Page 11

are you living the dream?

. . .

lark

O kay…

Okay…

Oh. Oh. Kay.

Let’s review again.

As it turned out, this town wasn’t some kind of weird polycule cult.

More like one of those “why choose” shifter romance novels—which I’d seen at the Book Boyfriends: Vancouver romance conference Holly and I went to last year.

But I hadn’t stopped at any of the tables to actually pick one up.

And now I really wished I had—before agreeing to sleep with two apparent bear shifters, with less hesitation than Past Me would have guessed if this situation had been presented as a hypothetical.

Possibly because they were so face-meltingly hot, they could’ve featured on one of those covers.

We made our way out of the empty bar and grill, and with a tall bear shifter on either side of me, walked past an intimidating array of signs warning all non–Bear Mountain residents to keep out.

This road was also dirt, but narrower, flanked by both coniferous and deciduous trees.

A panicky urge to launch into my 6th grade ecosystems lesson on the various trees of Canada rose inside me. But even I knew that was the opposite of appropriate pre-sexy-times talk.

I squashed it back down, clenched my teeth, and mentally chanted, Be cool. Be cool. Don’t mess this up. Be cool.

That worked… until the residual light from the town disappeared, and we were plunged into pitch black.

No footlights here. Just straight-up Dark Forest? vibes.

As a Pittsburgher who’d moved to Vancouver—and had never so much as stepped foot on the surrounding mountains—this was definitely not on my Yeah, Totally Want to Go list.

But then Callum said, “Don’t worry. I’ve got you.” And his phone light clicked on, illuminating the path ahead.

“Thank you.” I let out a breath of relief now that I could see again.

The other Baerlow brother cleared his throat. “Bears can see in the dark, so not having any lights leading up to the main village is a natural deterrent to tourists.”

Oh god. Oh god. Oh god. The Total Eclipse of the Sun was trying to talk to me again.

I ducked my head and mumbled, “That tracks.”

“The village is actually pretty mind-blowing,” Callum said as the trees gave way to looming shadowy structures with strange markings I couldn’t quite make out.

At first, I assumed they must be some kind of naturally occurring erosional alcoves. But they had strange markings on them and large holes that appeared to hold round, hobbit-like doors, with electric interior light seeping through their cracks.

“Too bad there’s not enough light to let you really see the outsides of the totem caves we live in,” Callum added, answering my unasked question.

“They’re really gnarly. And majestic. I remember hiking up to see them for the first time shortly after we moved here and thinking—if I ever made it into one of these totem caves, I’d be living the dream. ”

I could not relate.

Pittsburgh was home, and Vancouver was beautiful—especially if you could afford a sea or mountain view. But I’d never looked at a location and imagined myself living there.

“So you made it.” I tilted my head up toward him in the phone’s light. “Are you living the dream?”

He grinned down at me. “Now I am.”

Given the short amount of time that had passed since our initial meeting, I could only assume he was trying to compliment me, putting me more at ease before we had sex—and I appreciated that.

Still, something soft and warm fizzed behind my ribs at the insinuation that I was somehow part of his boyhood dream coming true.

“Here we are. Last place before it all becomes forest.”

He placed a hand on my back to steer me slightly to the right.

Sometimes, unexpected touch felt like needles on my skin.

My heart jumped—but then it settled. Back into that strange comfort I’d felt with Callum from the start.

Then a strange thwipping sound came from overhead.

I looked up into the pitch black. “What’s that?”

“Flags whipping in the wind,” the Total Eclipse—who I guessed I should start referring to as Gideon—answered. “We live with the mayor of Bear Mountain, so the British and Canadian ones fly twenty-four/seven.”

“Rys is our MLA, too,” Callum added as he pushed open a door that looked like an extra-large version of the ones in the rest of the cave.

“He’s not here right now, but you’re going to love him.

Great guy. Real bear of the people. And you know, he came in at number four on Reddit Canada’s list of Hottest Canadian Politicians. ”

Interesting, but… Why was Callum telling me so much about their roommate?

Wait. Do they expect me to— “Oh, wow!”

All thoughts about their roommate trailed away when I saw the inside of their totem cave den.

The open-concept front room was somehow cozy and fantastical at the same time, with walls and vaulted ceilings carved entirely out of stone and painted that warm, ’90s-era orangey-brown.

Next to the living room section’s wraparound couch, a big stone fireplace sat dormant.

