At Full Sprint (A BBW Shifter Romance) (Last of the Shapeshifters) (10 page)

“Just watch,” he said. He walked around to behind the kitchen counter, his lower half obscured, and there he was obviously removing his trousers.

Circe got up, half-shaded her eyes like the sun was burning bright, and wasn’t sure if she should just leave or what. This was crazy!

Off came his shirt, and the low light only accentuated the carved lines of his body. He looked at her. “Ready?”

“Miles, this is-”

Circe was silenced. Miles ‘Cheat’ Cohen was
shrinking!
She backed away instinctively, knocking over her martini. The glass thudded quietly on the carpeted floor.

His body seemed to grow inward on itself, like he was being sucked into a vortex. For a horrifying moment, not longer than a second but enough to make Circe’s hairs stand on end, he was a single mass of undefined flesh, a lump of pinkish meat, before a new form started to emerge. One pair of legs sprouted, and then another, and then she saw the curve of a backbone, the pointy ears of a… cat?

“What the hell?”

Frozen to the spot, she became aware, like seeing through two parting corridors of mist, that she was looking at a
shapeshifter
. An honest to God, real-fucking-life
shapeshifter
.

“Fuck, you guys actually exist?” she blurted, before covering her mouth. Color ran generously into Miles’ new form, a big cat standing higher than her waist. She saw the brown and orange-tinted spots, saw the deep yellow of the luscious coat fill in. She saw two black lines running down from each of the cat’s eyes, as though it were crying tears of black ink.

Miles had become a cheetah. The nickname made sense. She shook her head, grinned, and then laughed. His cheetah, lithe, slim, and had a body that just smacked of efficiency. It was also far longer than she was tall, and with bits of meaty muscle obvious despite the fur.

“Wow.”

His cheetah seemed to acknowledge her words. He ducked his head for a moment, and then approached her. She stepped back instinctively, and came up against the wall. But still the cheetah advanced, and when it was within reach, he nuzzled his head against her leg, rubbing it up and down the inside of her thigh.

No wonder he was a race car driver!

“Miles, can I…?” She gingerly extended a hand. The cheetah did not retreat or pull back like she had expected his to, and when she touched the fur on his head, she was astounded at how soft it was. She stroked the cheetah’s head, trying her best not to itch it like she would a pet cat. Something told her Miles wouldn’t much like that.

“How is this even…” she trailed off, trying to find the word, but couldn’t settle on just one.

The cheetah ignored her, and instead turned and took off at a sprint, leaping onto the sofa, jumping again and bouncing paws-first off the wall, leaving deep scratches in the plaster. She grinned. Of course he was showing off.

“Miles, stop it!” she said, pointing at his feline vandalism. The cheetah stopped and looked once again at her, and Circe approached it, hand out.

“Can I touch you again?” she asked. The cheetah lay down, and Circe ran a hand along its back, feeling bone and muscle, and not an ounce of fat.

The creature was absolutely beautiful, his fur lush, not the slightest hint of hard bristle. She ran her hand down over his hips, coming to his tail and pulling her hand along it. His tail flicked upward.

Circe recalled the vivid image Miles had put into her head when he had told her about his most memorable experience growing up in Africa: streaking cheetahs weaving through the scraggly vegetation, thin like sheets of paper.

Miles then rolled onto his side, and let out a decidedly masculine purr as she rubbed his stomach. It dawned on her that she should probably find this sort of relationship a little bit weird.

“Cheat,” she murmured, nodding at him. “That’s why you gave yourself the nickname.”

Miles began to shift back, then. His body grew in mass nearly twice over, before receding again in bits here, and bits there. His forelegs grew into arms, and his hips widened, and his shoulder blades moved into a horizontal position, and his back became a ‘v’.

She withdrew a step when his fur started to grow in reverse, seemed to be sucked back into his skin like liquid through a straw. The unmistakable shape of a man emerged, and then the features and details were filled in last, like an artist working inward from the body’s outlines.

Miles, naked, panting, and sweating, grinned at her from his crouched position on the tiled floor. He rose to his feet, and stepped close to her. Heat waves radiated into her. The air seemed to shimmer around him like it did above sunburnt asphalt.

