Last Resort by Cynthia Sax

“This next resort is owned by Renard Glace, named one of this year’s top fifty bachelors here in the great state of Alaska,” Sloane informed her glamorous group of single women as the tour bus pulled into the parking lot. “He’s handsome, rich and available.”

And he hits on anything that moves. She ran her moist hands over her plus-size figure, smoothing her black skirt suit, and waited for the buzz of excitement to fade. Including me.

“His guests include some of the richest men in the world.” Sloane smiled as the women pulled out their mirrors, franticly patting their faces with powder and fussing with their hair. “And we are the only tour company he allows in his resort.” She didn’t know why.

The bus jerked to a stop. “Thank you, Dave.” For not crashing us into a pole like you did at the last resort. She patted the driver’s arm. “Ladies, if you’ll follow me. Your suitcases have been tagged and will be taken to your rooms.” Sloane waited by the bus, her practical pumps covered with snow, her animal embracing the cold.

“Renard is such an usual name, isn’t it?” Annabelle, a willowy Texan socialite, wrinkled her perfect nose. “Though I suppose it could be changed.” She tilted her head.

Sloane’s lips twitched. “It’s an old family name.” And it declared to the world what he was, what both of them were — fox shifters. “I believe he’s quite attached to it.”

She waited patiently for the women to disembark. Renard’s smartly-attired employees hustled around them, unloading the designer luggage from the bus.

“Are all of the men here rich?” Penny, a tiny bundled-up New Yorker, stared appreciatively at one bent-over bellhop’s ass. Her real estate mogul father had sent her on this excursion to separate the blue-collar-man-loving Penny from a fortune-hunting mechanic, charging Sloane with the impossible task of finding his daughter a rich husband.

“Many of the guests are.” With the last of her women reaching solid ground, Sloane steered the young woman away from temptation and toward the heat her human needed.

“Good morning, Miss Sloane.” The doorman held the door open for them and tipped his hat, his hands clad in black gloves. “Ladies.” He winked at Penny and she twittered, turning a pretty pink.

Lord help me. Sloane dragged the woman forward, plastering a smile across her face. A lineup of hotel staff waited inside and even her most jaded guest, an aging Hollywood starlet, appeared impressed. I owe Ren for this.

“Welcome to Last Chance.” The man himself strode forward, his broad shoulders clad in a form-fitting black suit, the lights of the massive chandelier softening the starkness of his snow-white hair.

“Miss Sloane.” Ren clasped her cold outstretched hand with both of his, sharing his heat, a spark of awareness shooting up her arm. “It has been too long.” His dark eyes communicated sincerity. “You look more beautiful with each passing day.” He brushed his lips over her knuckles, branding her skin with his mouth. “Is that a new suit?” His dark-eyed gaze swept over her too generous curves.

Sloane fought her attraction, his musky scent driving her fox wild. “It’s the same suit I always wear, Mr. Glace.” She rolled her eyes at his outrageous flirting. The suit was now a size too small due to the boxes of chocolate caramels he kept sending her.

He chuckled, the sound low and deep. “You wear it well.”

I’d like to wear him well. Sloane’s face heated at her inappropriate thought. “Let me introduce you to your guests.”

She noted how he kissed the women’s hands and complimented them, making each woman feel special and needed. It was part of the show, a familiar routine he performed during each of her visits. Flirt with her. Flirt with the guests. It shouldn’t affect her.

“And is there a Madame Glace?” Annabelle purred, her blood-red nails raking over Ren’s arm.

Mine. Sloane’s fox bristled.

“Alas, there is not.” Ren extracted himself from the socialite’s grip and rested his palm on the small of Sloane’s back, his touch thrillingly possessive. “Not yet. There’s a female, a woman, I adore.” His hand slid lower and Sloane blinked. Is he feeling me up? In the lobby, in front of everyone? “But I don’t know if she returns my feelings.” He cupped her ass. I should step away from him. I should… He squeezed and she bit her bottom lip, swallowing her gasp. Mother Mary, why is he tormenting me?

“Did you ask her?” The Hollywood starlet pursed her mouth, her liner a shade darker than her lipstick.

“Forget asking her,” Penny scoffed, her gaze drifting to the youngest concierge on Ren’s staff. “Words are meaningless. Show her how you feel. Seduce her.” The concierge’s eyes flashed with matching interest.

I’ll have to lock her in and put bars on all of her windows. Sloane glowered a silent warning at the impudent young man. He gave her a cocky grin… like his employer.

“Seduce her?” Ren kneaded Sloane’s cotton-covered ass and she curled her hands into fists, digging her fingernails into her palm, trying not to squirm. “I could do that.” His breath teased her earlobe. “Howard, could you please see the ladies to their rooms?”

The young man moved forward, and Penny’s smile widened. “I have something to show Miss Sloane.” Ren’s hand moved to her waist as he steered her toward the rear of the resort.

