Page 12 of Big Bad Wolf

Later, I’ll tell myself I was so stunned by his fucking audacity that that’s the only reason why I let him lick away for as long as I did. His tongue is hot, and the way he laps at my entrance before nuzzling my pussy, nibbling and licking and doing everything he can to find the source of my taste has me forgetting for a second that I didn’t agree to oral with a wolf-man.

In fact, I’m so stunned, all I can remember are the warnings from the village council. About how I’d have to be careful because the beasts of Blackmoor are hungry, and if I wasn’t careful, they would want to eat me.

This guy? He wants to eat me out, and I… I don’t push him away at first.

That’s the part that should worry me.

Oh, no. It’s not the mammoth size of him, not the claws, not the fact that I’m pinned in place by something that was a wolf a few minutes ago and is now whatever the hell this is… nope, it’s the fact that, when his mouth goes wild, when his tongue presses hot and deliberate against my skin, my body doesn’t immediately go into full fight mode in an attempt to get away from him.

Even more notably, given my past, I don’t freeze, either. Way too many times in my life, I’ve just gone still and taken whatever a guy wanted to do to me. I learned early on that it was dangerous and, well, pointless to fight back. Survive, Char. That’s what I had to do, whether that meant playing along and pretending I was into him so he’d get it over with faster, or disassociating until it was over and I could hop in the shower to get clean again.

Then, when I grew up, if anyone ever tried to touch me without my consent, I’d go from easy-going, laidback Charlotte Linden to someone with a temper that matched the color of her hair. It’s like the time one of the bullies in high school had targeted Goldie. He made me snap, and I ended up breaking his nose with a lunch tray.

Don’t fuck with those I care about, and don’t try to make me do something I don’t want to do and we’ll get along fine.

And that… that’s the problem. Because the way that the wolf-man is all but devouring my pussy, I can’t say that I don’t want him to. In fact, I hesitated with the first lick, told myself I accepted the second and the third because, hello, werewolf, but it isn’t until I realize that I’m actually into this, that I’m actually squirming, getting close to coming all over his fucking fangs… because, shit, Charlotte, he has fangs… that I finally let my head take control instead of my libido.

After all, I don’t think I was really serious when I stood with Sandy in that room and decided that I would be willing to fuck a monster if that’s what it took to get my wish. I mean, if I have to, I’m sure I could, but not without a fight first.

And I really, really don’t think I want to fight a werewolf. Too bad that’s the rational side of Charlotte Linden talking. Yeah. I don’t listen to her all that often which is why I finally react the way I do.

Maybe it’s not the smartest move in the world, but I kick him in his back with my heel, trying not to cry out when that hurts. Damn it, he really might be carved out of stone for how muscular and hard he is, and I don’t just mean the erection that says ‘peekaboo’ when he rears back, leaving my pussy unsatisfied and my legs spread wide open.

I close them, glaring up at the confused look on his notably shiny face.

I refuse to be embarrassed that he buried his mouth against me and I left enough of my juices on his face to gloss up his chin. Call it body betrayal all you want, but when you have a tongue like that going at you, it’ll happen.

And, if he has it his way, it’ll happen again.

Before I can tell him to get away from me, he attempts to dive back in. He slips his hand between my thighs, ready to push them apart, when I slap the back of his furry hand with my palm.

“What do you think you’re doing?” I snap. “No. Stop it!”

He takes his hand back. And then he says, “Wolf,” like that explains everything.

Yeah. I know. He was a wolf before, he’s a wolf-man now, and I’m not about to let a werewolf get me off just because he’s decided that he found me in the woods so now he can do whatever he wants to me.

I hold up my hand. “Stay back, Fido. Keep your distance.”

His brow furrows. He points at his chest. “Wolf is Wolf.” Leaning forward, he lays his palm against one of my tits. “Red is Red.”

I slap his hand again. “Name’s Charlotte. And stop groping me. I don’t know who you are or what you are, but this… none of this… is okay. Got me?”

“Why?” he asks.

Is he kidding me?

I blink at him.

“Wolf has waited so long to find out how Red tastes.” He licks his lips, eyes flashing a bright gold that I’m pretty sure I can’t blame on the fireplace. “She is delicious. Wolf wants more.”

“That’s…” I swallow, trying to get my thoughts to line up into something coherent while my pulse is still racing for entirely different reasons. What he could do with that tongue… “That’s not how this works.”

He watches me, head tilted slightly, waiting for me to either explain or say ‘fuck it’, fall back into the pile of blankets again, and let him taste away.

I figure it’s a good sign that he isn’t just taking what he wants now that I pushed him away. Maybe consent is a new concept for a man who spends most of his time as a wolf in an enchanted forest, but if there’s one thing I can do, it’s let him know that I’m not the type of woman to let a strange wolf-man give her head because he’s horny and she’s… well, okay, once he had his tongue on me, I was a little horny, too.

What’s wrong with me? I should be whimpering in the corner, terrified. When I was lying next to a wolf, I was, but once he turned into something much closer to a man… I guess it makes sense that, when you think about it, I much preferred Beast to Prince Adam in Beauty and the Beast.