Page 18 of A Wulver for the Week

But I don’t because I’m not a bastard; I’m mostly a gentleman. I pour lotion into my palm and rub it into her shoulders, working my way down as I explain what I’m doing, and what muscle groups I’m targeting.

Minnie moans and the sounds go straight to my cock, making me swallow a whimper. “The neighbors will think you’re having a wonderful time,” I chuckle as she lets out a long, low cry of pleasure.

“I am, oh God. Goo-ooo-d.” The one-syllable breaks into three drawn-out ones, and Minnie reaches back and grabs for my hand. “Best. Man. Ever.”

“Oh, if only you knew.”

“That you’re not the best? Liar.”

That I’m not a man. Not exactly.“Thank you, my fair maiden.”

She wriggles her bottom, and I decided to risk life and limb by straddling her thighs. “This way I can lean into my stroke, and put more pressure on these knots you’re carrying,” I explain, trying not to think about the knotI’mcarrying and how I’m inches away from where I want it to be.

“You’re spoiling me. Why?”

Her question scares me, and I press down too hard, making her moan a squeak. “Sorry! Uh. Why not? I like you.”

“I like you.”

“Thank you.”

“But this is a whole other level of spoiling. This is beyond nice. Is it because I got you this great vacation? Because if it is, you can stop. I know the trappings are great—” she stopsto yawn, and I feel her muscles shudder and calm, turning into pudding under my hands, “but they don’t make up for the constant scrutiny by my relatives.”

“Hush. I’m enjoying every second. Especially these seconds. Alone with you.”

“Mmm. That’s sweet. You’re sweet, Craig.”

“So are you.”

Then, there’s nothing. Just slow, even breathing. Minnie is asleep, and I’m a little disappointed and a good deal relieved. I brush my teeth and crawl into bed beside her.

9: Beach Day

I’m running down the beach, bouncing like a bikini-clad centerfold. The sky is warm and sunny one second and cold and moonlit the next. My pink bikini is blood red, and so is the cape I’m wearing.

Little Red Riding Hood.

Only something catches my cape and yanks me to the sand, landing on my hands and knees.

I crane my neck to look back over my shoulder I see a dark gray-black wolf with golden, glittering eyes and a hungry smile. “What do you want?” I demand, struggling to get free.

Paws are on my back. Massaging. My knees give out and I sprawl, face down.

Craig?

Craig is no wolf! He’s a kind, gentle soul.

“What do you want, Minerva?” The guttural, growling voice has an accent that I know.

But it’s not him. It’s not him.

“Who are you?” I gasp, managing to turn over. The paws plant themselves on my shoulders now.

“That’s the wrong line. You don’t ask questions. You tell me what you want,” he repeats, the hungry smile so much broader now, a lolling pink tongue in the center.

“What big teeth you have,” I whisper.

“All the better to eat you with, my dear. If you want me to... go down?”

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