by Casey Morgan
She raises her eyebrow at me, as the young man slated to play Edward messes with his costume. He fiddles with his stiff jacket and cravat.
“Revisions to?” Sarah asks.
“This exact part of the play,” I answer, feeling somewhere in between exhausted and manic. “I revised it.” I say this, handing the stack of papers to her. As I do, I lock eyes with the actor for Edward, and the one for Dora respectively and say, “Sorry. Didn’t have the time or energy to make copies of what I just finished writing, so you both will have to share.” I pause, using that moment to take a seat in one of the theater chairs, one of the closest ones to the stage and cross my legs neatly. “Put your best into it, regardless. I expect the emotions to be there.”
Both of my actors nod, but it’s obvious they are taken aback by such a quick change. And to such a massive part of the play. But I’m not sorry. That’s part of the creative process. Sometimes things change, and they change irrevocably. They change until they’re virtually unrecognizable.
But sometimes that’s for the better, I think, and settle in to watch them perform. As I do, Cole decides to take a seat. He chooses a chair a few seats over from where I am. Not that it makes much difference. His aura suffocates me anyway. It taunts me, as if it knows what it’s putting me through and doesn’t care.
Minutes pass of nothing but my actors reading frantically through the pages trying to get their bearings. I witness this, and it irritates me, but I let them take the time. I give them a bit longer, before demanding that they start and work through the dialogue as they go.
Edward has the first speaking line in my new line of thinking — and he starts off with it. It’s unsure and slow. Which is fine, since that is the way the dialogue is supposed to be delivered.
Even though I just wrote these words, I can’t help but mouth along with them. I also can’t help but notice the way Cole is looking at me. It’s like he’s a hungry predator in hunky man’s clothing. As Dora begins her speaking part, I see Cole smile at me. He shows me his teeth, but now they look hungry, longer or sharper. His smile is mischievous and amused.
It sends a chill through my body, equal parts fear and attraction, but I don’t show him anything on my face. I keep my attention trained on the stage in front of me, on the work happening there.
The scene progresses, with Dora stating proudly and surely that she feels that what she did was right. She followed her own mind and intends to do so more. She doesn’t want to obey Edward’s every command. She is a proud werewolf and an intelligent woman. She doesn’t need to be dominated by him.
Now it seems it’s Cole’s turn to stiffen, to bristle a bit in his seat, as if I’m touching a nerve. He glances at me with anxiety in his eyes.
The delivery continues. The back-and-forth lines continue, all the way through this buildup. Edward promises to throw Dora out for her insubordination, to be done with her once and for all. She begs and pleads with her werewolf lover to have pity. She asks him to be kinder in what he asks for- proof of her loyalty and love, but her husband and alpha is not swayed.
The alpha says that he is being kind, in the way of the wolves; to be part of the pack it to obey the alpha, the leader who know what is best for all. He gives love in return for that obedience. It is not done lightly, nor should it be done with just anyone.
Dora replies that she does love Edward. She does seek to live with him in peace and in prosperity, but she doesn’t see what any of that has to do with taking the life of the Christmas present thief. I’m mouthing along still and am happy to hear tears and sorrow in the voice of Dora— in the actor playing her.
I am pleased also to hear the anger and frustration echoed in the voice of her husband— his actor, and just the right way. As these words are spoken, I see Cole trembling in his seat. He’s gripping the armrests so hard in fact, that they’ve begun to splinter and crack a bit. But as they do, he relaxes his hold. Yet, he is still shaking and wearing an expression between rage and devouring guilt.
That scene ends with a huge fight ensuing. It portrays the struggle that both the husband and wife go through during the fight trying to convince themselves that they are right, and the other is wrong. They try to pretend they don’t need each other or their foolishness. The delivery of this part and the others after it, goes smoothly. As flawlessly as can be expected, given that the actors are dealing with completely new material.
But there comes a snag. And it’s just as the most important scene in the second act has rolled around: Edward listens to the pleading of his wife and tries to give her one more chance. He listens to her reasoning for disobeying him but tries to convince her that she is thinking like a human, not a werewolf.
It’s Edward’ actor, that starts to bring the whole scene down. He’s not delivering his lines with enough force, energy or passion. He doesn’t have enough fire. I’m about to stop the scene in the middle of it. I’m about to stop him in his dialogue, make him do it over again, when Cole stands up and does it for me. He walks right up to the stage and pulls himself on it.
