Just a Wolf

Dominic

All three of us walk Corinne down to the room in the basement where she’ll be staying. Amelia seems very apologetic, even though I am sure that Corinne has never had a room this nice to herself before. Amelia brings her in while Evan and I loiter out in the hallway, watching through the door as Amelia gives her a little tour.

“There are extra blankets in the closet here,” Amelia tells her, “and the bathroom has soap and shampoo, toothbrush, toothpaste, I think probably everything you’ll need. The dresser has some clothing, just spare t-shirts and sweats, some socks and underwear, nothing fancy, but you can change into something clean after you shower.” She looks around the room, trying to think if she has forgotten anything.

Corinne is staring around in amazement. I’m sure she realizes that, since the door is getting locked and she won’t be able to leave, it actually is a jail cell, but it’s a very nice one.

Amelia says, “I’ll come back and get you in the morning for breakfast, all right? Just get a good night’s sleep. At least you’ll be inside, and safe, and it will be quiet in here.”

Corinne whispers, “Thank you. Good night.” She is clearly resigned to being confined. I hope she’s at least going to enjoy being comfortable.

Amelia joins us in the hallway, and after she has closed and locked the door, she sighs and her lip quivers. “I never thought I’d have to lock someone up,” she whispers.

Evan is unhappy too, I’m sure, since he obviously has a crush on Corinne. But he says, “Well, I’m glad she’s here, and safe, and comfortable.” But he is clearly too cranky to want to do anything else. “I’m going to pack and go to bed,” he says. He looks at me. “Don’t forget to be ready to go by 8.”

“Okay,” I tell him. I’m not happy either. We are a grumpy group tonight.

I can’t believe that I have to be away from Amelia for four nights. Four nights. How am I going to live through this? I had resolved to never be away from her again. That was before she figured out about the not-marks, though, so hopefully those’ll last us all right, but even so. Even if I’m not in pain, I’ll starve. Being with her is more important to me than eating or drinking or breathing. How can I go without?

When we get into her room, she barely has the door closed before she’s jumping on me. She pushes me with a shocking amount of strength over onto her bed, and I can’t do anything but topple over and lift my arms up, to hold her as she falls with me. She lands on top of me, and is immediately kissing me ferociously, like she wants to devour me. I’m good with that.

We don’t speak. She starts pulling on my shirt, and I yank it off and throw it to the floor, and while I’m doing that she does the same to hers. She is on me again, like a starving woman, rubbing her wonderful torso against me, her smooth skin against mine, her breasts pushed up against my chest while she kisses me. She is being so aggressive, such a wolf, that I am harder than ever. It is making me so horny, I can barely stand it.

She didn’t take the time to take off her bra, and I want to feel her breasts in my hands, so I reach around to try to unsnap the back of it, and what on earth is this. I am distracted, my fingers trying to find how this blasted thing hooks together, and I end up sort of snapping it against her, and that snaps her out of her frenzied attack on me.

She huffs out a little laugh. “I’ll do it,” she breathes against my lips, and sits up, straddling me, sitting right on my dick trying to burst out of my pants, while she reaches behind herself with both hands. The bra pops off, she shrugs it off her shoulders, and it joins our shirts on the floor.

Oh my god. Look at this. She is sitting up on top of me, a goddess in the nighttime, her breasts plump and gleaming, her arms and torso so slender, her hair flowing down across her shoulders. She leans down to kiss me, and her hair tumbles across me, tickling my face and my neck and my chest. I grab the back of her head, making her face stay connected to mine, and I drink of her wonderful flavor.

She starts to kiss down my throat, and I know that she’s aiming for her not-mark, and all of my muscles clench as she lingers there, her teeth grazing against me, stronger than before, not quite biting me, not quite marking me, and I think I feel our bond ratchet up another notch.

I can’t stand it after a couple of minutes, and I suddenly seize her waist with both hands and spin over, so I am on top, and she is trapped underneath me, and I graze my teeth against my not-mark on her throat as well.