“I sent you that e-mail about Penny.” Sloane fumed, struggling to stay mad at him and the world, which was a hopeless task because Ren always made her laugh. “Didn’t you read it? I used small words.”

“And emoticons.” He hugged her. “I liked the horny little devil. It gave me ideas.”

I won’t ask him what ideas. I won’t. “I didn’t like the smiley sitting on the toilet,” she lied, having added it to her collection. “Did you read the e-mail?”

“I read everything you send me, love.” Ren passed the door to his office, continuing toward the back doors.

Love? Sloane frowned. He’s in a strange mood. “Throwing her and Howard together isn’t the best idea. Her father will slice and dice me into a million pieces if they do anything.”

“Too messy.” He shook his head. “He’s in real estate. He’ll cover you with cement and build an office tower over you.”

“Probably.” She bit back a laugh. “Ren, I don’t want to get Penny’s father angry.” He was a scary man with rumored mob ties.

“Don’t worry. Her father will love you, as I do.” He pulled her closer, his hip brushing hers, his warmth engulfing her. “Howard is a Mallard, here to obtain some much-needed discipline.”

“He’s a duck shifter?” She stared up at him as they exited the main building. Four small wooden buildings were nestled in the snow. Saunas. She tilted her head, wondering what he was up to. “A quackamatic is even worse. She’s human, Ren.”

“Not mallard, the duck.” The aggravating man chuckled, ushering her into one of the saunas and flicking a switch. The small space was warm but not hot. “Mallard, the family owning the oil company, but we won’t tell her that, will we? Let her think she’s found her hard-working average man.”

“You’re devious.” Sloane grinned, thinking of all the referrals Penny’s father would send her way.

“You have no idea.” He turned her to face him, his hands on her hips.

Mercy. She placed her fingers on his arms and tilted her head back. He was tall and so very handsome, his tanned face lean and angular, his thin blade of a nose aristocratic, his eyes dark and smoldering. She dropped her gaze to his mouth and licked her lips. Not a good idea. “I have to get back to the women. Show me what you have to show me, Ren, and let me go.”

“Oh, I’ll show you, but I’m never letting you go.” He dipped his head and captured her mouth with his. Sloane blinked, his face too close to focus on. Every time I see him, he kisses me, plus-size, regular girl, me. He nibbled and sucked on her lips, catching her bottom lip between his teeth and pulling. She gasped and he pushed his tongue between her parted teeth, filling her mouth.

Her knees grew weak and she leaned into him, trusting Ren to support her, to hold her. Their tongues tangled and danced, his mouth tasting of the black coffee he drank continuously and mints he popped before meeting guests.

He plucked the pins from her hair, releasing the tight French twist. Her iron-straight locks fell to her shoulders, his fingers tangling in the thickness. “Gorgeous,” he murmured his appreciation against her lips.

In his eyes, she felt gorgeous. That was Ren’s talent. He made every woman feel that way. She couldn’t be one of many, not even with him. “We shouldn’t do this.” Sloane reluctantly pulled away. She undid the top button of her blazer.

“Name one reason why not.” Ren shrugged out of his jacket, his white dress shirt sticking to his defined chest.

She could name a million reasons why not. “I’ll name five. Because. I’ll. Get. My. Ass. Fired.” A trickle of moisture rolled down her cheek. Crap. I’m sweating like a horse. That’s sexy.

He rubbed a thumb over the embarrassing trail. “Is that all you’re worried about?” He flicked at her buttons and they bounced on the wood floors.

Her blazer gaped open, revealing her black lace bra and pale skin, too much pale skin. “I’m also worried about the depleting ozone layer and shrinking wildlife habitats, but yes, paying my bills and not losing my house tops my list of worries.”

“You don’t have a house.” He smiled, drawing her closer to him. A hard ridge in his dress pants pressed against her rounded belly.

That almost daunting erection is for me. Me. “Okay, the crapbox of an apartment I live in between tours. It’s still my home and if we release our horny little foxes, I’ll get fired and lose it. I’m not going to let my almost overwhelming desire to suck your cock lead me down that cold and bitter path. I don’t have the character to be a street person.”

Her brain caught up with her mouth. Oh God. What did I just say? She pressed her lips together.

Ren grinned, gazing at her the same way a fox would peruse a fat, juicy chicken, and he slid his hands under her blazer, skin skimming skin. She trembled with delight, his fingers magical, causing her inhibitions to disappear. He pushed the concealing fabric off her shoulders.

“I didn’t mean anything I said.” Sloane attempted to correct his misconception. He snapped at her bra, and the lace fell to the floor. She crossed her arms over her taut nipples, which was very difficult to do as he held her very close. “I was babbling.”

