Illuminating His Bear by Charlie Richards

Chapter Six

Resting his forearms on the shower wall, Congo pressed his head to the cool stone between them. He stood still, relishing the feel of the hot water cascading over him. His mind still played flashes of his memories behind his eyelids, and he struggled to put everything into perspective.

Free. Well, as free as I can be until these blasted spells are broken.

Just as Madagascar had said. Better than nothing.

Feeling Zhaul’s hands land on his back, Congo jolted.

“Easy, my mate,” Zhaul crooned into his ear. “Just taking care of you.”

Congo would have countered—he couldn’t remember the last time he hadn’t been the one caring for someone else—but Zhaul’s soapy fingers massaging his tense back felt too damn good. Plus, they helped to banish his memories, giving him something else to focus on.

My mate.

After years of torture, Fate had blessed Congo with a mate—someone to give him a reason to combat the darkness of his dreams, the guilt of his memories. He knew Zhaul had faced his own trials in order to stand beside him, and he hated that, but life had a way of circling around.

Feeling Zhaul dig his fingertips into a particularly tight muscle, Congo groaned and arched. He hissed and pushed into the touch. His mate didn’t disappoint, working the tender area until his tension eased.

“There you go, my mate,” Zhaul rumbled, pressing a kiss to his nape. “We’ll get you all relaxed before I take you to bed and fuck you.”

Congo barked a laugh and peered over his shoulder at the other bear shifter. His mate was almost as big as him, maybe an inch shy of his own six-foot-four height. His shoulders were wide, and his body strong.

What would being pounded by this man feel like?

“Never done that before,” Congo admitted, meeting Zhaul’s gaze. That was when he spotted the teasing light in his mate’s eyes. “Zhaul?”

Grinning, Zhaul leaned forward and pecked a kiss to Congo’s cheek. “I guessed that.” Then he rolled his eyes. “Or if you had, it’d been a really, really long time ago.” Waggling his eyebrows, Zhaul purred huskily. “You’re in luck. I’m a switch.” Then his eyes narrowed. “I’ll have your ass someday, but tonight, I think you need to be in mine.”

Congo’s breath caught in his throat. His cock went from flaccid to throbbing in less than a second. The reallocation of blood nearly caused him to swoon, and he knew it was a damn good thing he’d been leaning against the wall or he would have embarrassed himself.

As it was, Congo could think of little else than getting to the bed in the adjoining room as swiftly as possible.

“Relax, my mate,” Zhaul rumbled into his ear, nuzzling his cheek against Congo’s neck to push his long, wet hair out of the way. Before Zhaul began nibbling down his neck, he crooned, “We’ll get to that very soon. First, let me make you more comfortable.” His mate nipped at his earlobe before whispering, “I know how much I adored my first hot shower after months without. Let me give this to you.”

Sighing, Congo nodded. “Thank you.”

Zhaul’s words reminded him that his mate understood. As much as their need perfumed the air, his panda shifter would never begrudge him the simple joy of a shower. Instead, Zhaul made it an even more euphoric experience.

Congo pressed into each massaging touch, which caused goose bumps to break out on his skin. His lover’s strong fingers soothed away knots that had been there… forever. The heat of his palms was nothing compared to the scrape of his nails, spreading tingles over every nerve ending.

Delicious. Sensual. Mind-blowing.

By the time Zhaul had finished cleaning Congo from top to bottom—including washing and conditioning his hair, twice—Congo felt like a puddle of goo. Well, other than his aching cock. His erection twitched in time with his heartbeat, and Congo’s mouth watered for another taste of Zhaul’s beyond incredible blood.

Except, when Zhaul turned off the water and urged him from the shower, he didn’t lead him straight to the bed. He wrapped a towel around him, drying him in slow, sensual strokes. Then Zhaul guided him to the sink where he handed over a toothbrush covered in toothpaste.

“Brush,” Zhaul urged softly. “While I set up.”

Confused, Congo asked, “Set up?”

Zhaul nodded as he turned on the hot water. “It’ll just take a minute.”

While still confused—and hornier than hell—Congo did as his mate bid. He brushed his teeth—which, really, he knew was a good idea. As he cleaned his mouth for the first time in years, he anticipated kissing his mate.

Of course he wants me to brush.

Once Congo finished, he set the brush aside. He cupped his hands under the water and splashed it over his mouth. Doing that twice more, he cleared away all traces of paste from his beard. As Congo patted dry his way-too-bushy whiskers, he glanced around for a razor but didn’t see one.

Making a mental note to ask for one later, Congo headed out of the bathroom. He stopped, surprise filling him—and… gratefulness.

Zhaul had placed what appeared to be a rolling office chair on top of several spread-out towels. On the nearby dresser, he’d laid out a number of items—a pair of scissors, a pot of cream, a straight razor, a bowl of water, and a couple of piles of towels.

Smiling, Zhaul encouraged, “Have a seat.”

It seemed his mate wasn’t done pampering him.

Crossing to the chair, Congo settled in it, grateful for the towel Zhaul had thoughtfully draped over it, since his ass was still bare. He felt Zhaul lower the chair, obviously adjusting him to the height he wanted. Then his mate hurried around and lifted his feet onto a low stool, causing Congo to tip back in the chair.

Once Zhaul seemed to have Congo situated the way he wanted him, he grabbed another towel and draped it around his chest and shoulders. Standing over him, he held up the pair of scissors. “How short do you usually keep it?” he asked, eyeing his beard. Meeting his gaze, he added, “Or do you normally go clean-shaven?”

