Billionaire Werebear: Needs a Mate Read online

  Billionaire Werebear

  Needs a Mate

  By: Olivia Fex

  Published by Smutpire Press

  Copyright 2015 All Rights reserved

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  Billionaire Werebear

  ҉ ҉ ҉ ҉ ҉ ҉

  This truly was a last resort.

  I wasn’t exactly a shy girl. I wasn’t a prude, either. But the fact remained that modeling naked for a college art class was not my idea of a dream job. In fact, it wasn’t a job at all. I was getting paid for it, sure, but only a small amount, and it wasn’t like I came here every day. That was the kind of job I wanted—a typical, boring, nine-to-five position that paid enough for me to keep a roof over my head and my clothes on.

  Still, there was something to be said for eating, I supposed.

  I scanned the faces in front of me, clutching my robe as I waited for the instructor to finish his lecture. This wasn’t my first time here, and I had practically memorized the drill by now, but I was feeling anxious anyway. I probably would never get used to taking my clothes off in front of a room full of people, especially not when he was in the front row.

  I’d never seen him before. I usually modeled for students seeking a major, but this one was open to anyone willing to pay for the opportunity to sketch a naked girl. Not that I was worried he was a pervert—if he was, he could have spent a lot less money for a more intimate experience. It was the way he looked at me that gave me butterflies. He fixed me in this sort of predatory stare that made my toes curl and my insides quiver.

  His big, honey-brown eyes inspired a heat in my chest, one that soon traveled to and bloomed in each of my pale cheeks. The thatch of dark hair on his head was stylishly coiffed with shaved sides and a long top he pulled into a miniature ponytail at the back of his skull. He was young, probably just about my age, and unlike the other artists here he had sort of a gruff look about him, one that thrilled and chilled me all at the same time. Maybe it was the colorful stream of tattoos running down his arms, or maybe it was the five o’clock shadow that just wouldn’t quit, or maybe even the way his biceps bulged under the short sleeves of his maroon t-shirt. Whatever it was, it spoke to a part of me I’d all but forgotten lately—the part of me that wasn’t so concerned with rent money and paying the bills.

  I swallowed and tried to look away from him, but his stare was captivating. As he set up his easel, he cast me short, but meaningful glances from beneath his chestnut brows.

  “Cara,” I heard the professor say, but only dimly. “Are you ready?”

  I looked at him, blinking through the fog clouding my mind. “Huh?” Then I realized he’d finished and I dropped the robe quickly. “Right. Yes, of course.”

  I climbed up on the stool before me and struck a pose, my arms stretched out in front of me and my hands cupped as though trying to keep a small pool of water from dripping between my fingers. I let one foot rest on the bar between the stool’s legs while I tucked the other around behind me, twisting my body in a way that was unnatural, but not completely uncomfortable. That was a delicate balance, trying to find something that would challenge the art students, yet wouldn’t require me to start going to a chiropractor when it was all said and done.

  I took a deep breath and tried to hold myself steady as the artists began their work. Though I kept my eyes focused on a distant point near the back wall, I could hear them interpreting the lines and curves of my body onto their papers. I heard the long, scratchy strokes of charcoal, the near-silent “swoosh” of watercolors staining the page, and the sounds of their fingers twisting open their oil paints. The cacophony of their artistic process was all around me, and yet the only sound in the room I really, actually heard was the tattooed man’s breathing.

  Before I could stop myself, I glanced with only my eyes to see him beside me, his brow furrowed, his hot whiskey eyes staring pensively at his canvas. He was working with charcoal. It was staining his thick, yet nimble fingers black. For some reason, that only made me want him more.

  He was so focused on his work that when he looked up at me, his gaze caught me completely off guard. He was looking at me with such intensity that it was almost as if he wasn’t looking at my body at all—it was as if he was looking straight into my soul.

  My heart thudded as I wondered what he saw there. I wondered about it all the way up to the point where the professor dismissed the class, which I thought was much too soon. But when I looked up at the clock, I realized I’d been in that position for half an hour. How time seemed to fly when I was locked inside his stare.

  As I gathered my things and began to dress, the rest of the class filtered outside. I was no longer the center of attention, which was both a relief and a disappointment. I had so wanted his eyes to stay fixated on me. I could just imagine an eternity of his admiration.

  When I turned around, I saw that my wish had come true. He was still there in the classroom, watching me as I put my clothes on. Even the professor had left us, yet he stayed behind. I felt heat rise in my cheeks. It wasn’t uncommon for one of the male artists to hang back, hoping to talk to me or weasel their way into a date, but none of them had ever enraptured me like this one. His was a proposition I just might be willing to entertain, and that scared me.

  I chanced a smile in his direction, hoping I hadn’t misread his intent. From the curl of his lips that ensued, I guessed I hadn’t.

