The Werebear is the largest and strongest of the shape-shifter community, and he feels the only drawback of his heritage is how his libido goes into hibernation over the winter, but floods back with the spring. His returned urges draw him out to the biker bar owned by a local pack, where the last time he was there he spent a night of the sort of rough sex he enjoys, topping the pack’s alpha. This time he’s about to meet an ambitious werewolf by the name of Dallas. Dallas had instructions to pop the cherry of the alpha’s pup. But he has his eyes set on the Werebear, and armed with dazzling good looks and an on-line degree from the University of Phoenix, he is confident he’s about to have a night he’ll brag about—if he survives it. (An adults only tale with explicit hot leather daddy sex, taken rough by the ultimate of Bears, the deflowering of a virgin male werewolf, and much more!)
I ordered up and headed to the outside patio to gawk at the band. Arizona was still a mystery to me. The group had a wolf vibe, although the youngest one I would only have recognized as a were because he was the kid I saw at the local alpha’s place when I fucked him the other night. Kid had a pretty face, but was still at that deflated adolescent phase. They were playing Bad Moon Rising, and I sadly realized werewolves aren’t bright enough to be ironic.
“Hey,” someone said behind me, the smell of wet dog rising up. I turned around and saw what seemed to be a twenty-something (but it’s as hard to tell with weres as it is with most Supes. He could be a lot older.) smiling up at me. He wasn’t short, but most of the world population has to look up at Werebears unless they belong to the NBA. He was a good looking guy, although I would need to think twice about the elaborate tattoos covering what skin was showing through his tank top and shorts. Ah—the advantages of spring in Arizona. Even a were wouldn’t be wearing that outfit this time of year in Minneapolis. He looked solid, and I’m sure would be a lot bigger by the time he hit his thirties. If I were bear-shifted, my ears would be up. As it was, my dick was starting up. Score. My idea of flirting was to catch a guy’s eye, point to him and then leave, knowing he’d follow. It’s good to be a Berserker. We’re pretty much the top of the food chain when it comes to the Supernatural Community.
“Dallas,” he said, raising his voice to override the band. “Saw you the other night when you were matching shots with Derrick. Want to do shots with me?” It would be so much faster for me if wolves didn’t insist on prowling around any topic. Why couldn’t he just say, “Hey—wanna fuck?” Oh, well, if they were that direct, there would probably be even more werewolves than there are now. Maybe it was evolution’s way of keeping their population down.
I smiled and headed back inside, knowing he’d be right behind me. The noise level fell to that of a normal packed bar once the door closed. We grabbed a space at the bar when an older couple left. He signaled for tequila shots while I inspected him more closely. Not bad. Potential. We slammed back a few shots and he tailgated me home.
He gave off a wave of “take me I’m yours” so I didn’t waste any time. I yanked off his t-shirt and casually tossed it on the floor. He grinned enough to crack his face and as I watched his eyes shifted to indicate he was excited and/or aroused, which was pretty much the same way for most Supes. I thought about just ripping his jeans off, but I learned early on not all Supes come from wealthy families and felt having to buy new clothes after a few minutes alone with me was too expensive. I settled for lowering my voice to where it would rattle a window and told him to strip.
He had a decent body. I’d prefer it if he were more beefy, but hey—I had been looking for Mr. Right Now, as opposed to Mr. Right. I picked him up and slung him over my shoulder because all Doms know when a sub wants it rough.
About Skye Eagleday
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Published January 27, 2013
by Skye Eagleday.
Erotica, Literature & Fiction.