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I don’t feel guilty seeing her naked like this. I would if there were any other choice, but there isn’t. Besides, nudity isn’t so much of a problem for shifters out of necessity. They have yet to make an outfit that will fit a two-hundred-forty-pound man and also a thirteen-hundred-pound bear. Certainly, I would like to follow the human convention that would require her consent to see her but under the circumstances, infection seems a bit more of a threat than causing offense.
I dress her injuries. The only one that is close to serious are the bite marks on her arm. She wakes briefly when I disinfect the wounds.
“It’s all right,” I tell her. “You’re safe.”
“Are you an angel?” she asks.
“No,” I reply, “you are.”
She murmurs my name. At least, I believe she does. I smile at that. I’m about to tell her that I’m Russel, not an angel. Russel. I’m not an angel, just a man, but she’s asleep already. I finish cleaning her and dressing her wounds, then let her rest. While she rests, I wash her clothes in the stream behind the house and hang them to dry. I set a robe on the arm of the couch next to her in case she wakes before her clothes are dry. I start a fire and make some dinner for her. I eat my food raw, but I don’t believe that non-shifters can eat raw food. They can’t digest it the way shifters can.
She wakes just as I set the table for dinner. I smile at her and ask, “How are you feeling?”
“Well,” she says, “I’m alive. That’s something.”
“It is,” I say seriously, “you are very lucky. That cougar could easily have killed you.”
“I know,” she says, “I’m surprised the bear didn’t finish me off.” Then, she sits bolt upright and her jaw drops. “Russel!” she cries and then winces as she feels faint. I rush to her side and she says weakly, “I thought I was dreaming.”
I lean forward and kiss her forehead. I have no idea if the gesture is too intimate. “I never thought to see you again,” I say. “I didn’t even know you’re last name.”
“Van Port,” she says in a dreamy voice, “Melody van Port.”
“It’s lovely to meet you, Melody Van Port,” I reply.
She smiles and says, “I think maybe I really am dreaming. I think maybe I’m still in the forest and the cougar is eating me.”
I say, “There’s food. I made salmon. Your clothes are hanging outside. I’ll bring them in for you.”
They’re dry enough, so when I bring them to her, she puts them on. I realize during our entire conversation she didn’t even seem to notice that she was nude but for the makeshift bandages. I say, “You should rest. You’ve had a rough day. Your body needs to recover.”
“That sounds wonderful,” she replies, “but right now, my body needs something else, Russel. I need something and I’m not going to wait another four years to get it.”
She steps forward and kisses me before I can reply.
I might be a bear, and she might be a human, but right now, I want her more than I’ve ever wanted anything in my life.
Chapter Three
Melody
I have to say that this sort of thing just doesn't happen. Don't get me wrong. I'm not trying to say that I'm some kind of prude who never has a casual relationship with a man. I don't mean that at all. I’ve enjoyed my fair share of one-night stands and short-term flings. What I mean is that a girl doesn't end up with her fantasy, right?
I have fantasized about a mountain man for so long, about a man just as home in the wild as inside of four walls and now I'm here with Russel in his cabin, no less! This man is like all of my fantasies about a perfect man except better and real and in the flesh. I think as I kiss him that things crystalize for me and I realize that my fantasy about a mountain man is really a fantasy about Russel, that all of the times I made the man amorphous and shifting from one set of eyes to the next, I was only protecting myself from ever believing I could have Russel again.
But here he is in the flesh.
Well, right now, he's in clothing but I'm doing all I can to remedy that situation. As for Russel, he seems to have no problem at all returning the favor. My jeans are unbuttoned, and his hand is over my panties, driving me wild with stimulation of my pussy while I try to pull up his shirt but have a hell of a hard time just because of how distracted I am by the sensations running through my body.
Distracted and uncoordinated or not, I'm ready for him to take me, right here, and I don't mean in some sort of slow and romantic way. No, I want him to take me rough, wild, and hard. I don't want him to be gentle. I want him to be my fantasy, and in this moment, I want him to take me wild and hard.
I want him to fuck me like... well, like a wild mountain man fucking a woman. You already think I'm weird, so I don't care how you feel about the way my mind works.
But damn it all, I hate my brain right now. Maybe it's my body I hate. See, despite the fact that I desperately need him to fuck me, I can't come up with the word to beg. It's like the pleasure from his hands and the intense concentration it requires of me just to get his shirt untucked keep me from speaking.
I need him, though. I need him and, for fuck's sake, I need him now!
"Please fuck me," is what I mean to say. "Please fuck me now. I need you. Don't make me wait any longer. I need you. I need you now, Russel. Please, now."
