Chapter 22
Fern doesn’t feel great.
Fern woke with a moan, dazed and dropping her legs open as she focused on the sensations between them.
The pads of warm, calloused thumbs slipped down her outer lips, parting her to the cool air.
A breeze from the open window tickled over her skin.
Elliott’s rumble, and the lower one of his bear, combined into dreamy polyphonics as he studied her and touched her, tracing around her clit with the tip of a finger, then repeating the action with his tongue.
She fell away from reality, losing herself to his attention. He probably knew she was awake; if not, it was fine—they’d told each other to have at it as needed. The super compelling was freaking intense.
She lost track of how many times they had sex over the past eighteen-or-so hours. There was the bed, the kitchen island, the armchair, the back porch, sleep, the bed again, the couch, more bed, some sleep, and so on.
Feathering her eyelids open, Fern confirmed it was in fact morning before Elliott slipped two fingers inside her and crooked them, teasing at her G-spot while he sucked on her overly sensitive clit.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” she chanted in time with his rhythm until she burst, lifting her hips so high off the bed, he had to get up on his knees to keep his mouth over her core.
As her orgasm shook her, she stretched out her arm, grabbing for his cock, but only managing to grasp the head before she lost her hold.
Face still pressed against her, he motorboated her pussy—for lack of better description—and she lost it laughing, though his vibrations whirred her to life again.
“I want you in me,” she panted.
Grabbing her by the hips as he moved forward, Elliott lowered her ass to his thighs and slammed into her without preamble. “You’re fucking fantastic,” he growled, railing her hard and fast until they both came again.
“I’m so tired,” she lamented, feeling boneless when he pulled out, already hard—or still hard—despite their marathon session.
Rolling to his side, Elliott turned her to face him. “Are you ready?”
“To get sick or to fuck again?”
“For the sickness.” He brushed her loose hair behind her ear.
“I am, I think. I’m a little nervous, but I’m so excited.”
“I still get to chase you.” His erection throbbed against her stomach.
A frisson of excitement wound its way through her, and she bit her lip. “I know.”
“Let me get some breakfast in you. You clean up, shower, do whatever you want to do to feel fresh—”
Heat was rising at her core again, so she planted a kiss on his lips and grabbed his hand from her hair to shove it between her legs. He happily swirled a finger over her clit. “Come with me?” she begged.
“To shower?”
“Mhm.”
“All right. How about—” He paused to make her come, for like, the zillionth time, then cupped her while he continued, “I’ll heat up the leftover quiche while you start the shower. When we’re clean, we’ll eat, then I’ll chase you. Sound good?”
“Sounds perfect,” Fern agreed. “But first, it’s your turn.” She pushed him onto his back and shimmied down the bed to slot herself in between his legs. With one hand teasing his balls, one wrapped around his shaft, and her mouth open and willing, he finished quickly.
Elliott heated up breakfast, came to wash her, and fucked her from behind against the shower wall before they sat down to their meal.
With phones in hand as necessary distractions, they shoveled food into their mouths and avoided looking at one another across the table, knowing it would only lead to more sex.
“I’m checking in with Liv,” Fern announced, shooting off a text as she squirmed on her chair.
His hand disappeared beneath the table, and she assumed he was adjusting his boner.
“I’m checking in with my mom,” Elliott said.
Fern balked. “She doesn’t— You didn’t— Oh my god!”
“No! I told them we’re mating this week, and I’ll let them know when we’re finished. I kept it vague. They’re excited to meet you.”
“They’re not worried we moved too fast?”
“No. We’ve talked about this, sugar. They’d think we were weird if we waited.”
Smiling, Fern shoved more quiche in her mouth and looked down when her phone vibrated.
Olivia
You’ve been in the super compelling for how long?!
Fern
Do we try for 24 hours?
Olivia
I don’t think so. Isn’t dehydration a concern? Shifters would be fine, but you’re human!
Fern
LMAO, I’m fine! We’re doing the chase next, then the sickness
I wanted to warn you
And I wanted to see if you’ve talked to Ren
Olivia
Just got off the phone with her, she’s all right
You know how she is
She prob wants a few days alone to listen to Stevie Nicks and process
I’ll check in with her though
If she asks, I’ll say you have food poisoning
Fern
Omg ew. Okay
Thank you <3
Olivia
Tell Elliott to keep us updated on how you’re doing, k?
