knock.

Knowing the state of the roads, you’re surprised that anyone is out today and you approach the door with curiosity.

Door opened, just a bit, and the man standing in the gray world outside offers a small, but real, smile.

You know who it is. But you wait.

“He could hear you.” he says.

“Who?” you ask.

“The wolf.” He steps up to the door and you are opening it without thought, too startled to think of a reply. In fact, in the time it takes for you to bring your thoughts back together, the door is closed behind him and his fingers are under chin, lifting your eyes to his and exposing your throat.

His next words are spoken against the slender heat along the pulse in your neck, his lips so close they taste the warmth and breathe it back out as words. “He heard your heartbeat. ” He nips your throat, “Here.” and then his hand rests lightly on your hip only and to trail down to your thighs, “and here.”

And then there is no room for words, or thoughts, or anything but his fingers finding ways to open you, to expose your skin. Jeans undone, shirt drawn up, it takes minutes, seconds, too fast, too right, and his lips are on your skin, really on your skin, and he doesn’t have to speak the words for you to feel his hunger. He slides to one knee, hooking your leg over his shoulder, and he draws your panties aside, his head tilted up to draw you in, to drink you, his tongue finding your clit, a pearl between his lips, and he teases until your fingers find his hair to grip.

He stops.

But only to stand, to turn you around, bracing your hands against the wall, two fingers buried expertly between your thighs, his free hand on your hip, firmly tilting you to let his fingers drive in deeper. But it’s not enough, the wolf demands more and his fingers are replaced with something that throbs to his own heartbeat; you are impaled, driven closer to the wall, and this is just a start, a single thrust that becomes two, three, six and then there are no numbers, just skin and the moment you both find release.

Finally, you breathe.

2 thoughts on “knock.”

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