Above it hung a giant six-foot-high mask that looked like it belonged in some BC museum’s local tribes collection.

In fact, there were several artifacts lying around the space that made my throat itch to start asking situation-inappropriate questions about the cost of their home insurance, and whether they were sure they had enough.

The museum-quality feel was softened by several patterned rugs laid over the stone floors and thriving houseplants. Over what appeared to be several generations, someone had gone out of their way to make this front room both official and inviting.

Also, there was a home gym beyond the open door of the bedroom closest to the door and a full kitchen with a stone-and-wood island tucked away behind a curved rock wall.

Immediately, I understood why Callum would have dreamed of living here as a newcomer boy.

“This is our room.” The Total Eclipse—I mean, Gideon—interrupted my gawk-a-thon with a wave toward an open door on the same side of the cave wall as the gym.

Their shared bedroom was bigger than the studio apartment Vikram used to live in before he moved in with Robin.

But instead of white walls and popcorn ceilings, the room had stalactites hanging from the ceiling and was carved straight into the rock, with a back wall opening that led into what must have been the original cave system—which featured a lovely waterfall spilling into a hot spring with steam rising off of it.

“You actually live here?” I said to Callum, shaking my head. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“Told you the totem caves were impressive,” he answered with a knowing grin.

And he’d been right. But as ancient and majestic as the gigantic room was, I couldn’t help but noticed the furniture was a little matchy-matchy.

Matching nightstands. Matching lamps. Matching wooden headboards carved directly into the stone.

The only thing that didn’t match were the beds on opposite sides of the room. One was made with tight corners and a military-level tuck, and the other was a riot of a light blanket, pillows, rumpled sheets, and what appeared to be a Bear Mountain Grill hoodie.

I somehow knew the messy bed belonged to Callum, and the other one was Gideon’s.

And somehow that guess made this situation start to feel real.

I was really going to have sex. With both of them. Tonight. Like, right now….

My sympathetic nervous system kicked in, and fire lit up the backs of my legs, urging me to run—run as fast as I could. Because this was on the other side of the world from my comfort zone.

But I’d asked for this.

I clenched my muscles and rooted myself to the spot, despite the full-body urge to flee. Because I needed this to achieve my desired outcome: a baby—that may or may not turn me into a bear shifter, too.

“Can I kiss you?” Callum asked.

“Yes! That’s a good next step.”

I latched on to his superior intimacy skills like a lifeline—even though I hadn’t been kissed since my college years at U. Pitt and had never understood the point of putting my tongue in someone else’s mouth.

Callum’s lips twitched, like my answer amused him. But then his gaze darkened.

His hazel eyes swept across my face, and his large hand curled behind my head—just like the cover of my favorite Ali Hazelwood novel.

Which reminded me: hands .

I should be doing something with mine.

I placed them against his chest, like the overworked adjunct professor from that cover.

Callum’s kiss… It wasn’t like that boy back in college.

Not a sloppy mash. But a slow prying open of my lips. Not a clumsy tongue jam, but a deliberate coaxing—an invitation for mine to taste him back. To entwine. To dance.

Until liquid pooled low in my stomach and my head spun like I was on drugs.

I think. I’d never done anything that wasn’t prescribed. And SSRIs weren’t exactly party drugs.

Was this what party drugs felt like?

“Tell him what you want.”

Gideon’s voice yanked me out of the druggy kiss.

“Let him know what he needs to do to make you feel good.”

Oh.

A brutal awkwardness shoved the warm, buzzy feelings aside.

“I… I don’t actually know what I want,” I admitted—technically, to both of them. But I extra-couldn’t look at Gideon as I answered his question. “Long story, but…”

Excruciating much? I rushed my explanation out as fast as I could.

“Up until last Christmas—real Christmas, not the July version—I was in a big D, little s, dominant/submissive relationship, and before that, I only had sex once in college to see what all the fuss was about. And my sex life with my ex-dom revolved around role-plays that he designed, with some occasional dollification. So…”

I kept my eyes glued to their stone floor, but I could feel theirs on me.

I wasn’t sure I’d ever been this embarrassed. Not even when I had to muster up the courage to ask Mr. Good Time for a breeding scene. But I made myself finish, returning to my original thesis—like one of my sixth graders clinging to a five-paragraph essay format—for my concluding statement.