Fern
Yep I can do that
Olivia
I want a photo of your animal ASAP too!
Can’t wait to bring you into the pack
And we’re celebrating your mate bond as soon as you two are done
Got it?
Fern
Got it. Love you!
Olivia
Love you too. Have fun <3
Try to sneak out on him
It makes it more fun
“What are you smiling about?”
Looking up, Fern found Elliott sitting before an empty plate, his phone stowed away, and his eyes solidly on her.
“You, mostly,” she replied with a smile. “I want you to chase me.”
Sucking in a breath, his chest vibrated, and his eyes flashed a warm dark brown—his bear’s—before changing back to blue and brown. “Now?”
“Yes.”
“How?” he practically growled.
She cocked her head in question.
“You’ve got options. Bear or man for the chase, then bear or man for the bite. You pick two, sugar.”
“If I pick a man-bite, are you going to chomp through my skin like a toddler?”
He snorted and pushed his chair back, standing to prowl around the table, the bulge in his pants impossible to miss. “I’d shift my teeth. The mark will be smaller if I stay in human form, more pronounced if I’m a bear.”
Fern stood too, meeting him at the head of the table with her heart pattering and blood rushing in her ears. This was it. His hands wrapped around her waist, steadying her, and she raised a palm to his chest before whispering, “I choose bear.”
His eyes sparkled, and mirth tugged the corners of his mouth, deepening the dimple on his chin. Then he leaned down to kiss her forehead, the tip of her nose, and her lips. With his beard softly scritching her cheek, he said, “Good choice. Get some shoes on and get ready to run.”
She swallowed a smile at the confirmation that he didn’t realize she already had shoes on. Hiking sandals, with a covered toe and a back strap. She intended to run hard and fast.
When Elliott grabbed their plates and turned toward the island, Fern scampered toward the front door, keeping on her toes so he wouldn’t hear her rubber soles.
Although she tried to push open the screen door silently, the hinges squeaked. His husky voice hit her with, “What are—?”
But she was gone. Not sticking around to hear the rest of his question, she launched herself through the doorframe and bounded down the front steps.
A laugh followed her as she zipped into the middle of his driveway and froze, unsure which way to go. The road to the left would be easier to traverse, but he’d run her down in no time. She’d try her luck in the trees.
Dashing right, Fern arced wide to race around the far side of his studio. His booming voice hit her with a hard warning: “You have ten seconds.”
Her steps faltered as she sucked in a breath.
Fear and anticipation thrummed through her.
And she was off, feet pounding the springy earth as she wound between trunks, zipped past amorphous shrubs, and dodged a particularly prickly one.
Belatedly, Fern realized she should’ve worn pants.
Elliott’s big shirt provided ample coverage on top, but the bulk of her legs were exposed, catching small branches and brambles.
A roar shook the forest, and her heart stuttered. Birds exploded into flight, fleeing the premises while she remained trapped on the ground, a willing victim.
She fucking loved it.
Pausing, she planted her palm on a trunk to catch her breath. Distant crashing broke through the trees, confirming he was on her trail. She took off again.
Her pussy made itself known, pulsing as she flew toward the river. Another roar, this one on her right, accompanied by heavy huffing, kept her moving, though her lungs burned.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” She skidded to a stop at the water’s edge, unsure if she should go upstream, downstream, or cross to the island beyond. Shady and tempting, the island called to her, so she splashed into the Potter’s Branch.
Both shoes stayed on during her journey, but silt filled them when Fern climbed out on the far bank, and she paused, trying to shake some free.
Up on one leg, with her head turned slightly to the right, she caught a glimpse of him in her periphery, at least fifty yards away.
Elliott’s grizzly bore down on her in a full charge across the open grass.
“Fuck!” she shrieked, launching herself into the shrubs and scrambling to hide in the trees.
He splashed across the stream, gaining on her. The sound continued—catching up, somehow—and she looked over, only to scream again. He was right there, not ten feet away, and keeping pace as he charged downstream, parallel to her path through the trees.
She kept running, but the forest floor was harder for a human to navigate than a bear, and when Elliott’s beast veered left, angling toward her, she knew she was caught.
Putting her back to a tree, Fern faced him head-on, basking in the way fear and desire heated her as he rushed in, teeth gleaming and tongue lolling out.