I have an idea, too. I’ve heard of hickeys, seen the little bruises on people’s necks in high school, but I’ve never done anything like this. But I think that it might make the not-mark a little stronger. If we’re going to be apart for four days, I want to try everything I can, short of actually marking her. I’ve agreed to wait, and I will never break any promise to her. She is gasping and writhing and clutching me as I nibble on her throat, and then I put my whole mouth against her there, and start sucking in her skin, like I’m trying to drink through a straw, and I know that this will be leaving a spot on her. It’s not a mark, but it’ll be visible. Let people think whatever they want. I think this will help her.

She starts gasping, and moaning, and squealing, and it sounds just like she does when she is coming. Is this making her come? I keep sucking on her neck, and I reach one hand down to her crotch, rubbing over her pants, and it only takes a couple of seconds before I feel her buck up against me, and she shrieks, and all of her muscles tighten, and then she collapses limply onto the bed.

Wow. I stop everything I’m doing and drop down to her side and pull her onto me, while her breathing quiets and she relaxes.

“What was that?” she asks. She knows I did something different, more than just making her come.

“I think I gave you a hickey,” I say. “Let me see.” I lean back and move her a little, shifting her hair, and look at her throat. Yep. Even in the darkness, I see a red mark there, right where her not-mark is.

“Hickey?”

“Kind of a bruise. Just to show that I was there.”

“So, like an almost-mark?”

Heh. “Yeah. Better than a not-mark, I hope. If I have to be away from you for four days, I want to make sure it lasts.”

“Ohhhhh,” she breathes. “It’s called a hickey?”

“Mm-hmm.” She’s laying back down against my side again.

“More terminology,” she says.

“What?”

“You’re teaching me a whole new vocabulary, you know,” she says. She puts her hand up and starts ticking off on her fingers. “Dick, horny, come, not-mark, almost-mark, hickey.”

I laugh, just a little. “Just call me Professor Dom,” I say.

We are quiet for a while, and with our increasing bond I can tell that she is thinking hard about something, not just resting. I don’t ask her what it is, I know she’ll tell me when she’s ready.

“If you’re gone for four nights,” she finally says, “and get back on New Year’s Eve, that means that we won’t see each other until the day that we were waiting for.”

“I know.” I’ve definitely thought of that. We’re going to miss four more nights of our slow progress, four more chances to get ready before the night that we could finalize our mating. I think this is going to delay things even further. It’s part of the reason I was so grumpy when I found out. I don’t want to have to wait any longer than we have to.

She says, “I don’t want to have to wait any longer than we have to.”

Does the mate bond mean we can read each other’s minds? Well, not yet, I don’t think, but I’m glad that she’s thinking along the same lines as me. I lift my head, and look down at her. She is looking up at me, her eyes meeting mine in the darkness.

“I don’t want that to be the first time that I ever… touch you,” she says.

“You’re touching me right now,” I say, not daring to hope that she means what I think she means.

“Not how I want to,” she whispers.

“Okay,” I whisper back, and realize that she is planning to reach her hand down, maybe inside my pants. Maybe my dick is about to actually feel her fingers right on it. Oh lordy. My heart starts pounding.

I hear her breathing shakily, like she is nervous, not necessarily like she is horny. And I can feel it, sense her nervousness. I have to help her.

I take her hand in mine, gently, and slowly move it down towards my waistband, and guide her fingers just inside. I want to help her have the courage to do it. I’m about ready to explode, but I try to force myself to calm down, long enough for her to just feel a little bit of my dick.

She lets me guide her, and then I feel her fingers, the lightest touch, on the tip of my dick, and I can’t stop myself from sucking in my breath and tensing up. She circles her fingers around the tip, while it twitches and throbs, and a moan tears itself out of me, and my hips clench and I can’t stop myself from thrusting against her hand.

I’m going to die. I gasp, and twist.

She whispers, “I want to feel … all of you. Can you take off your pants?”

No man has ever shed his pants so quickly in the history of the world.

It makes her giggle a bit to watch me instantly lift my hips up off the bed and use my hands to push my pants down off of me. “Um, this too?” I ask her, my thumbs hooked under the waistband of my boxers.

“Yes,” she breathes, sounding almost scared, and in a second they are gone as well.

