Page 11

11

ORSON

A lexandra looked like something had shorted out in her head at Orson’s offer, and he couldn’t help but feel a little good about that.

She knew.

She knew he was a bear, and knew he wanted her. She hadn’t drawn away from Real Orson when he accidentally forgot to be who he’d been trying to be. And she hadn’t given a single false giggle or coy look since he’d been a bear. Maybe he should have done that earlier!

“You’re my…boss,” she said like she was reminding herself.

“I own the company,” Orson clarified. “I haven’t established my position .” He was thinking hard about different positions right now: missionary, doggy style, up against the wall of the cabin. The logs looked a little splintery—they might want to skip that.

“There’s a chain of command,” she said, rallying. “Did you even read the employee handbook?”

“It was big and looked boring,” Orson said.

She laughed then, a real snort of surprise and amusement, not that insipid giggle. “That’s what she said.”

Orson gave a shout of laughter and went to scoop her up in his arms and spin her around because there was no woman in the world who could possibly be more made for him.

He had forgotten that she was a security officer who had done extensive personal safety training until he was suddenly lurching through the air in an arc as she used all of the momentum from his impulsive charge to flip him down on his back and kneel on his chest.

“Wow!” Orson said, with the exhale of all the breath he had left. “Alexandra Vex, I adore you.”

“Alex,” she said sharply.

“What?”

“Just Alex. I hate my full name.”

“Why’d you use it, then?”

“Sandra told me my name was too threatening. You might feel emasculated.”

Orson had to laugh again. “You are the one who just flattened me and sat on my chest. Your knee is really pointy.”

A strange voice hollered from the next cabin door as it opened. “Hey, do you need any help?”

Alex called back, “No, thanks, we’re all good here.”

“Can you keep it down, then?”

Orson had to remind himself that even though it felt like early evening, it was the middle of the night. “Sorry!” he added.

The neighbor’s door closed and latched.

Alex rolled off and offered him a hand up. He didn’t let go once he was standing on his own feet again, right-side-up. “You didn’t answer about the bed…” Orson drew her closer, giving her every opportunity to pull her hand from his.

Her eyes were hazel—brown with a ring of green near the center. She gazed at him unblinking. “Sandra said I should seduce you,” she said quietly.

“Maybe I should give her a raise.” Orson whistled. “Would she like a fruit basket? A bottle of wine?”

“Mr. Davison…”

“Orson. You Alex, me Orson.” It wasn’t his best Tarzan impression, but she smiled slowly.

“Orson…”

Then he was lowering his mouth to hers because it sounded like an invitation. He kissed her softly, just a brush of lips at first.

She didn’t Vulcan nerve-grip him or break his knees, which Orson figured was a good sign, and when he moved to wrap his arms around her at last, she gave a noise of surrender and was suddenly alive against him.

Alex Vex was no wilting flower or soft, giggly little girl waiting for someone else to make every first move. Once she decided something, she was all in, clawing at the buttons of the shirt he’d just put back on.

Orson got them, by sheer will, to the door of their cabin and through to the big bed that was the only feature of the room. He had to let go of her long enough to close the door, and when he got back, she’d already stripped her long-sleeved T-shirt off over her head.

Orson’s breath caught, like she’d just thrown him down again. He knew she was strong and beautiful, but as she drew off her shirt, he felt like she was uncovering a light; she only got brighter as her layers peeled off to the real her.

“Take your shirt off,” she commanded.

Orson was not only willing to obey, but eager, his fingers clumsy on the remaining buttons. He didn’t wait for her to order his pants off, shucking them aside while she did the same.

There was a moment of new nudity, drinking each other in, uncertain where to touch first. There was a scar on her side that he drew a finger over, making her hiss, and she ran her hands up through his chest hair and back down with her nails. Her shoulders. Her hips. Her sweet face. Orson wanted to claim it all for his own as he gave himself utterly to her. He kissed her again and again, their bodies brushing and then crushing together.

They fell to the bed and he held her under and against him, not quite entering because he was at such a fever pitch of need that he knew he had to meter his pleasure. He kissed her neck and she grabbed at his shoulders, trying to wrap her legs around him and draw him into her. “Wait, wait,” he growled. “Wait for it…”

He teased and tormented her, tickling her to surprised laughter and kissing all the skin he could find. He held her arms above her as he rubbed his cock on the inside of her thighs.

“Orson, please. I need you! I want you!”

How long could he make this last? What heights could he bring her to? Orson was throbbing with need now, and was unsurprised when she tested his strength by trying to squirm free to have her way with him. She was so strong and lithe and determined! Their struggle was not serious and Orson let her push him over and straddle him, both of them groaning as she lowered herself onto the length of him.

She rode him that way, deeper and hotter and desperate until she cried out and clenched hard. Orson rolled her over for the last strokes, thrusting and clutching at her, growling and grasping as pleasure coursed through him.

She was his.

She was his mate and he was utterly hers, one with her body for the moment. He could feel her heartbeat inside of her as he took those last, spiraling strokes and finally they both lay in a haze of happy aftermath.