  “I’m Cara,” I said as I approached. I had to say something. If I didn’t, the butterflies inside of me would just keep multiplying until they spirited me away. “I don’t think we’ve met. Are you new here?”

  “Sort of,” he replied. The baritone of his voice rumbled my chest, and I nearly gasped. “I was a student here several years ago. I get these kind of classes for free now. Gotta keep my talent fresh.” The corners of his smile finally touched his glittering eyes. “I’m Jason.” He held out his massive paw of a hand to me. “Jason Keller.”

  That name sounded familiar, but I couldn’t place it right away. I slipped my hand into his, a small thrill running through me as his palm warmed mine. Although I could tell by his muscles that he was a strong man, his grip was gentle. I shivered when he lightly brushed his thumb over my wrist before letting me go.

  As soon as the trance was broken, I realized where I’d heard that name before. I frowned. “Wait—Jason Keller? As in Keller Hall?”

  He laughed and rubbed the back of his neck. “I guess my reputation precedes me.”

  That was the understatement of the year. Jason Keller, I now realized, was the university’s most illustrious alumnus. He’d made a fortune with his modern art and was an inspiration to every kid who walked through these hallowed halls. He had his hand in so many projects one could hardly keep count, and he’d funded Keller Hall as a sort of fancy workshop for artists that held free classes on evenings and weekends. With his billions, I was sure he could afford it. But it was still so generous of him to give back to the community in this way.

  “Oh—jeez,” I sputtered with a nervous giggle. “I didn’t mean to make you feel uncomfortable. I just never thought I’d meet you in person. You’re a legend!”

  Shut up, Cara, I told myself. You’re embarrassing him! But Jason took it all in stride, still grinning from ear to ear.

  “I bet you say that to all the guys.”

  I bit my lip. “No. Just you.”

  There was an awkward, yet electrically charged silence that fell between us then, the product of flirtation gone wrong, and yet oh
-so-right. I scuffed my foot against the floor like a child, trying to figure out where we ought to go from here. When he spoke again, it felt like the whole world shifted underneath us.

  “You’re beautiful. You know that?”

  I opened my mouth to answer, but nothing would come out. Jason continued, “I mean that. You’re stunningly beautiful. And not just in an artistic sense. There’s something… alluring about you, Cara. Something not very many other women have. There’s this… scent to you that just…”

  He trailed off, staring into my eyes, and I felt my heart thud against my breastbone. My scent? What was so special about that?

  “It’s just a perfume sampler I picked up at Sephora,” I said, but Jason shook his head, taking a step closer.

  “No. It’s more than that. It’s what’s underneath that’s calling to me.” I stepped back as he pressed forward again. Every nerve ending lit on fire as he stalked toward me, those gorgeous muscles rippling beneath his clothes, straining at the seams. “You smell… like mine.”

  “Your what?” I gasped, shivering as my back hit the wall. There was nothing between me and Jason now. I was at his mercy.

  “Mine,” he repeated, looking down into my eyes. Something had changed in him. I could see a ferocity in his gaze, something hot and almost violent reflected there. This close to him, I could feel a deep need pulsing in his groin. What had been my fantasy was now dangerously close to becoming my reality, but I wasn’t sure if I was ready for that yet.

  Jason didn’t wait to find out. With a sound more akin to a growl than human speech, he tugged at my shirt.

  No, not tugged—he ripped it. His big, black claws went straight through the fabric, gouging long gaps across my waist.

  I wanted to scream, but I couldn’t get the sound past the lump in my throat. Jason clamped his lips hard over mine in a kiss that coursed through my whole body, leaving gooseflesh in its wake. He opened my mouth with his and I could feel his big, sharp teeth against my tongue.

  I didn’t understand what was happening. It felt so strange, so alien. I was terrified. And yet I was intrigued, too. There was a heat welling in my core, and the strength of Jason’s grip only fanned the flames. He was leaving bruises on my flesh, but I didn’t want him to stop touching me.

  Just when I thought my heart would burst from my chest, Jason pulled away from me. His eyes, once filled with lustful fury, were now wide with confusion and guilt. He shrunk back, turning to hide how monstrous his hands had become.

  “Go,” he told me, the sinews bulging in his shoulders and neck. His voice still sounded like an animal trying to gnash words in its teeth. “Now!”

  I didn’t have to be told twice. I gathered my things and raced out of the room, cold adrenaline seeping through my veins.

  What the hell had just happened? What was that? And why, regardless of the terror I had experienced, did part of me feel so disappointed to leave Jason Keller behind?

  That night, I returned to my apartment and stepped through my front door, knees shaking. My legs felt like jelly, and I couldn’t be certain they wouldn’t fold underneath me at any moment. Every inch of my insides were quivering, and when I stopped to look in the mirror, I saw how pale my face had become.

  “Jesus,” I muttered out loud. “This can’t be happening.”

  Monsters, I knew, were not real. People were monsters. We didn’t need to make up things that went bump in the night. We had enough of our own already.

