Page 23 of A Wulver for the Week

“God. Please?”

“You might not like the way the wolfman does it,” I point out, knowing my tongue and muzzle will do more than just lick and kiss. I’ll fuck her thoroughly with my long, angular nose and mouth, pounding against her pussy until she comes. Or maybe I’ll just lap her juices up like only I can, my long, flexible tongue fitting into nooks and crannies no human tongue can find. And my teeth...

I bite down softly on the plump, padded lips of her pussy, wondering if it’s always bikini bald.

“What the hell?” Minerva gasps, but her voice isn’t angry, just surprised. She groans in a good way as I slip my tongue across her folds, then repeats her question when I caress her from her slit to her clit without even moving my head. “You have a freakishly long tongue, Craig. No offense.”

“And I can’t wait to use it on you. I want to taste every drop of you. I have wanted to for a long, long time.”

“You have?” Her hands grip my ears, and I pray she won’t suddenly decide to investigate what they are. Let her think I have two peaks in my hair that got extremely over-gelled.

“Don’t ask me any questions you don’t want the answers to,” I say sternly. The best course of action is not to let her speak at all. I need to steal her breath, her words, her sounds—I want them all for myself.

Don’t be a selfish lover, Craig.

But if what I want is all of her pleasure, is that selfish?

Can’t think. Don’t know. Don’t care.

My tongue dives in and finds salt and sweet, heavenly nectar that coats and sticks to my tongue, that slicks down my fur as I push and dive, wanting to fuck her opening with my tongue but stopping short. I move up an inch or two and find a thick, hidden nub the size of a pea, so small until I suck on it, moving my mouth as if it were a tiny cock. I bob my head and circle my tongue, sucking more and more of her into my mouth until her thighs lock around my shoulders.

PLEASE DON’T LET MEwake up. Please, please, please. I want this.

I wanthim.“Want you. Craig, I need you.”

“Good. You have me.”

“Not just for the week, baby,” I tug on his hair, and he only delves deeper into my snatch. Something firm slides into me. His thumb? Too big, too long. It stretches me, but only just past the opening. And then I feel the tongue lapping and flicking inside, combining with... Whatever it is.

But when I close my eyes, I know.

It’s the wolf’s mouth. Muzzle. Whatever.

So I’m dreaming. Because Craig isn’t a wolfman.

Because those things don’t exist.

“You can have me forever, pet. I believe the phrase is ‘forever and a day,’ but we’ll make it forever and a week. A week plus eternity, Minerva.”

I’ve never liked my weird, archaic-sounding name before, but when he says it, it’s full of brogue and rumble and growl, and I whimper and arch my hips up.

He pins me back down, and I feel his smooth, hairless palms. No paws. Not a wolfman. Not a dream. I’m drunk. Something’s wrong with my brain.

He starts sucking on my clit while forcing my thighs apart and up so that my knees hit my chest. I tug my nipples hard, milking them the way his mouth is stroking my clit, with rhythmic abandon.

Nothing has ever felt like this. Men I’ve been with have done this; some have been good at it, and a few have been great. No one has ever been in Craig’s league.

There’s a different intensity, like I’m a meal and this in itself is the goal, not a stop on the way.

When I come, I bite down on my own arm, softly, to muffle the scream.

And reality rushes back. I just got eaten like I was a starving man’s last meal by my new best friend, just down the beach from my entire family.

What if someone heard? Or saw?

And did Craig actually say he wants me forever?

While I’m still exposed and shaking, he scoops me up and brushes me off before hefting me in his arms like I weigh nothing. “What are we doing?”

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