Circe pulled away, breathing quickly. “What are you?” She could feel his warm breath washing over her face, and it was intensely intimate. It stirred her in her center, made her gut tighten and her heart skip a beat.

“I’m a shapeshifter.”

“Like a werewolf?”

“Yes. Except no full moon. And I’m not a wolf.”

Circe put a hand to her forehead. “Wow, I can’t believe it.” She reached out and touched his face, feeling his stubble. It was almost as if she wanted to check that he was real, but the contact between them was nothing less than a jolt of electricity.

Something changed in the atmosphere. She didn’t take her hand away. And he moved closer still. She let her fingers drift down from his face. Touching him there had been so natural… instinctive, even. And now she was exploring, feeling his neck, its thickness a product of his racing, of the immense g-forces he had to withstand on every bend, on every turn. She felt a throbbing vein; pulsing arousal. She became aware that his hardness was pressing into her.

She reached his collar bones, jutting out, lying perfectly straight on his horizontal shoulders. Her finger felt the hard ridge, dipped into the pocket between the start of his shoulders and the end of his neck.

“Miles,” she whispered, but she didn’t know what she wanted to say. She knew what she wanted to do, but somehow, for some reason, wanted to fight it. Professional pride? To not give in so easily?

To be a ‘lady’…?

She pulled her fingers down over his chest, felt his lines, the bumps on his stomach like hard rolling waves. He was so strong, his body whipcord tight, trained to perfection. It had never occurred to her that race car drivers needed to maintain such incredible physical fitness… at least, not until that first time in Melbourne she had seen him topless.

But back then, she didn’t get to touch.

Silence seemed to stretch out between them, and she met his eyes again, saw in them a surging lust, something teetering on the edge of control.

She opened her mouth to speak, to mutter banal, stalling words as she questioned herself, the situation. But in that moment that her lips parted, that her vocal chords rattled into speech, he took advantage of her, pressing his lips hard against hers.

Circe tried to pull back at first, not because she didn’t want the kiss, but because she hadn’t expected it. But his large hand clamped around the back of her head and he held her to him, kissing her with something approaching violence.

She could taste the martini on his tongue when she met it with hers. Tentative at first, her longing grew, and she was kissing him back, giving in.

She was giving in.

Their kiss broke, and he pushed his forehead against hers, stared into her eyes, and ran his fingers down her cheek.

“You want this,” he growled.

“I want this,” she echoed, pulling him in to kiss him again. Her hands, freed of their paralysis born of self-doubt, ran up the width of his back on either of his sides. Never having been with a man with a body like that, she had almost expected every inch of him to be rock hard as though sculpted from marble. She found instead a fleshy firmness, something so much more real and human.

Human. It might have been amusing at any other time.

She pushed her hands into his armpits, felt stubble, and then clasped her arms around him, his spine jutting out in between the butterfly-shaped back-muscle that pushed outward through his skin.

And then her hands were moving down. The fleeting feeling of disbelief wafted through her mind but was gone just moments later, like a ghost passing through the walls of a house. She felt his ass, hard, tight, and generous. She grabbed fistfuls in her small fingers, clawed at his hairless meat, and then pushed lower so that her fingers touched the insides of his thighs.

His hardness was pressed against her abdomen, stiff as a bar of steel. It flattered her, in a distant way, something that pleased her beyond the near-overriding lust of the here and the now.

“Back,” he said, breaking their kiss, and pushing her up against the wall. He ripped her blouse open, and Circe looked at him, eyes wide, ridiculously thinking that he hadn’t asked if he could do that!

And then he was in between her breasts, and she felt his tongue snake upward, all the way up the column of her neck, until he was behind her ear, kissing her lightly, breathing into her. The feel of his breath washing over her, tinged with gin and vermouth, was heady and intimate; intoxicating. She’d never experienced a man who wanted her this much before.

