Baby For The Bear

But that was all an invention of her mind. She had no reason to think that anything like what she was imagining would actually happen. In all likelihood, nothing like that would ever happen at all. Very likely the only way she could ever know Ken Brecker, and share a bed and mind-exploding s*x with him, would be the way it had happened. The problem was that the way it had happened had pitfalls and consequences that the billionaire werebear and the job-challenged blonde, both with such good heads on their shoulders, had utterly failed to consider. Samantha felt as though she had betrayed herself. Now she could end up betraying both of them.

*****

It was a busy day at Brecker International. Ken had back-to-back meetings and conference calls, and a business luncheon that he hosted in his office suite. Also, there was Reese checking in to confirm their next workout and sparring session. With everything else going on in his life since he set out to become a father, Ken had almost forgotten about his “bear times” with Reese. That, he knew, was a no-no. Neglecting the fitness of his human body was not conducive to the things that Ken most loved to do with it. Females enjoyed his perfect man-shape, and he most enjoyed the pleasure they took from it and he from them. Especially, lately, one female in particular. At stray moments through the day, Ken’s thoughts turned to the blonde that he left upstairs.

What was his Sammie doing? Was she still in that bedroom where he’d left her alone, where he’d wanted to climb into that bed with her and remind her of how good they were together until they collapsed into a panting heap? Was she in the bath, the hot tub, the sauna? Or sitting in the living room, where he would love to be rolling around with her on the carpet, or having her straddle and ride him in one of the chairs, or humping the daylights out of her on one of the sofas? Or curled up in the home theatre, having called up on Hulu some chick flick about a romantic human guy doing to some human female all the things Ken wished he were doing to her? What was she up to?

He stole a couple of moments during the day to text her, to tell her that he was thinking of her, to reassure her that they would be all right and everything really would work itself out. She did not text back, which made him feel as though his insides were twisting into knots. Come on, Sammie, tell me something. I’m right here; just tell me something. But no answer came. He stole another few minutes to contact a florist and have some flowers delivered to his office suite, which he would take upstairs to her at the end of the day. Perhaps he’d even take her out to dinner. Flowers and dinner would get them talking again. Just the time spent together would put Samantha’s mind in a better place. And her mind being in a better place would put them in the place where he most wanted them. Yes, he was sure of it; this was just a momentary rough patch. They would both get over any misgivings, and by tonight they would be back in his bed and he’d be on top of her, making up for lost time.

Yes, Ken was sure of it. All of this would sort itself out by tonight.

*****

With the florist’s most expensive bouquet in hand, Ken strode out of the elevator and called, “Sammie!” Only silence answered him. He stood in the living room of a quiet penthouse, with sunset pinking and purpling the sky out the windows. “Sammie?” he called again, a little more tentatively. And he listened. No sound came from anywhere. No music or sounds of television or films wafted out of the theatre. There were no muffled noises of water running upstairs, or the clatter of activity in the kitchen. And there was no voice of a twenty-four-year-old blonde calling back to him. Nothing.

He looked to the stairs and the upper level beyond them, where he saw no lights glowing. Perhaps she had only put herself down for a nap. Ken smiled a bit wickedly at that idea. He pictured Samantha, a literal “Goldilocks” curled up with her head resting on his pillows. Who’s that sleeping in my bed? Just like in that old story, he’d be a Papa Bear coming home to find this pretty girl in his bedroom. In the story, Goldilocks woke and was terrified at the homecoming of the bears. She screamed and ran away. This would not be like the story. He would find her up there, napping away, and he would join her. First he would strip himself naked. Then he would climb up onto the bed with her and wake her with a kiss, like in another fairy tale. His Sammie would wake to him, and smile at him and his naked, erect readiness for her; and all would be forgotten. She would let him strip the clothes from her, and then… And then he would mount his Goldilocks and enter her, and fill her with his warm bear porridge.

Flowers still in hand, Ken took the stairs two at a time and bounded to the master suite. He hurled himself through the threshold, and found…

An empty room. No Samantha on the bed. No sounds or light in the bath to tell him she was there. No travel bag lying by the walk-in closet. She wasn’t there.

He lowered the hand with the bouquet in it and almost dropped it. In all the years that Ken had lived here, the penthouse had never felt so truly empty.

Not caring about the flowers anymore, he tossed them into the nearest chair, pulled out his phone from his inner jacket pocket, and checked his messages again. No new messages. Not a word from her.

Ken almost dropped the phone as he’d almost dropped the flowers. He felt as empty inside as the penthouse around him. “Sammie, no. Don’t do this,” he whispered.

The emptiness around him was painful and cold, as cold as an abandoned cave.