I stare at her as she stares at me. I know she is shocked. My dick is hard, twitching, trying to leap up into the air, trying to find her hand again. I’m sure it is a terrifying spectacle, and I want to say something funny to her about it, or make some speech about how this is the male genitalia, but I am too far gone, and I hear myself grunting with the effort of just trying to stay still.

I think she realizes that I am about ready to die, that I am so horny that I’m going to have a heart attack. First her fingers on me, and now her eyes on me, and I am naked and vulnerable and hard and excited and entirely at her mercy, and I need her so much. I have stopped breathing, just waiting for her to put me out of my misery.

She takes pity on me, and her hand comes down again to touch me, her fingers stroke along my length, and I release my breath in an explosive gasp. She grabs a bunch of tissue and hands it to me, so I know what she intends to do, and all of my muscles clench as she very gently wraps her hand around me, half exploring and half stroking, and it only takes a few seconds before I am exploding in her hand. I manage to catch it all in the tissue, and then I collapse weakly, and she wraps her arms around me, and I bury my face in her cleavage, and try to come back to life.

It doesn’t take long before I find the strength to start kissing her wonderful breasts, here right in my face, soft and full and so, so sweet. She is breathing faster. I know she has already come once, but I’m pretty sure women don’t have the same kind of limits that men do. I think it can happen again.

And, I want the same thing that she did.

“Can I,” I start asking, then realize that I should not have my face stuffed in her chest while I ask this question. I lift my head, and move up to readjust us into our usual position. I’m lying on my back, I pull her into my side, but she doesn’t lean her head down yet.

“Can you what?” she asks.

“Can I, um, touch you too?”

She nods. Fair’s fair. She moves away and stands up. Standing next to the bed, she undoes her pants, and pushes them down her hips, and wiggles out of them.

Good thing I already came, because if not I’d be doing it right now, just from this sight. She is a goddess, she is perfection, I cannot believe how incredibly beautiful her form is.

But she hops back down onto the bed, and buries her face in my shoulder, and I realize that she is… embarrassed.

The most beautiful woman ever born is embarrassed about her body.

It almost hurts me to realize this. But I only say, whispering into her hair as her head lies on my chest, “I have never seen anything so beautiful.”

She is silent.

I start moving my hand slowly down, brushing across one of her breasts, feeling her nipple as my fingers pass by, down across her stomach, lower still, until I am in new territory, past where her pants were. My fingers enter a little patch of hair, and it is soft and I want to see it but I don’t try to look. I actually have my eyes closed, trying to enjoy the sensation of my fingers exploring her body.

She is tense, but breathing quickly, and I hope she is enjoying this. I caress the hair down there, then my fingers slowly move over the little mound, and I feel the soft flesh underneath, my fingers slipping just past a little cleft, and this is the most wonderful thing I have ever touched.

She spasms, her breath hitches, and she clutches me with her fingers while I explore her.

My voice sounds husky as I say, “It is so sweet. Your pussy is the sweetest thing I have ever felt.”

I expect a reaction, I expect a sigh of passion, or a squeal of ecstasy. What I don’t expect is a giggle.

My hand stops where it is. Um…

“What?” I say. Am I doing something wrong? Why is she laughing at me? Oh my god!

She is snorting out a little laugh, as she says, “What did you just call it?”

I breathe, “Your pussy. It’s so sweet.”

“Pussy?” she says incredulously.

“Well, yeah,” I say, somewhat defensively.

“You can call that pussy, but you laughed when I called this willy?” she giggles, grasping my dick, still soft from coming earlier. It starts to grow again with her touch, though.

I sputter out a laugh. “Okay, fine, you have a point,” I grant her, then growl a little. “Now be quiet. I’m not done yet.”

She is still laughing softly, but it quickly changes to sighs and gasps when I renew what I am doing with my fingers. I start moving them back and forth through the marvelous little folds of flesh that I feel down there, her skin getting slippery the more I rub. I press my whole hand down firmly against her and she rears up against it. I roll her over onto her back, and while my hand is still busy, I go back to the almost-mark on her throat, and soon she is coming again beneath me, and it doesn’t matter that she had laughed. I love her for it, and I love her for this.