Mail Order Tiger Bride Wars: A Scorchingly Hot BBW Shifter Romance (8 page)

BOOK: Mail Order Tiger Bride Wars: A Scorchingly Hot BBW Shifter Romance
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19

 

He made a kind of
mat with their shirts and pants on the hard ground of the jungle.

“So you’ll be more comfortable,” he said.

Then he laid her down on it. She was on her back.

“You OK?” he asked her.

“Yes.”

She was amazed at how tender he was. How caring and careful.

He lay down beside her.

“Touch me,” he said. He took her hand and guided it to his cock.
“Go on. It’s tougher than it looks. Grip it.”

She held it in her palm, still incredulous that this was all happening so fast.
His hard rod of flesh was warm against her flesh, like the rest of him. And hard.

“Go on. Play with it,” he urged her.

How did one play with a cock? She stroked it gently – back and forth – from the tip to its root. It was firm and yet spongy. Compressible and yet, like he said, harder than it looked.

“You don’t have to be so gentle with it,” he said.
“Look.”

He added his hand to hers.
His grip was much stronger than hers. She was astonished at how hard he could grip his own cock through her hand. He guided her to massage it back and forth, back and forth.

“That’s a hand job,” he said.

“I know what a hand job is.” She blushed. “I’m not that innocent.”

“Nah.
I think you’ve never given one before. You really are an innocent.” He stroked the underside of her chin with his finger. “But I like it.”

He kissed her again, and her stomach fluttered and went all gooey.

Then something happened. A trickle of cream trailed from her pussy. She could feel the soft pooling of it as it crept down her vagina to her pussy hole, waiting to spill out. This happened to her so rarely that she scarcely remembered the last time it did. Maybe it was when she was watching a really hot love scene with Christian Bale in it.

His mouth never left hers as his hand crept down to her pussy. His index finger ran down her clit, and a shudder rippled through her.

“You like it?” he said against her mouth.

Without waiting for an answer, he continued to stroke her clit with the pad
of his finger as he kissed her mouth. The pressure was insistent and of varying intensity. She started to squirm under his onslaught – soft at first, then harder, and building, building, building. Always building in its force. Increasing. Escalating. Rubbing the hood of her clit as if he was trying to rub a moan out of her.

She twisted her body, and he pressed his weight down on her so that she wouldn’t get away.

“Oh,” she cried.

But he held her tight. His finger wouldn’t
ease up on her clit. All sorts of fiery sensations ran through her pussy.

“Open your legs wider,” he instructed her.

She couldn’t move if she tried. He added two other fingers now into the mix, and they were rubbing against her clit and labia and the wet grooves in between. She was so wet, oh so wet. And he was spreading her lush wetness all over her pussy, smearing her with her own creams. And his fingers were moving so fast – so fast that they must have been a blur if she were to be able to see herself down there.

Her pleasure escalated to rapid heights.
It was intense. It was blinding.

She arched her back.

“Oh, oh, oh!” she screamed.

B
ut he still wouldn’t let up. He massaged her and rubbed her until she was bucking her hips and writhing and screaming. And when he plunged two fingers into her pussy hole, she came. Violently. Two successive waves after the other. The light speared through her brain, until all she could feel was the rapturous pleasure, which culminated in the massive quaking of her body.

He let her go, finally. And she slowly descended, panting and sweating and shaking.
Like she was having a fever.

“Was that good for you?” he teased.

She was too winded to reply. But she wanted to please him again, and so she reached for his cock again and gripped it hard.

“Nice,” he said breathlessly.

He lay back as she started to massage it back and forth, using as much power as she could muster. He was right. The harder she pumped him, the more heated he became. His cock grew harder and longer and his breathing grew harsher.

Until he clamped his hand down on hers.

“Don’t,” he said hoarsely. “You’ll make me cum. I don’t want to cum yet. I want to play with you.”

He turned his body back to hers, and then he
slid down so that his face was above her pussy. He bent over to lick her clit.

She had just recovered from her orgasm, and
now she was transported again to the stratosphere. His tongue was gentle, whispery, soft. Very unlike his fingers, which rely on strength. It was such a contrast to what she received just now that she could only lie back and revel in his magic. The tip of his clever tongue, sliding up and down her clit, flipping it to and fro, inching in between her pussy leaves into the depths of her ultra-sensitive flesh.

So gentle.

Soooo gentle.

The sensations on her clit were indescribable. Her fingers dug into his hair, and she realized how soft it was.
She looked down. His head was a bobbing dark shoal in between her thighs.

The dancing of his tongue all over her hot, well-creamed flesh was
so frenetic and yet so feather-like that she was soon in the throes of yet another orgasm. When was the last time she had an orgasm this violent? Never. Never before. What she could work with her own fingers was nothing compared to this.

She cried out, her fingers entrapped in the tendrils of his hair.
He gripped her hips as she shuddered and trashed and flailed.

Her eyes were wet when she opened them again. He
had mounted her, his large body pressing down on hers – belly to belly, chest to her breasts. His cock was poised at her pussy hole.

“Have you done this before?” he said.

His face was half-wreathed in shadow, but the moonlight managed to cast the other half in a beautiful glow.

“No.”

“Then I’ll be very gentle, OK? It’s going to hurt a little bit. But it will pass. You ready?”

No.

Yes.

