CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Frankie~
There he was. Outside. Buck naked. Sleeping pressed up against the porch steps. Great. She left for a couple of days, and he lost what remained of his tiny bear mind. Frankie perched on the porch rail, transferred her precious egg to her right claws and opened her mouth to give him a piece of her mind.
His brain waves were less erratic than they had been, but still not back to normal. The reveille she had intended to bugle at him, became a tender melody that mellowed the sharpest waves and gently roused the abnormal dips. His aura had cooled down to normal. Her song settled him completely. He sighed gustily in his sleep and beneath his lids his eyes moved as he began to dream.
Whatever Cam was dreaming about did not disturb him. This was good. Everyone needed to dream. It had never been her intention to suppress his dream time. Just to regulate it so that the terrible recurrent nightmares stopped. When the horror of his dreamscape brought him awake, night after night, he was robbed of the healing powers of sleep. It was little wonder that his recovery had been stalled.
He looked good in his bare skin. Better than good. The scars on his knee had faded to pink and there was considerably less swelling. He even looked more muscular. That seemed oddly rapid. But the proof was in his burly shoulders and chest. And in his hard butt and thick thighs. The left one was just about as big as the right. Ditto the calf.
Clearly she had a talent for healing. Or make that, for healing Cam. She would let him finish his nap outdoors. And take one herself – after she showered and ate. After New Mexico, she was starving and distinctly ripe.
Frankie fluttered down to the porch floor and returned to human. The egg pressed hard into the arch of her foot and she retrieved it and held it safe in the curve of her palm.
Cam bounced to his feet, took the stairs in one great bouncing stride and picked her up. “Where the hell have you been, Frankie?”
She clutched his arms. His thick strong arms. Surely in two days he could not have regrown so much muscle? “You’ve been in bear!”
“Yeah.” He nuzzled her neck as if she didn’t stink. “But where have you been?”
“New Mexico.”
“What?” His nose was buried in the sensitive juncture between neck and shoulder. He nibbled as he spoke. His question made a pleasant buzzing that set her whole body vibrating.
Her fatigue vanished. “I went to get you a present, Bear Boy.”
“That’s nice.” He got the screen door open, juggled her and opened the outer door.
“Should you be carrying me?”
“I like carrying you.” He elbowed past the door and headed for the living room. “How come you’re naked?”
“I was flying. You?”
He laid her gently on the couch but ignored her question. “Don’t move,” he ordered. “I’ll be right back.”
Frankie watched in bemusement as Cam disappeared into the kitchen. He was moving easily. No cane. No walker. No limp. It was nothing short of miraculous. She looked sadly at the egg still cradled in her right hand.
She had endured so much, and he had healed himself. She had no illusions about her stubborn lover. If he was back to normal, she had about as much chance of getting him to swallow the Egg of Immortality as of persuading him to run for President.
He came back with a tall bottle. A wolfish grin splitting his face. He hadn’t shaved today. Probably not yesterday either, for his square jaw was covered with ragged, honey-colored curls that matched those on his chest. He looked wonderful, although he smelled faintly of pond.
“It should be rose blossom oil,” he said apologetically. “But the best I could find was grapeseed. Figured you wouldn’t want to smell of olive oil.”
“Huh.”
“Lube,” he said. “I don’t want to chafe you. Spread ‘em, D’Angelo.” He waved his bottle at her legs.
“Romantic. Not so much.”
“You want romantic? I can do romantic.” Reynolds of Special Forces accepted his mission.
He slammed the bottle on the coffee table, leaped over it and knelt beside the couch. His lips found hers in a gentle kiss. Barely brushed them and pulled back. His blue eyes were sparkling.
“Is that the best you can do?” she taunted.
He chuckled richly. A merry noise that reverberated through her chest to her heart. “I thought you wanted romantic, Phoenix?”
“Maybe I mean passionate.”
“You can have both.” His deep voice was confident. “I’ve been thinking about the other night,” he confessed. “I let you down. Let’s have a do-over.”
“Huh?” What was he talking about?
“Uh huh. Open up, sweetheart.”
“Shouldn’t we start with kissing?”
“I have every intention of doing some kissing, D’Angelo. But I don’t want to get distracted here.” He leaned over and ran his big hand over her belly, dipped into her navel, gave it a little swirl and slid down to cover her bush. “Don’t be shy, open up.”
Shy? He had to be kidding. She let her thighs fall open, tucked her arms behind her head. Let the egg nestle in the hollow of her neck. “Bring it on, lover.”
He carefully poured a puddle of oil into her belly button, lubed his forefinger and retraced his path to her bush. Everywhere he touched, rousing heat followed and spread in waves. Deep inside she began to boil. He searched in her curls until he found her clit. Tapped it twice and returned to the oil.
This time he smeared it on both palms and massaged it in well, his eyes on hers. Then he covered her left breast with his left hand and her entire pussy with his right and squeezed both lightly. He bent forward at the same time and gave her another teasing kiss.
Deep full-body happiness spread through her. She felt cherished and loved and utterly, totally safe. Was this the bear bond he was always on about? She lifted her hips for another kind of kiss.
“Don’t distract me,” he chided.
He began to massage her belly, working out in slow circles from her navel. Spreading the oil over her skin and rubbing it in well. He licked out her empty belly button and filled it again. Fire followed his gliding fingers. His tongue in her belly button made her passage clench and pulse. Her nipples furled into hard, aching peaks.
“Hurry up,” she coaxed.
“Hurrying is not romantic, dearest heart.”
Maybe not. But fast and passionate was what she wanted right this minute. Cam however returned to those lazy sensual circles on her stomach. Pulling and kneading and making her body writhe beneath his knowing hands. The big warm hand on her pussy was a still weight that promised but did not deliver.