Congo smiled up at Zhaul. “I haven’t gone clean-shaven since I was sixteen,” he admitted with a chuckle. “Of course, that was back in eighteen-twenty, so…” With a wink, Congo told him, “Just a little longer than yours.”

While Congo loved the feel of Zhaul’s closely shorn, barely-there beard rubbing against his cheeks and lips, he preferred a bit more length on his cheeks.

“Sculpted or not?” Zhaul questioned as he began snipping the too-long hairs around Congo’s cheeks. His fingers gently pushed Congo’s head this way and that.

Relaxing under his mate’s ministrations, Congo murmured, “I’ll let you decide, my mate. Do what you want with me.”

Congo couldn’t remember the last time he hadn’t shaved himself, and the novel experience—plus the fact that it was his mate who’d thought to take such fantastic care of him—felt like the best kind of pampering.

“Okay, with your dark skin and strong jawline, I’m going to go with lightly sculpted,” Zhaul told him, his voice coming out just as soft.

Then no words were needed.

When Zhaul was finished with the scissors, he rubbed cream around the edges of Congo’s face, urging him to tip his head back. Allowing his eyes to slide shut, Congo put his faith in his mate as the other man began sliding the blade across his flesh. As Zhaul slid the sharp edge along the skin of Congo’s neck, he petted him lightly, as if to soothe, to reassure.

But Congo had absolute faith in the shifter Fate had chosen for him. His mate’s hand wouldn’t slip. Even if it did, one lick and the nick would be sealed by his mate’s saliva.

Hell, that might even feel good. After all, biting sure does.

Congo smiled at his thoughts, and Zhaul cautioned him. “Stay still, my mate,” he whispered, rubbing his thumb over Congo’s Adam’s apple. Just as quietly, he lifted the blade and asked, “What has you smiling so?”

Smiling wider, Congo cracked an eyelid open and peered up at Zhaul. “Feels good,” he told him softly. “Thank you for taking care of me.”

Congo couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so… cared for.

Zhaul smiled back down at him. “It’s my pleasure.” Dipping his head, Zhaul pressed a chaste kiss to his lips before straightening and returning to his shaving.

Sighing, Congo allowed his eyelid to slip closed again and reveled in the exquisite sensation of his mate’s gentle hands on him.

When Zhaul finally wiped Congo’s face and told him, “There. Finished,” he’d damn near fallen asleep.

Of course, that didn’t mean his erection had softened one iota. Not even feeling the blade at his throat had deflated him. Instead, Congo’s need had only built, despite the alternate kind of bliss Zhaul had offered him.

Congo opened his eyes to see Zhaul smiling uncertainly at him. Huh? Zhaul was also holding up a mirror. Oh, of course.

Realizing Zhaul worried about what Congo would think about his shaving job, he peered at his reflection, ready to offer his mate’s reassurances. His words stuck in his throat.

When Congo had been in the bathroom, he hadn’t taken a real good look at himself. Once he’d spotted the slightly tired, haunted look in his eyes and the bushy beard, he hadn’t cared to look further. Now, however, while there were still fatigue-lines around his eyes, Congo saw affection in his eyes, instead. Zhaul’s attentions had done that, given him a sense of peace.

The expertly trimmed beard was just the icing on the cake.

Snapping his focus back to Zhaul, Congo rose to his feet. He saw his mate shift from foot to foot, clearly worried. Deciding that wouldn’t do at all, Congo cradled Zhaul’s cheeks between his palms.

“Damn, babe,” Congo rumbled. “You’re amazing.”

Then Congo sealed his lips over Zhaul’s and took the kiss he so desperately wanted. He thrust his tongue past his mate’s lips, demanding entrance. His mate didn’t seem to mind, for he opened instantly.

Congo slid one hand to Zhaul’s nape, threading his fingers through his still-wet hair. He lowered his other arm to band it around his mate’s waist. Taking the kiss deep, Congo explored his lover as he brought his mate’s body flush against his own.

Feeling the towel between them, the one Zhaul had wrapped around his own waist at some point, Congo decided it had to go. As he slid his tongue against Zhaul’s, he gripped the towel’s edge and tugged, freeing it. He mapped Zhaul’s mouth in slow, languorous licks while dropping the offending fabric to the floor.

When Congo returned his palm to Zhaul’s backside, he landed it on his mate’s ass. He squeezed the firm round flesh and tightened his hold again, causing their naked bodies to press together from knees to shoulders. He felt Zhaul’s hands on his back, telling him his mate had set the mirror down at some point, but he didn’t care when or where.

Instead, as Congo ate at Zhaul’s mouth and rocked his hips, rutting against his mate’s answering thickness, all he cared about was the man in his arms and how he wanted to return the pleasure his mate had given him.

Breaking the kiss, Congo sucked in a ragged breath. He stared at Zhaul, carnal hunger surging through him upon seeing his mate’s flushed cheeks, kiss-swollen lips, and heavy-lidded eyes.

“You’re gorgeous,” Congo rumbled gruffly. “And I want you. I want to make you mine.”

Be-spelled or not, Congo couldn’t resist taking what Fate had deemed his, and Zhaul was all his.

Relief surged through Congo when Zhaul gasped, “Yes. Gods, yes. I’m yours.”

“Mine.”

Then Congo gripped Zhaul’s hips, lifted his mate, and tossed him to the middle of the bed.