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Summer's Lease

On his first night renting a cottage on the Cornish coast, widower John Tennant comes face to face with, of all things, a grizzly bear. Fearing for his life, John tries to convince the animal he isn't worth eating, and is relieved when the bear ambles away.<br><br>Maintenance man Mitch Benjamin is two hundred years old but doesn’t look a day over forty. As a werebear, he needs to stay under the radar. The new renter is making that difficult. Not only is John attractive, but his vulnerability triggers all of Mitch’s protective instincts. If that wasn’t trouble enough, Mitch is struggling with his inner bear’s desire to befriend John. He knows what his bear is up to, but Mitch doesn’t want another mate. His last one was murdered ninety years ago, and he’s still grieving.<br><br>John is confused by Mitch’s mixed signals. Physically, Mitch -- with his bulging muscles and hulking frame -- is a gay man’s wet dream come true. But emotionally, he keeps closing down. John discovers more comfort with the magnificent grizzly bear he occasionally meets on his evening walks along the beach.<br><br>In an effort to help, Morwenna, the owner of the cottages, uses her psychic gifts to give John a message from his dead lover, George. Far from helping, it adds another layer of strangeness to what’s already turning out to be the strangest summer John can remember.<br><br>Can a well-meaning medium and a determined grizzly bring John and Mitch together? Will Mitch come clean about his werebear nature? If he does, can John accept that a man and bear exist in the same body?

Drew Hunt · LGBT+
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90 Chs

Chapter 18

He wouldn’t have time to varnish the piece before leaving for John’s, but he could still show it to the man, explaining he’d finish it and return it in a couple of days. Mitch knew he didn’t have to take the guy anything, but his mom had raised him right. Okay, he could admit the crib was probably a bit much, but he soothed that feeling away with the thought that he had nothing else he could take.

Mitch had been surprised at his pleasure upon hearing John’s comments about his chairs in the tourist store. He’d watched with quiet pride as the man’s fingers had caressed the polished wood. Recalling the scene now, Mitch grew hard, wishing those fingers had been stroking him instead.

“Fuck,” Mitch said aloud, his wood plane halfway through its stroke. “That crap Morwenna’s had me drinking isn’t working.” He finished and went into his kitchen to drink down the rest of the concoction.