Page 6 of Rescued

My hand trails over his neck, slipping through the thick coat of fur. It’s unexpectedly soft, silky even, despite the dirt and grime. My fingers move instinctively, burying into the dense warmth and skimming over the hard muscle underneath.

“How can something so smooth and soft be part of a big, tough wolf like you?” I murmur, almost to myself. “You’re a study in contrasts, aren’t you?”

He lets out a low rumble, and I pause, my fingers hovering over his fur. The sound isn’t a growl—it’s something deeper, more resonant. It reminds me of contentment, almost like a dog’s version of a purr.

“You like that, huh?” I ask, my voice light as I keep stroking him.

The wolf shifts closer, and I feel his warmth seep through my jeans. His head lifts again, this time to rest against my lap. It’s such a trusting gesture, one that takes me by surprise. A dull ache settles in my chest as I watch him, my hand still tangled in his fur.

Without thinking, I sit down fully, leaning back against the wall. The wolf doesn’t move, his head heavy on my thigh. “Don’t blame you, buddy,” I say, my voice dropping to a murmur. “Everyone needs to be petted every now and then.”

Another low rumble echoes through the quiet room, and I can’t help but smile. The bond between us feels unshakable already, though I know how dangerous it is to let myself feel this way. Releasing him back into the wild, where he belongs, is inevitable. But the thought already twists something deep inside me.

“Not gonna worry about that right now,” I mutter, my voice husky with sleep.

I glance down, catching the way his body shivers under my hand. Is it my voice causing that, or just a reflex? Either way, I keep stroking him, moving my fingers more slowly now. The heat of his fur and the steady rhythm of his breathing pull at me, dragging me under.

“S’okay, buddy,” I murmur, my words slurring slightly. “We’ll figure out a name for you…”

My fingers still, sinking into the wolf’s coat. Sleep takes over before I can resist, creeping in slow and seductive until I can’t hold my eyes open any longer.

When I wake, pain stabs through my body with enough force to make me groan. My hand is still buried in the wolf’s fur, warm and comforting against my palm. But it’s my other hand that sends heat flooding to my cheeks—it’s pressing against the front of my jeans, stroking the hardness beneath.

Dreams of a man with dark hair and golden-brown eyes flash through my mind. His hands had been warm, rough in the best way, drowning me in a haze of desire.

“Jesus,” I mutter, yanking my hand away from my cock. The pressure lingers, hot and needy, and I grind my palm against it once more before shoving myself upright.

The wolf’s head lifts, his amber gaze watching me steadily. There’s no judgment in those eyes, but the intensity of his stare feels like a spotlight on my unraveled state.

“Not a word,” I say to him, half joking as I step toward the bathroom. But the heat of that dream, and the way those eyes seem to follow me even now, make my chest feel tight all over again.

Muttering under my breath and walking with a decidedly uncomfortable gait, I check the IV hooked up to the wolf one last time. Everything looks fine—the slow, steady drip doing its job. The wolf is calm, his body still except for the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest.

But me? I’m far from calm.

I can’t get the dream out of my head. Those golden-brown eyes, the dark hair, the feeling of another man’s touch on me—it’s all so vivid, so real. My body feels like it’s on fire, and there’s no way this erection is going away on its own. Not anytime soon.

I head for the shower, my hand already moving to the button of my jeans. The heat between my legs feels unbearable, the images from the dream replaying in my mind, sharper and hotter with every step. By the time I’m in the bathroom, the zipper’s down, and I’ve got my cock in hand, hard and aching for release.

Stepping into the shower, I groan as the lukewarm water splashes over my skin. It’s not cold enough to calm me down, and I’m not sure I want it to. Closing my eyes, I let the dream take over.

The man’s face is hazy, but his presence is seared into me. I imagine his hand sliding over my shaft, firm but smooth, his thumb pressing against the sensitive slit at the tip. My own hand mimics the motion, and a shiver races down my spine as I grip myself.

In my mind, his lips replace his hand. Full, firm, and perfect, they glide over me, and I gasp, my hips jerking forward as if I can push deeper into the phantom sensation.

A groan escapes me as I lean against the wall, my free hand trailing down my back. My fingers slide into my crease, seeking the hidden opening there. When I find it, my middle finger presses against the tight muscle, tapping experimentally. A spark of pleasure shoots through me, sharp and electric, making my knees buckle.

I moan, louder this time, as the tip of my finger breaches my hole. Heat floods through my body, radiating from my ass to my cock, building higher and higher. My hips thrust forward erratically, my hand pumping faster along my shaft, the pre-cum and water lubricating my way as I squeeze my cock and twist my wrist to add more friction. Sensation shoots from my groin into my legs and my thigh muscles clench, my hips thrust forward as my balls pull up tight and I jerk my fist hard and fast.

My orgasm hits me like a freight train.

My back arches, my mouth falling open in a hoarse yell as pleasure detonates through me. My cock pulses in my hand, thick, creamy ropes of cum spilling out and splattering against the tiles before the water washes them away.

I slump against the wall, gasping for breath as the last waves of my orgasm fade. The euphoria is brief, giving way to an aching emptiness that settles low in my stomach.

I watch the water carry the evidence of my release down the drain, the whirlpool pulling it out of sight, and I feel a pang of something I can’t name.

What’swrongwith me?

---