“I like it when you babble.” Ren stepped away and yanked at his shirt, shredding the cotton, revealing muscles, miles and miles of muscles. He was so fit and she was so… not. “I find out many interesting things when you babble.” He kicked off his shoes and dropped his pants, his boxer shorts crisp and white, his socks black. “What else do you have an overwhelming desire to do to me?”

Like I’m going to answer that question. “I’m not taking my clothes off,” she blurted out. She hugged her torso, trying to hide her excessive curves.

“You’re right.” He reached around her body, his chest pressing against her, and he unzipped her skirt. “I’m taking your clothes off.”

She stood in black lace panties, matching her discarded bra. They hid nothing, even the curls covering her mons were visible.

“I’ve dreamed of seeing you like this.” He gazed at her, his eyelids partially closed, his cheeks flush with either the rising heat or desire, she didn’t know which.

“Was it a nightmare?” she joked, shifting her weight from foot to foot, feeling awkward. “Did you wake up screaming?”

“I woke up with a hard-on rivaling this one.” Ren stroked the big bulge in his boxer shorts, the fabric wet over his cockhead. “It’s the sweetest dream, one that torments me night after night. I don’t eat properly. I can’t even look at another woman.”

He dreams of me. Sloane gave Ren what she hoped was a seductive smile. I’m losing my job for certain. I might as well have some fun before that happens. “Then look at this woman.” She dropped her hands.

“I’ll do more than look.” He brushed his lips tenderly over her forehead, his chest flattening her breasts, hard against her nipples. She trembled as he stroked her back lazily up and down, up and down, as though he, the busy multi-millionaire, had all of the time in the world to seduce her.

She wasn’t as patient. A trickle of sweat ran down his neck, and she followed the salty trail with her tongue, down over his right pec, circling his flat male nipple and then descending a cascade of defined ab muscles to reach the waistband of his boxer shorts.

“Sloane.” He gathered her hair in his hands, piling it on her head, playing with the tendrils.

“I’ve had dreams too, Ren.” She tugged his boxer shorts down and his cock sprang toward her, as wild as the fox inside him. “And I’m making them come true.” She traced his length from the slit in his purple cockhead to his base, teasing his rim until he growled, grazing the veins with her fingernails and weighing his balls in her palm.

“Gorgeous.” She used his favorite descriptor. There was no better word. He was gorgeous. Sloane wrapped her fingers around his girth and pumped him, her grip sure. A fox shifter in his prime. And in this moment, he was hers.

She swiped her tongue over his tip and his grip on her hair tightened, pinpricks of pain covering her scalp. She smiled, taking him deeper into her mouth, sliding her tongue under his shaft.

“Christ.” Ren breathed heavily, his chest heaving. “You feel better than a dream.”

He tapped the back of her throat, and she covered the remaining shaft with her hand, covering him with warmth. He groaned; her dignified shifter groaned, the animalistic sound making her pussy drip. His skin shimmered with moisture, his thighs slick.

She bobbed her head, sucking as she filled her mouth with cock. He rocked into her. Sweat streamed down her back, running between her ass cheeks. Her hair stuck to her face. She was so hot, so unbelievably hot, and her knees ached, but she couldn’t, wouldn’t stop. She’d waited months for this, and she wouldn’t be satisfied until she tasted his high-class cum.

What would it taste like? She worked his cock with determination as he rammed into her mouth harder and harder, his cockhead slamming against her, his hands twisting in her hair. Would he taste like coffee? Her lips curved around him, amused at the thought.

“Sloane, love.” His knees shook against her. “Sloane.” He pulled at her hair using his shifter strength to try to displace her.

Hurts. She plucked at his balls in retaliation and he yelped, a shudder rolling up his lean form.

“Sloane.” He panted. “I’m going to –”

Of course, he was going to. That was the plan. She wasn’t wasting a drop of him. She drew his shaft deep inside her mouth, tilting her head back to take more of him, sealed her lips around him and sucked hard.

“Yes!” He thrust his hips forward, pushing her backward, and spurted long, hard jets of hot, salty cum down her throat. She gripped his ass, digging her fingernails into his flesh, holding onto him as he struggled to get free, his shoulders shaking with bone-deep tremors.

Sloane sucked him dry, savoring his unique flavor, his essence, and he slowly quieted, petting her messy mass of hair, his touch soothing her.

She released him with a pop and grinned. She could get another job, but nothing would replace that experience. “That’s the real thing, Ren. How did I compare to your dreams?”

“Christ, Sloane.” He dropped to his knees, the boards bending with the impact. “There was no comparison. You’re much, much better, unbelievably better.” He cupped her face and smacked her lips. “But you’re melting.” He unstuck a tendril from her cheek. “I’m melting. We need to cool down. Care for a roll in the snow?”

She looked down. It was one thing for Ren to see her but for his staff, his guests…”Not in human form.” Fur covered all crimes.

“No, not in human form.” His eyes glinted.