“I don’t actually know what I want… or what I like. Other than role-play, which wouldn’t be goal appropriate here. So…” I took a breath and pushed through. “I guess you two can just do whatever. I’m fine.”

Silence. Tons and tons of excruciating silence. And I felt, rather than saw, Callum exchange a look with his brother over my bowed head.

Then Gideon spoke. “Tell us. Tell us what he didn’t do for you, and Cal will do that.”

“My…” I struggled to catch up. “My dom?”

“I’m not going to call him that, but yeah, I’m asking about the list of things he never did for you. Did he kiss you like Cal? You had a big response to that.”

I did, actually. “Yes, I liked that. A lot.”

I raised my head to throw Callum a quick smile of appreciation. “My dom had a no kissing rule—that kind of extended to everywhere.”

A shocked beat met my statement.

“Are you saying he never put his mouth on you?”

Gideon used that same tone I did when teaching my sixth graders about the dark history that sparked the Indigenous Rights Movement here in Canada.

I wouldn’t call my sex life with Mr. Good Time a travesty, but I had to admit, “No, he didn’t. Only his fingers.”

“Fuck, then. Cal,” Gideon gritted out.

He didn’t actually give an order, but I guess he did?

Callum immediately started stripping us out of our clothes, and the next thing I knew, we were down to nothing but our underwear—me in my full-coverage, front-closure posture bra and cotton panties, him in white briefs with a heavy ridge imprinted against the front. A really large ridge…

Exactly how big is his ? —?

“Show him,” Gideon bit out, interrupting that thought. “Show Cal where he never went.”

My fairness reflex flared. “To be clear, no one’s ever kissed me anywhere but on my lip?—”

The word wasn’t fully out of my mouth before Callum was all over me, kissing down my neck and unhooking the front clasps of my posture bra.

Not exactly the lingerie Mr. Good Time had gifted me for our scenes. But I felt like a sex goddess when Callum hunched over like a man starved and took my breast into his mouth—lathing and worshiping with greedy focus.

Also, sucking on the nipple in a way that sent an answering tug between my legs. In that instant, I understood why Gideon had sounded so sorry for me. Callum had me mourning what I’d never known I was missing.

His technique was incredible—warm, wet, and just the right amount of suction. And apparently, he had his own fairness reflex, because after fully tending to the first breast, he lavished the other one with equal attention while his hand drifted to the waistband of my underwear.

“No fingers!” Gideon barked. “Show her how good we’re going to treat her.”

The seeming human embodiment of say less , Callum dropped to his knees and threw my thigh over his shoulder, pulling the crotch of my underwear aside to?—

I gasped as his tongue pushed into my folds.

This… this wasn’t wet and gross. It was wet and oh wow… oh wow… How can anything feel so incredible? Sensations piling, a fire igniting—not in my legs, but between them.

“You like foreplay,” Gideon observed. “Was that in your agreement?”

“Yes,” I answered breathlessly, even though Callum was doing all the work. “One release before any penetration.”

“In that case, Cal, put her on my bed and give her two.”

Callum’s mouth never left my pussy, but the next thing I knew, my back hit the mattress of the neat, made-up bed. Yes! I guessed right!

And from this position, it was easier to see Gideon. He sat on the other bed, leaned forward like a commanding general, elbows on his knees?—

Watching us intently as his brother made me finally understand why people called it eating out .

I couldn’t watch Gideon watch us. That glimpse was all I got before I had to close my eyes.

I still didn’t know what I wanted, but some hidden instinct took over. I threaded my fingers through Callum’s silky red hair, pulled him deeper, and ground my pussy against his delving tongue.

It felt so good… so good, I reflexively started to lift my other leg to hook over his shoulder.

But he shifted, bicep flexing to pin my right leg to the bed as his merciless tongue kept working.

That’s when I realized he’d left my leg down on purpose, using the angle of his body to cant my hips slightly to the right.

He wasn’t just eating me out for filth—he was putting on a filthy display for his brother.

And the burn of Gideon’s eyes made me… made me…

I came apart on a broken cry, my neck arching off the pillow.

Then I collapsed back onto the bed—a shiny, glowy thing, no party drugs required.

No offense to Mr. Good Time, who’d been a perfectly capable lover with a special knack for saying just the right things to let my own brain do most of the arousal work.

But this orgasm was better.

Better than any I’d ever had on his fingers.

And they still weren’t done.