  But if that was true, then what had Jason almost become back in that classroom? Why had he suddenly sprouted fangs and claws? Why had he looked at me the way a predator stares at its prey?

  And most importantly of all, why had I enjoyed it?

  I reached down, fingering the gashes Jason had left in my shirt. He hadn’t torn into the skin underneath, thank goodness, but the shirt itself was ruined. Maybe I could salvage it as something to wear on a lazy day. I definitely wanted to keep it around.

  It was a memento of what I survived, a reminder of the way Jason had so passionately kissed me. The way he’d pressed his mouth, brutal and sweltering, against mine… it had felt like he wanted to consume me.

  I slipped it off over my head and carried it to the laundry room. It was little more than a closet, but at least I didn’t have to go to the laundromat down the street. I hated the thought of passersby being privy to my underthings. Even more than that, I hated the idea that if I didn’t return to the dryer in time, one of them just might steal something intimate and claim it for themselves.

  But as I started the spin cycle, I thought about Jason claiming me. Was that what had almost happened back there? If so, I was furious with myself for having ran, even though I wasn’t the one who had put a stop to it.

  Was Jason afraid he’d hurt me? My heart warmed at the thought. Although I’d never get to live out that fantasy now, at least he’d had my best interests in mind when he’d commanded me to run.

  What I had in mind now, though, was something entirely different, although it would surely speed up my heart all the same. Jason had left me wanting and wet, and I had no plans for the evening. Maybe I could indulge in this fantasy of mine, albeit only in my imagination.

  I stripped down to my panties. I liked the way they clung to me. I could see the outline of my vulva through the sopping wet fabric, a reminder of how heated Jason had gotten me. I reached down and brushed a finger along my slit, marveling at the long strand of my juices that clung to it when I pulled back. Then I got up on top of the washing machine as it trundled and shook and I spread my legs, grinding my cunt into it as the vibrations warmed me.

  My nipples prickled against the cups of my bra and I let out a long, low moan. No one was here. I could be as loud as I wanted, and I was thankful for that, because this was going to be one hell of a ride.

  The straps of my bra slid down my slender shoulders as I worked myself against the top of the washing machine, biting my lip and letting its trembling thrill me. Pleasure jolted and coursed through my desperate clit and my body sang as I let myself drift back to the sensation of Jason’s mouth on mine.

  His lips were scorching. His arms were crushing me against him. His tongue plundered my mouth and his cock strained through his jeans. This time, he didn’t stop kissing me. This time, he left more bruises than just the ones on my arms. And when he sank those long teeth of his into my shoulder, I screamed for him.

  Just a little more, I thought, wriggling in a steady rhythm. I’m so close…

  Now I was imagining his fingers inside of me, pistoning in and out of my tight channel as I soaked them with my desire. We were in front of the rest of the class now, and when I sat on his hard, throbbing rod, I could hear them gasp and begin to touch themselves, too.

  It was wrong and dirty, and it was so fucking hot. My clit throbbed, warning me that an orgasm was well on its way. Soon I’d be writhing in a puddle of bliss as I breathlessly panted Jason’s name.

  But all that was interrupted by a knock on my door.

  I closed my eyes tighter, trying to ignore it, but then it came again. And then the bastard rang the doorbell. As it chimed, so went any hope of me actually getting to cum. I felt my cheeks and throat flush red. Goddammit.

  I leapt off the washing machine and pulled my pants back on, striding down the hall. If this was a delivery guy or a Jehovah’s Witness, they better pray to their god that they could run faster than I could throw a shoe.

  Whoever was out there was knocking again, and I stood on tiptoe to look out the peephole. My eyes bulged.

  Oh, fuck. It was him! Jason Keller was standing outside my door!

  And here I was in jeans and a bra. I looked around. There wasn’t anything near me that I could cover up with. But did I actually want to cover up?

  Fantasy was different from reality. Yes, I wanted to cover up. I didn’t want to look like some wanton slut drooling on the other side of the door. I opened it just a crack and peered outside, staring into Jason’s big, sorrowful eyes.
>
  “Cara,” he said. “Can I come in?”

  “Um…” I paused, trying to think of some excuse, but that was hard to do when my pussy was screaming for me to say yes. “Why are you here?” I settled on at last.

  He sighed through his nose and ran his fingers through his dark, silken hair. As his muscles bulged, his tattoos danced. “I feel like I need to explain. And give you this.” He thrust something at me through the crack in the door.

  I reached up and took it from him, our fingertips grazing. Sparks flew. I bit my lip, trying to ignore them as I looked at what he’d handed me. “This is a Visa gift card.”

  Jason nodded. “It’s loaded with five thousand dollars. I figured it was the least I could do, since I ripped your shirt.” He blushed. He looked embarrassed.

  I lifted my gaze to his again. “That shirt was hardly worth five thousand dollars,” I told him, though I suspected he already knew that.