Wren and the Werebear (19 page)

"Well, I'm soaked. And the sun is going to set soon," Wren said, looking out to the ocean where the bright hot coin of a sun was closing in on the horizon.

"What a terrible predicament," Dawson said. He kissed her forehead, letting one hand drop down to the buttons on her shirt. His fingers deftly unbuttoned her top as his kisses made their way down to her neck.

Then she felt a tug and his hand was loosening her braid, unwinding her hair.

"Hey, hey!"

"What?" Dawson kissed Wren's neck, and the hot ache inside of her burst forth as though it had only been a few hours and not a few weeks since she had last seen him. His hands moved to pull off her blouse completely. "We have to get you out of these wet clothes."

"Is that right?" Wren said.

"Like you said, you're soaked. You'll catch a wicked cold. This is the Pacific, after all."

"The chilly Pacific."

"The frigid Pacific."

All the while, his hands pulled down on her pants. She eventually gave in and helped him shuck them off. He balled them up and threw them toward the shore. They landed in the shallows, washed up on the sand.

"Wren..." Dawson’s hands moved over her back, caressing the curve of her hips. Her panties were wet, sticking to her skin, and she felt naked, though her blouse still hung on loosely over her shoulders. If she hadn't been standing right next to him, Wren would have felt vulnerable. As it was, though, just being near Dawson gave her the sense that everything would turn out alright. If she needed him, he would protect her. Her hair, now unbraided, swept down her back, the tips wet with ocean water.

He gripped her under her asscheeks, his palms cupping her and lifting her in the water. She did not resist at all, could not resist—her legs came up and wrapped around his waist and her fingers slid through his hair.

His fingers slid under the fabric of her panties, and touched her there—god, the heat that ran through her body at his touch! The frigid Pacific be damned, she was burning with desire!

"God, you feel wonderful," Dawson murmured.

"I want more. I want you."

She flung her arms around him and kissed him. He pressed back passionately, his fingers exploring her, sending thrills through her legs. She clenched around him tighter.

"Please, Dawson," she whispered. "You're driving me crazy."

"Turnabout's fair play," Dawson said, grinning. But when Wren reached down to unzip his jeans, he didn't protest. And when her hands interlaced around the back of his neck, he took the opportunity to slide his pants down enough to free him from his clothes. Wren felt his hard length slide along her thigh and tilted her hips to let him enter...

The moment he slid into her she gasped at the thickness. She only had a moment to gasp, though, for his mouth covered hers and sent her mind into a dizzy reel of pleasure. She was straddling his waist and his hands helped her slide up, then down farther along his length, filling her, expanding her.

"Ohhh, Dawson..."

She paused at the end of his thrust, clenched tight and held him inside of her. That, that was how she wanted to feel, holding and being held, filled completely and made whole—

The waves moved them, and she rocked with the motion of the water, wanting to feel him even deeper inside her. The hard urgency of his length only made her want him more, and her stomach knotted as he withdrew and then came back to her, her slickness showing him the way inside, deep to her core.

He lifted her body only slightly, letting the buoyancy of the waves do part of the work. The heat of his body warmed her even as the cold of the water lapped against the small of her back, and the conflicting sensations made her shiver in delightful agony.

Rocking, rocking against him. The motions were small, an inch, a half inch more, but the delicious friction of his body sent her into spasms of desire. He lifted her with his hands and then eased her back down, letting his stiffness anchor her to him. The waves pressed her against him and pulled her away, until she was spinning with desire.

His mouth moved down to her neck, her shoulder, his hands massaging and kneading until she did not know what was happening to her. She would drown if he left her—her senses were upside down and she only knew the sensation of him rocking into her, rocking harder, harder—

Her orgasm rolled through her at the moment his tongue licked the hollow of her collarbone, and she clutched herself to him, fearing that she would fall. That was how it felt, falling forever into a bright star, and she shuddered against him even as he pulled her tight against him and thrust up to meet her, sending her again into renewed spasms of ecstasy.

