Page 13 of Hunny and the Bear

Pull yourself together. All she did was sigh, you perverse fuck.

Tank shook his head to clear it, thinking about anything other than the woman in the other room. Towels, chores he hadn’t gotten to yet, artwork that he found boring. Luckily, that did the trick, and his cock no longer felt like it would punch through the denim material.

Releasing a shuddering breath, Tank went back to preparing the fish, forcing his shoulders to relax.

His head jerked up a moment later when he heard the gentle sound of feet moving cautiously on the hardwood floor, every ounce of his being focused on her footsteps as she drew closer.

After a second, a young woman stepped into view, and Tank nearly lost the grip on his knife, his heart thundering in his ears.

She stopped in the entryway to the kitchen, eyeing him nervously as she shifted onto the balls of her feet, his shirt absolutely dwarfing her body, hanging to her knees.

She was fucking beautiful.

Tank felt like a goddamn idiot for gaping at her, but he couldn’t look away. She was short, with long lilac-colored hair, fair skin, plump pink lips, and a small upturned nose. A dusting of freckles was scattered over her cheeks and she had the brightest, most vivid green eyes he’d ever seen. He’d known she was a submissive shifter by her scent alone, but seeing her small frame now, it was more apparent than ever.

Aside from her beauty, it was impossible to not notice how thin she looked, or and the dark circles under her eyes, as if she hadn’t slept or eaten properly in months.

Tank didn’t like that. He didn’t like thatat all.

She bit her lower lip, glancing away from him for a second before she looked back. Their eyes locked, and Tank felt like a bolt of lightning had struck him, his heart picking up a frantic beat.

“Hi,” she murmured, her voice almost as sweet as her scent. It was light, and as delicate as she looked. “I’m Hunny,” she added after a few seconds of silence.

“Hunny?” Tank’s lips twitched as he suppressed a laugh, his beard doing nothing to conceal the action. Her eyes snapped to his mouth and narrowed.

“Is something funny,Tank?” she asked sarcastically, raising a dark-colored brow and crossing her arms in front of her chest, all but daring him to answer.

“Just your name.” Her lips parted in shock, a small squeak escaping from her throat that had him adding, “Hunny Bunny is funny. Admit it.”

“That’s not why I’m named Hunny, you—you—ugh!” She threw her hands up in the air in exasperation, and the shirt she wore rose several inches, revealing smooth, creamy thighs. “And that’s a weird thing for you to say, considering your name is Tank.”

“Tank’s a nickname, Hunny,” he answered, enjoying the easy way her name slid off his tongue. He even enjoyed the way she sassed him.

Some of her ire deflated as she asked curiously, “What’s your name, then?”

“Henry.”

“Oh.”

He smirked. “Still think it’s weird?”

She lifted her chin. “Maybe.”

With a deep, rusty laugh, Tank looked down at the fish he’d begun preparing. “You eat meat?” A lot of small shifters didn’t.

“Only fish, coincidentally. I’m more of a vegetarian than anything else, Henry.” He shook his head at her use of his name. Taking a few steps forward until she was standing at the other end of the kitchen island, she eyed the fish hungrily. “It’s been a while since I had trout,” she added.

“Sit.” He nodded toward one of the barstools before continuing his work. He’d fill her with some nice cooked trout, a salad, and some baked bread.

Maybe they’d talk a bit, too. Finally.

His throat would hurt like a son of a bitch by the end of the night, but suddenly he didn’t mind so much.

Six

Hunny had a hard time keeping her eyes off of Tank. She’d felt drawn to him all day long, her gaze riveted by the graceful way he moved despite his size. He might have been even taller than she’d originally assumed, now that she was getting a good look at him in her human form. And what a sight he was, standing there half naked in a kitchen while making her dinner.

She bit her lower lip, looking away from his tanned chest as she made her way over to the barstool. At least when he’d been chopping wood like a man on a mission, his chest had been covered. Because if she’d seen his muscles damp with sweat, his chest hairs glistening in the sunlight, she probably would have lost her mind.

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