“Relax,” he crooned. “Let go, Warrior Woman.” He blew on the skin he had oiled. Her pussy began to pulse harder.
As if he could feel the blood rushing to her pussy, Cam’s big hand slipped lower to cover her open sex. Then he left her pussy forlorn to dip his finger in the oil in her navel. He dabbed the oil on her outer lips and traced the quivering edges with a delicate, barely-there stroke. He buried his nose in her folds and gave a great bearlike sniff.
“Umm.” He dipped into her navel, sighed and dribbled in a little more oil. Returned with a slick finger to her pussy. “I love your smell.”
“My smell!”
“You smell like a sex goddess. Spicy. Powerful. Aphrodite and Ishtar and Hathor rolled into one.”
“You think I smell better than the goddesses of love?”
“Sure do.”
She spread her legs wider, willing him to enter her vag. But he only chuckled. He found her stiff inner lips again and dabbled them with oil. With thumb and forefinger he pinched and tugged first on one side, and then the other, while she bucked and twitched.
“Your lips are so swollen,” he murmured. “Stiff and dark. Red. Beautiful.” He pinched and pulled. Kissed her where he had so tenderly abused her sensitive flesh. Inhaled her scent again.
Finally he dipped one finger inside her vag. Not far enough, just barely inside the entrance. She gripped him tightly. “Yes, yes,” she urged him.
“I need more oil.” He rubbed thumb and fingers together and placed them under her nose.
The scent of her arousal filled her nostrils. “Why are you tormenting me?”
“Foreplay,” he said sternly. “You deserve foreplay, D’Angelo.”
“It’s all sex, Cam.”
“I know.” He smiled and brushed her lips with his. His stubble caressed her chin like the softest paintbrush. “Patience, Phoenix.”
A single finger applied pressure just inside her entrance. Her passage grew softer and needier with every slow clockwise circle. She could feel her growing wetness. She practically levitated when he switched direction. She gasped when he withdrew his finger, lubed it. He returned to a spot a fraction of an inch over and ministered to it just as slowly. Her legs were beyond restless now.
But there was no hurrying him. He deliberately worked his way around her entrance, and when that lap was completed, moved a little higher and continued his leisurely massage. “Trust me,” he begged. “Just relax and enjoy yourself.”
It was relaxing. And arousing. And romantic. From time to time she could see or feel his erection. His cock was at attention, drops of semen dribbled from the dark purple cap. Its thick stony length brushed enticingly against her thigh as he bent over her. The scent of his arousal was thick in her nostrils. Rich, masculine, potent. Desperate. This tender teasing was costing him.
He dripped another dribble of oil into her navel. Kissed her bush. Licked once at her clit. She began to pulse harder. “I’m going to come,” she warned him.
“As often as you like, Frankie, my darling.”
Oh. She consciously relaxed every muscle in her body as he eased his finger just a little deeper into her pussy and continued his lazy seduction. Relaxation didn’t work. Her vag spasmed and gentle waves of release rolled through her like lazy ripples on a pond. His finger stilled inside her, as she alternately gripped and released him in a pulsing rhythm.
“Sing for me, Phoenix,” he begged.
Her song of satisfaction and love could not be held back. She poured all her longing and joy into her melody. The music resonated with her climax and intensified her pleasure. And his big grin. That was one self-satisfied male.
He sighed theatrically when the ripples stopped. “I forgot your G-spot,” he said apologetically.
“No.”
“Yeah, I really did.” He added more oil and dipped his forefinger in her navel again.
She had meant, don’t rub me there – she was a spurter – but, Cam being Cam, kept going. As her song faded to humming, two fingers began to massage her G-spot at the same dawdling pace he had massaged her entrance. Her paroxysms started again. Her humming turned to a frantic chanting of his name. He bent his head and lapped up her wetness. She came again in a series of powerful convulsions.
“Umm.” He covered her entire pussy with his hand as if he wanted to share her orgasm. But he waited until the aftershocks were barely there before he spoke. “Now?”
“Now.”
He knelt over her limp body and lifted her buttocks, thrust deep into her swollen passage. She was wet but her tissues were engorged. It was a tight fit. Her folds were tugged as he moved his thick length in, and pulled as he moved out. His oily thumb made brisk yet careful circles around the base of her oversensitized clit.
Her song started up again. She came in waves of greater and greater intensity. He stiffened above her, pumped his pelvis one last time, gathered her close and came. His bellow and her shriek of satisfaction made victorious music.
She must have drifted off. When she opened her eyes the welcome weight of his body was no longer on hers. He was sitting on the couch with her feet in his lap, rubbing the egg between thumb and forefinger. Of course he noticed the moment she looked at him.
“Is this what I think it is?”
“If you think it’s the Egg of Immortality.”
“I’m a bear, Frankie. For better or worse. A bear.” He sounded unbelievably sad.
“I love you, Cameron.”
“Do you?”
Wasn’t he going to tell her he loved her too? “Yeah. I thought the egg would heal you. And I figured if you were no longer able to shift, you might be more open to becoming a phoenix.”
“Can’t you take me as I am?”
There was no longer anything to think about. She had risked death for this man. They shared a bond that was soul deep. He was her fated mate and she would never find another. There was nothing to do but surrender with grace. “Sure.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
“Will you marry me?” He looked gratifyingly unsure. But this was not a competition.
“In a heartbeat.”
“And have bear cubs?”
“That might be harder.”
“Why?”
“Because phoenixes breed true. Our genes are dominant, or something.”
“Huh.”
“According to my Aunt Lois, when phoenixes marry other shifters, they still have phoenix babies. She knows of no exceptions.”
“Huh.”