"Ohhh!" she moaned, clenching her eyes shut as the pleasure made her legs jerk tighter around his waist. "Ohhhh!"

The orgasm was receding from her being, and she struggled to catch her breath. He was still inside her, still hard, and she felt a different motion under her than before. The wind whipped her bare skin on her thighs, and she realized they were no longer half-submerged.

Wren opened her eyes to find herself clasped around his waist as he waded through the water to shore. Even with her weight supported by his arm and the waves hitting his legs, he moved easily, with a graceful strength.

They did not make it to the beach. In the shallows, where the waves lapped softly against the shore, he knelt, supporting her weight still, and lay her down on the wet sand.

"More?" he asked. Wren looked into his eyes. She saw that he was restraining himself. She saw that he was asking her if he could let go. She saw that he wanted her more than anything, and the hunger in his eyes set her body aflame again with longing.

"More," she agreed, and with her legs pulled him deeper into her. "I want you to take me. As hard as you can."

"Be careful what you wish for," Dawson said, a smile tempting his upper lip. She was about to meet him with a witty rejoinder, but he thrust his cock hard into her and drove the breath from her lips. She felt her eyes widen as he thrust into her, and he watched her with a twinkle of delight at being able to surprise her, even now.

"More," she gasped, when she was able to breathe, but she did not need to tell him. The waves washed up, foamy and cool around her, and he thrust again, stretching her, making her body twist with aching pleasure.

Now that he was atop her he had complete control. She pressed a hand against his chest but he tore it away, pinned her hands back against the wet sand. His fingers twined around hers, clasping them as he thrust again, his whole body thrusting, moving.

Wren found his rhythm and matched it. Every sense of her was heightened, and it seemed as though for the first time she was truly aware of everything happening between them. His stomach muscles tensing against her aching groin, the sweet slick movements of his hips, everything combined to tease her nerves out, tease them until they were frayed. Her whole body throbbed with pure unadulterated want. Her hips thrust back against him, splashing, seeking out the perfect point of pressure.

He rocked into her, faster and faster. Her heart pounded in her ears as she rocked with him, pulling him deeper inside her with every thrust. His damp hair swung with the rhythm of his thrusts, and his arms tensed around her. She felt the grit of sand against her back and twisted, wanting to feel every inch of sensation at this moment, with him.

Dawson's breath hitched, and she knew that he was coming close to the end. When he next thrust, she tilted back and tightened her grip.

"Yes," she moaned. Her body rose against his and she felt the thrill of his pleasure wind through her nerves. Her hands clutched him tight and he bore into her with all of his weight, sending her into another gasping orgasm,

As the waves of bliss tore through her, she felt him shudder above her and tense. With one final thrust, she felt him come deep inside of her, groaning with his release.

He held himself up, wet sand sticking to his forearms. Wren heard his breath mix with the soft roar of the waves at the entrance to the cove. Suddenly chilly, she pressed her cheek to his chest and hugged him tightly.

After a moment, he withdrew and kissed her forehead, his lips trembling. He brushed a loose strand of her hair away from her cheek and she nuzzled his fingers, turning her head.

A glimpse of something small and white caught her eye, and she turned her head even more to see. She plucked the thing from the sand and held it up between them.

"Look," she said, "A shark's tooth." She held it up in the light.

"You found it."

"See?" Wren grinned. "I'm not so bad at noticing things when I want to."

"What you don't know is that I planted that tooth there to test your powers of observation." Dawson's golden eyes twinkled with mirth.

"Really?" Wren raised her eyebrows. "Did I pass?"

"With flying colors."

"Wonderful."

"I've planted a few more shark's teeth around here, in fact," Dawson said. "There's one more up by the fire lookout, and one more on the trail, and a few hiding around my bed..."

Wren pulled him to her and shut his mouth with a kiss.

Epilogue

A day passed, and another. Wren stayed at the hotel at first, then moved the few possessions she had into the tiny cabin Dawson used up on the trail. She was there every night, anyway.

