had gone through my luxury supplies faster than I’d anticipated, but I hadn’t minded in the slightest. It gave me pleasure to see the look on his face as he re-discovered things as small as protein bars or even a broth-flavored tea. I was sure that a lot of that was my crush on him, but I was powerless to oppose it, thanks to my heat-frenzied hormones.

Leif was silent, though. We both stared at my small fire, not saying anything. The faint crackle of burning driftwood was the only sound in the camp, along with the distant calls of the chinstrap penguins. I no longer even noticed them; they avoided my camp. It smelled too much like predator.

“Storm’s coming,” Leif said after a long moment. “A big one. Lots of snow. You should find shelter.”

I squinted up at the gray skies. They looked pretty much the same as every other day here. It was cold, and dry, and blustery. Typical Antarctic day. “How can you tell?”

He tapped the side of his big nose. “I can smell it. There’s a subtle change on the breeze.” He nodded at the penguins. “And they’re scattering, heading for shelter.”

“Oh.” If the penguins were leaving, that was probably bad.

“You should go,” he said.

That made me bristle. Such a very final sort of comment.
You should go
, indeed. “I have a tent,” I said stubbornly. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“Why not?”

“I’m staying here until the boat returns.”“You can’t. You have no shelter.”

“I have a tent.”

“Your tent won’t be enough.” He gestured at the cove. “There’s buildings in that direction. If you must stay, go into one of those. I’ll help you gather wood. With both of us working on it, you should have enough for a small fire to keep you warm.”