Page 1 of Werewolf Heart

Chapter 1

Robert

Her smell overwhelms the flat.

It’s in the living room, the sofa, the blankets, in the damn pantry, when the dishes soak or the stove is on—it’s there. Even the hall is submerged with the scent of perfume and peeled oranges.

Everything is Sara and everything consumes him.

Worst of all, it doesn’t disgust Robert. Her smell is nothing like overfilled bins, exhaust fumes, or sweaty running men. It’s appealing. Appetising. Much like grass after rain, sweet apples, freshly washed clothes. Comforting. Sara’s smell is comforting. Inviting. Which drives Robert to imagine things he shouldn’t.

It starts out innocent enough: waking up next to her, catching a whiff of peach shampoo, feeling her dark curls hit his face. But then his imagination starts to step out of line.

Robert imagines kissing her cheek, sweet and lazily. His hands wandering down her hips, caressing her thighs. He pictures bitting her dark skin. The sound of Sara whimpering. Robert soothing her pain with an indulgent lick over her neck, pressing a wet kiss over the bite. Lips would travel to her freckled shoulder while his hand reached under her shirt, finding her breasts. He’d caress them in a soft manner, at first. Then he’d pinch her nipple just as his other hand got under her knickers. Robert imagines the wetness he’d find there. Then he’d finally kiss Sara’s mouth, swallowing all her needy sounds. Their tongues touching as one single finger pressed inside her. He can almost feel the sensation of covering her cunt, massaging her clit, how she’d become wetter by the second. The young man gets especially hard thinking of the sounds her pussy would make as he pressed on. Robert wants to taste her—more and more.

In this particular fantasy, he licks his fingers clean, and makes Sara taste herself on his tongue. His nose would move down to her centre. Robert would lick over her panties, slow, lingering. He’d moan at the taste.

“Rob,” he imagines Sara gasping above him. “Rob, Rob, please.”

(He could never deny her anything.)

The young man would swipe the knickers to the side and finally taste her whole. Robert pictures it perfectly: his tongue savouring her juices, tracing her folds at his leisure, lips covering her clit and then suck. God, he can see it now. Her hands grabbing hold of his red curls. She would pull on his hair as his kisses became more intense. His tongue twirling her clit to spell out his name; sucking till all she could think of and feel was him.

Robert imagines her legs closing over his head. How she’d cry out his name. Hips hitching up up as she found release.

He thinks of Sara drained and sweaty, chest heaving, but still smiling down at him. Her hands caressing his hair, his cheeks. Robert wants Sara to look at him as he bites the inside of her thigh. He wants her fixed gaze as he kisses her sensitive pussy, take his cock out and pump it in his hand, flick her swollen clit—Robert wants Sara’s eyes on him as he breaches her. He wants to see her. Her smile, her pout—by God, he wants to smell her skin as he brings her to a second climax.

But Robert comes in his boxers, alone.

For almost a month now, he has been repeatedly wanking off to the thought of his best friend.

It’s a big fucking problem.

Robert can’t want Sara.

Sara has been his friend for the past ten years, his partner in his crime, his confidant—he just can’t!

Now, Robert Allen is not a creep; despite his more perverted thoughts. It’s really not his fault. Truly. This type of compulsion only started after he got bit.

All began simple enough: the young man didn’t step on his foot as much, didn’t drop mugs or pens or forgot where he was going, his sense of orientation and space became much sharper. At first, Robert thought it was just a symptom of a near death experience. Then he didn’t need his glasses anymore. The day after? Broke a door while boarding the tube. And later that week, Robert bought several packets of beef, only to ravish them all as soon as he stepped foot into the flat.

He soon realised something was not quite right. There, in the middle of the floor, sobbing and munching on a rare steak. Sara found him like that. The young man was astonished how easily she took everything.

“Alright,” she said, picking up the rubbish from the floor. “Let’s get you cleaned up and figure out this wereshit, yeah?”

His roommate had always been like that. So nonchalant and laid-back, he was almost jealous. Later on, Robert realised it was Sara grounding him when his anxiety got a bit too much. She had him shower, get dressed, then cooked the rest of the steaks and made Robert eat with her at the dinner table. He told her everything.

“I was at my cousin’s wedding,” he explained, chomping down at the food in front of him. “You’ve met her, long brown hair, kind of a prat? Anyway, she invited my mum, so I had to go. It was in Scotland, in one of those outdoor posh places. I got tired of all the backhanded comments so I told them I was going out for a smoke. Walked a bit, finished about three cigarettes, and that’s when whatever it was, attacked me. It was large, and it bit really hard at my shoulder. I must have been close to passing out because at first I thought it was some big dog. It sounded like one, at least. Honestly, everything happened so quickly. One second, it had me pinned on the ground, trying to gnaw at my arm, the next I stuck my thumb into his right eye and he let me go. Of course I fled right away.”

His cousin had been pissed at him. Practically threw a tantrum at the sight of him, screamed he was messing everything up, and that her wedding had been ruined. Robert is not one to hold grudges, but he felt pretty satisfied as he saw her newlywed husband scolding her like a child. Her shocked face was almost worth a visit to the hospital. Almost.

“My mum called for an ambulance,” he continued. “They patched me up, vaccinated me for rabies, and I was free to go. Then… Then the weird things started happening.”

“Jesus Christ, Rob,” she sighed, hands fidgety. “Why didn’t you tell me this before?”

His eyes drifted downward, one shoulder shrugging in guilt. “I didn’t want to worry you.”

“Rob, you— you’re such an idiot!”

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