She pushed back against him so she could get her back off the wall, so she could unclasp her bra. It occurred to her that she had expected to feel insecure about baring her breasts to Miles, but that wasn’t the case, and when her heavy bosom fell free, nipples hard, she was both flattered and pleased at the look on his face, the urgency of his fingers as they went straight to her chest, and of the hunger in his tongue as he took her buds one by one into his mouth and flicked at them.

“Hey!” she yelped, looking down. He had a nipple in between his teeth and was grinning at her. “Be gentle.”

He sidled down her body, unbuttoned her jeans, and began to pull the zip down when she stopped him suddenly. “Wait,” she said.

“For what?” he replied, and he hooked his fingers into her jeans and panties, pulling them down. He stared at her mound, topped with a frizz of trimmed brown, before sending a tongue in between her nether lips, eliciting a gasp from Circe.

“Oh my God,” she whispered, her body jolting at the sudden sensitivity, as his tongue had brushed against her aroused, engorged pearl.

Miles ran his hands up the insides of her thighs, squeezing them copiously, hard enough that sometimes it hurt. He wrapped his hands around her, held her ass tight and pulled her up to her tip toes as he rose, pressing her harder against the wall, kissing her neck.

“I’m going to fuck you so hard,” he breathed, and he guided her out of her shoes, and the puddle of denim and cotton on the floor, and turned her around against the wall.

Running his hands down her front, over her breasts, her stomach, it seemed like he couldn’t get enough of her curves. His hands were insatiable, mapping her body, every crevice and curve, every bit of flesh and skin, like he wanted to leave nothing untouched, nothing unexplored.

She whimpered as he held her from behind, as his cock pressed into her back, and as his hands snaked their way down to her center, fingers weaving through her bush before coming to rest on the hood of her clit.

He began to stroke her, and already Circe could see rapture on the horizon, like a split in the sky, and she was sprinting straight for it.

*

Miles pushed his head into the nook behind Circe’s ear and inhaled deeply. God, he loved the way she smelled! The act alone sent his cock into an aching, throbbing, longing length of flesh.

“Oh, yes,” she hissed, leaning more of her weight onto her hands which were spread like her legs against the wall. He was touching her bud, teasing her, rubbing her in slow circles, every now and then dipping down toward her entrance to smear her arousal all over her.

“You like that?” he asked, taking her ear lobe into his mouth and biting.

“Yes,” she said, nodding her head quickly.

He leaned back so that his cock was no longer pressed against her, noting that for a moment a small strand of his own arousal tethered his tip to her skin before snapping beneath its own weight.

He simply couldn’t get enough! She did things to him. She was special. What he felt for Circe he couldn’t remember ever having felt before. It tiptoed the line of his own self-control, and since he’d met her he had been holding himself back with what waning self-restraint he could muster.

Was this his mate?

He pushed a finger inside her, angled forward, rubbing her front wall and that patch of mottled skin that made her moan loudly, that quickened her breath.

“Yes,” she sighed, bucking her hips backward, nodding her head and biting her lip, and clenching her hands into fists. “Another one.”

He grinned, pushing in a second finger, before leaning forward onto her back to kiss her neck again, where it met her shoulder. He felt her shiver with delight.

“Oh, Miles, don’t stop,” she moaned. He hadn’t sped up or slowed down. He hadn’t altered his teasing rhythm at all, but he could sense through the tightness in her body that she was already so close.

But he wasn’t about to let her get it just like that. He had other ideas in mind. He took his hand form her clit, eliciting from her an exasperated gasp as she turned around in his arm, clamped onto his dick with her fingers, and with wide eyes and a grin said, “Hey, what do you think you’re doing?”

*

Circe looked out of smoky eyes at Miles. She had been so close to her crisis and he had taken his hands off her! The tease. He knew, as well, judging by the smirk on his face.

He took her hand and led her into the bedroom, and she climbed onto the bed while he flicked on the bedside lamp. She had to admit to herself that she was nervous, but also excited. His naked body in the dim light only seemed to make him look impossibly better, and she longed for him to mount her and drive her into oblivion.

His hands went to her knees, up and closed, and he pulled them open, exposing the juncture of her thighs. She could smell her own arousal, and was sure he could as he nestled in between her legs, hovering just above her wanting, steaming sex.