But she wanted this.
Wanted him. She didn’t want to be a virgin anymore. She didn’t care if it hurt. She just wanted him inside her.

“Yes,” she whispered.

He pushed his large cock in. The cock she had just gripped and pleasured with her hand.


Ahhhh!”

Her pussy stretched to accommodate him. He pushed in further.

“You OK?”

“Yes.”

Maybe it was because she already had a couple of orgasms, and maybe she was already so very wet, but it wasn’t really as painful as she thought it would be. Or maybe that was because he wasn’t all the way in yet. But no matter what, she could feel the entire girth of his cock expanding her tunnel. Filling her with a satisfaction as she had never known before.

She felt truly relaxed.

And peaceful.

“There you go,” he murmured. “It’s all in.”

“It is?”

“Yes.
All of it, as deep as it can go. Can you feel me?”

“Yes.”

Amazing. She wasn’t babbling anymore. But of course, that could change after sex.

“Does it still hurt?”

“No,” she marveled.

He smiled and bent down his head to kiss her.

“See? All it takes is technique. Now I’m going to move very, very slowly, OK? Tell me to stop if it hurts.”

He started to move his hips so that his cock slid in and out of her.
The stretch and subsequent relief of it hurt at first. But as her pussy started to get more lubricated, the hurt gave way to an immense pleasure that was very satisfying on its own.

He rode her with accelerated
ferocity until his breathing grew harsher, and his grip on her arms grew stronger. And then he was moving so fast that she could hear the slap-slap-slap of their wet flesh together, and it was the most erotic sound she had ever heard.

He came. His load shot into her like a hot geyser spurt.

It was so, so, so satisfying, knowing she had brought such pleasure to him.

He buried his cock deep inside her as his semen flooded
into her. Then he withdrew his softening cock and collapsed next to her.

He held her close to him.

“Let’s sleep here for a while.”

She felt very warm and loved in his embrace. Of course he didn’t love her yet. How could he?
He hardly knew her, no matter what his reasons were for wanting a mail order bride. But still, she felt very loved and protected in his arms as he spooned his body against hers.

They fell asleep in the jungle that way.

20

 

Unbeknownst to them both, Terry had not left Brazzaville.

Oh, she had every intention to
, at first.

That night, when Cole
rejected her advances and Ellen refused to come with her, Terry had awoken Mobutu.

“Take me back to Brazzaville.
To the airport. I want to go
now
.”

Mobutu of course was too frightened to refuse a tiger shifter, no matter how diluted
she was. (But then, he didn’t know that.) He had scrambled to get them supplies for the trip and loaded all of Terry’s luggage onto the Range Rover. Then they had driven off.

But along the way, an idea started to uncurl in Terry’s head.

“Mobutu . . . do you know any people who hate
mguezi
?”

“Uh, hate
mguezi
, Miss?”

Was he dense? He was repeating her words.

“Yes. As in ‘hate’. Really hate them. In my country, there are people who form groups when they believe in hating something. Like fake fur. Or
real
fur. Or the killing of whales, though it can’t be that bad of a thing. Are there any
mguezi
hating groups here?”

Mobutu was silent for a while.

“Why you want find them, Miss?”

“Oh, I just want to talk to them. Find out what drives them. It’s a pet project of mine.” She whipped her head to
look at him. “You
do
know them, don’t you?”

“My brother.
He hate
mguezi
because . . . ” Mobutu paused, clearly conflicted now that he had found out his boss was a
mguezi
.

Aha!

“Because of what, Mobutu? Tell me?”

“No, Miss.
I work for Professor Devor. He good to me. He pay me well.”

“I’m not going to do anything to Professor
Devor. You can trust me.”

She batted her eyelashes.

But Mobutu clammed up and would not say any more on the matter.

They got to Brazzaville in good time and Mobutu dropped her at the airport.

“Goodbye, Miss.”

“Goodbye.”

You unhelpful ingrate.

She waited until he was out of sight before hailing a cab.

“Take me to the Intercontinental. I’m going to be staying here a while.”

 

*

 

Their parents’ insurance money had given both girls considerable means. And so Terry was able to move to the Intercontinental, which was startlingly cheap by American standards, and operate from there. Since Brazzaville was such a modern, international city, it took her just one day to hire a private investigator.

“I want you to find me the brother of this man.” She gave him
Mobutu’s particulars. “He works at an archeological dig under the employ of an American professor named Cole Devereaux.”

“Very good, Ms.
Moss.” The P.I. was a black man named Peter Ondingo. He looked very professional and trustworthy. And he was very cheap by US standards.

He returned the three
days later.

“I have what you need.”

He showed her the photo of a man who resembled Mobutu.

“This is
Esai, Mobutu’s brother. He works as a foreman in a construction site in a village outside Brazzaville. He is a father to two young children. Wife deceased.”

“Really?
Why?”

“She was
believed to have been killed by a cougar in the jungle.”

Terry’s ears
pricked.

“A cougar?”

“He believed the cougar to be a shifter. There were tales of the cougar turning into a man at dawn. Esai is part of an anti-shifter hate group called ‘The Guardians’. They are vigilantes. They patrol the streets, looking out for any suspected shifters.”

“What do they do when they find these shifters?”

Peter
Ondingo showed her the photographs and news articles.

A smile touched Terry’s lips.

“Nice. Very nice.”

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