The week flew by. She spent her days talking with the locals and finding out more about Maugham. The commotion she'd brought with her on her last visit was chalked up to unlucky timing on her part, and while she longed to open up about her secrets and learn about theirs, Wren respected the slow pace of life in such a small town.

The local library was far away, but the hotel lobby had a bookshelf of rotating novels that visitors traded for as they came through. Wren learned about the different plants and animals of the forest, and talked with Shawn about the tragedy of breaking up with the girl he'd met a few weeks before—he was still getting over it. She helped Matt teach his dance class.

Another week passed, and soon a month, and then two. Wren hadn't planned on anything by coming back to Maugham. She'd hoped to find Dawson again, but now that she was here, she wasn't sure if she'd done the right thing. Every day with him was a wonder, and she couldn't help but think that one day she would wake up and find that it was over.

She asked Dawson once if she should leave, find another place to stay. She thought she might be crowding him in the small cabin.

"Not yet" was his only response.

Not yet.

She didn't know what she was waiting for. A sign, maybe. She'd never felt at home anywhere like she did in Maugham, but she hesitated to commit to the community. Anything could happen, after all. And if she broke up with Dawson, she wouldn't be able to stay. It made her grow tense, and while she struggled to keep her attention on the wonderful nature and people around her, the sense of being a visitor—yet another visitor—gave her pause.

One morning Wren woke up and rolled over to find that Dawson was not in bed.

"Hello?" She peered out onto the small porch, but he was nowhere to be seen. She brushed her teeth, expecting him all the while to show up for breakfast. He never did.

The morning air was thick, humid, and Wren knew it would be hot as soon as the sun came up. On a whim she put on the sundress Dawson had given her two weeks before. The fabric was light, airy—perfect for a warm summer day. She didn’t bother braiding her hair.

Wren stepped out onto the porch and stretched. A bird called out and its mate responded, their calls breaking through the fog that was already burning away in the morning rays of sunshine. The light caught pollen and mosquitoes and the drops of dew at the ends of the pine needles.

Something on the top step of the porch caught her eye. She knelt down to see a note, pinned under a rock. It was Dawson's handwriting. The note read:

Wren,

Come meet me at the fire lookout when you wake up...

-Daws

Wren smiled, the thought of chocolate chip pancakes already making her mouth water. Dawson had surprised her with breakfast a few times before, but always in the cabin. This was a new adventure.

Wren walked out to the trail with no shoes on. She'd recently grown fond of wandering around barefoot, her feet exploring the forest as much as her eyes. Today the grass was still dewy under her feet and the pine needles pricked the pads of her toes.

She stepped up the rocky trail that was now so familiar to her. Despite Dawson's admonitions, she loved to explore the side trails and wilderness of the state forest. And he grudgingly admitted that she was an excellent tracker who probably wouldn't get herself lost. It still drove him crazy.

Wren smiled, brushing aside the overgrown limbs of a pine tree that needed trimming. A bit of sap stuck to her fingers and she rubbed her hands together to get rid of the resin. She yawned as she made her way up the curved trail. The birds were waking up, too, and the forest rang with their calls.

At the top of the trail, just before the fire lookout, Wren frowned and squinted. There was something hanging from the tree branch, something white. As she approached, she could see what it was.

A string of jasmine flowers, strung and hanging from the tree branch. Wren stepped forward and pressed the flower strand against her lips, inhaling deeply. The sweet scent of jasmine filled her nose.

Then she looked up and noticed another strand, then another.

Wren gasped.

Ahead of her, past the trail, all of the trees were hung with garlands of jasmine. The flowers swayed in the wind, twirling off of the pine branches. It looked like white tinsel all around the clearing, the little white flowers in long strands giving off a strong heady fragrance. Wren turned, taking all of it in.

"You like it?"

Wren spun to see Dawson climbing down from the fire lookout, another jasmine garland in his hands. His white shirt seemed to glow in the morning light as he stepped off of the ladder.

"It's beautiful," she said.

"You're beautiful," Dawson said, coming forward to kiss her on the lips softly. He lifted the jasmine garland and set it on Wren's head like a crown.