Page 11 of Big Bad Wolf

I clear my throat and say the first thing that pops into my stunned brain.

“What big eyes you have…” I hear myself squeak because apparently my current coping mechanism is to point out the obvious even when I’m facing off against a fucking werewolf.

His head tilts, listening to me. From this angle, I can’t miss the fangs.

“What big fangs you have… and claws…”

My gaze drops even lower, going from the flexed fingers at his side down to his⁠—

Oh.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” I breathe out. “What a big dick you have.”

I’m no shy virgin. Years of therapy, dealing with the way I lost my virginity to a foster dad when I was only ten years old, taught me that I could bury my sexuality deep inside of me or I could embrace it. For most of my teens, I figured it was going to happen whether or not I wanted it to, and I thought of sex as any other bodily function: eating, drinking, taking a shit. It was only after I aged out of the system and got a therapist that wasn’t sanctioned by the state that I decided I would have sex because I wanted to, not because I was available.

Is it healthy that I tried to fuck the memory of all those unwanted touches away by seeking out men I chose? Probably not. Then again, it probably wasn’t a healthy coping mechanism for me to rely on magic and the promise of a wish to find someone who loved me, not just for my body, but because I’m Charlotte Linden and I’m pretty fucking amazing at more than just fucking.

So, yeah, I’ve seen my fair share of dicks. Touched them and tasted them and wondered how I’d fit them inside me, too, but when I have a ten-inch monster dick connected to a real monster almost at eye-level, it’s no wonder I can’t help but point out how fucking big it is.

Shit. He’s not even hard yet, either, though the way his dick is stirring with my eyes on it… yeah, he’s getting there.

Look away, Char. Look away⁠—

He drops to his knees in front of me. On the one hand, now I don’t have to stare at his cock any more. On the other, there’s no doubt that he had a reason for bringing me here, and now that I know he can turn into a wolf-man at will, it doesn’t take a genius to figure out what that reason is.

I gulp, and he reaches out a claw to me.

“Red,” he growls.

My heart skips a beat.

Most of my life, people have taken one look at my ruby-red hair and decided that my name shouldn’t be Charlotte, it should be Red. It wasn’t worth the argument and, eventually, I gave in and accepted the nickname. It was something else I had in common with Goldie. Almost no one called her by her prissy first name, choosing to refer to her as Goldie instead because of her golden curls.

But how does he know that?

More importantly, he can talk? He can speak English? Does that mean he’s understood everything I’ve said in front of him?

Well, I hope so. “My name isn’t Red,” I tell him, sounding braver than I feel. “It’s Charlotte.”

His eyes flash. “Red,” he repeats. “Mine.”

Excuse me?

Mine…

Before I can demand the wolf-man tell me what he means by that, he moves, and he moves so quickly, there’s no time for me to react before he’s gripped me by my ankles, dragging me into the middle of the blanket pile. I’m flat on my back, his big body weighing down on mine as his head dips, his nose brushing along my neck again, inhaling deeply as if he can’t get enough of my scent.

My hands come up instinctively, bracing against his chest. I have the sudden urge to put a few inches between us before he crushes me, but while the wolf-man obviously has no concept of personal space, he’s careful to keep his full weight off of me.

Oh, no. He just uses his inhuman strength to pin me down so there’s no escaping him.

Yeah. That doesn’t work for me.

I slap him on the chest, smacking his nipple. “Hey, you! You don’t—” My voice catches as he shifts his position, scooting down while trailing his nose down my middle. “What are you… no. You don’t get to just⁠—”

He’s not listening to me. As though he’s on a quest and he just reached his destination, he grabs each of my thighs with one of his big ol’ paws, shoves them apart before I can start kicking, and buries his nose against my pussy.

Sometime during his determined exploration, the black nightgown shimmied up enough that the red curls covering my cunt are on display. Without panties, there’s nothing stopping him from following his nose to the juncture between my legs the same way he did when he was a four-legged beast. Now, with two legs and two hands, he uses those hands to toss my legs over his shoulders, gripping my thighs again before reacquainting my body with his tongue.