“No, no, no,” he says, taking the stack of papers from the actor playing Edward. “You cannot deliver those lines like that. You cannot use no energy or soul when delivering this speech. This is not something Edward is unsure of. He knows what he wants. He wants his wife to understand that what he is doing it the best for them both. He is trying to keep them safe and their future family safe from humanity. This is very important.” Cole straightens his shoulders, pops out his chest a little. He raises his chin and continues, “That must be delivered like this.”
From that moment on, the whole energy shifts. The moment Cole starts delivering those lines, it’s no longer just words on the page. It’s not a play anymore. It’s a performance. It becomes a living breathing reproduction of my visions. A representation of those nauseating spirals of emotion that I’ve been plagued by all day and all afternoon, even while writing.
All of those words cease to be two-dimensional and start to be powerful bits of static. They become hungry unpredictable magic, capable of conjuring something beyond everyday life. I feel it in the tingling, numb sensations all over my body. In my mind and heart, as if this whole theater and my whole existence up until this point has been an illusion.
Unceasingly, Cole reads the lines. He releases them from some area of his heart. He is not even looking at the page, or the other actors. He’s looking directly at me as he delivers those words. Lines that have now shifted from a threat delivered to his mate to a call for her love and understanding. He speaks a reminder to her about all they have and all they have to lose.
“Dora,” he says, “do not let them tame you. Do not let the rules of the humans control you. Tie you down. Intimidate you into dying away. Do not let them chase you into the shadows anymore, Dora. Listen to me. You are not a helpless, powerless human. You are a wolf!”
Through these lines and more, I’m left speechless. As is the rest of the assembled crew. More have joined, but I’m barely noticing. I’m feeling awoken. I’m stirred up in ways and in parts of myself I have no name for.
But, if I thought it couldn’t get any more that way, I’m horribly, foolishly mistaken. As Cole finishes that scene and rockets forward into others— into parts where he has to act like he’s being wrapped up in ropes, snarling and fighting to save his beloved, I’m emotionally and spiritually eviscerated. I’m taken to a place in myself that blisters with love and sorrow.
I clutch my own armrests now, overcome with the tightness in my chest and throat. Especially when I hear him call out for me— I mean Dora’s actor— and I can’t think or breathe. And then that’s where things get weird.
I feel like I’m going to pass out or drop out of myself somehow and begin witnessing a full-on vision. Not a vision of the actors on a stage, but of myself and Cole. I’m alone with him in a house we share. Like Edward, Cole begs me to remember my true self, the one who jumps and runs with the wind. He wants me to remember the wild part of me tha
t wants him, that wants to give all of myself to him.
“Stop fighting me. Stop denying me, Dora. You’ve hidden yourself away. You blocked yourself into a human, suffering existence to try to escape the pain. But you’ve only created more. And what’s worse, you’ve created confusion. A splintering within yourself,” Cole explains. “Stop fighting me. Stop fighting who you are. What we are together, and what we can be, if you stop being ruled by the rules of the humans. Stop being ruled by fear.”
The more and more I hear the lines of the play filtering in, the more I’m engulfed by this. I’m devoured by it, with no end in sight. Until Cole switches the dialogue. He stops struggling in his chains and looks directly at me. Not the “me” he is fighting to protect in this scene, but the “me” watching and caught in desire. He begins to speak directly to me, going completely off script.
“There’s my good, sweet girl, Dora. Don’t fight it anymore. Don’t fight me. Embrace the wolf that has been born in you. Embrace her. Embrace your love for me and sever your chains. Escape your binds, knowing that nothing and no one can hold you. Give into me, my love,” he pants. “Let me see all of you. Let me have all of you!”
Chapter 11
Ava
Before I even know what’s hit me, I’m running through the auditorium doors, through the lobby, and to a backstage entrance. I dash through the dusty and dim hallways that wrap around the back of the theater; hallways I’ve never been through before, but I now seem to know like the back of my hand. I can hear Cole right behind me; his steps causing me to be anxious and excited all at the same time.
The feelings that encapsulated me while I was sitting and watching the play be rehearsed seemed so real. But it wasn’t just the lust, it was the moment that Cole started speaking to me, that’s when everything kicked into overdrive. My fear of my desire kicked me onto my feet. It has me running still. Running for an empty space in the theater; a place where nothing and no one will interrupt us.
I’m feeling strange as I run. Somehow, I feel like myself, and yet not. Like I’m out of my body in one way, and yet, I’ve never been more in my skin.
I duck around the corner, and then into a large room I vaguely remember is being used as storage for materials and props. It’s dark and cool, but I feel hot. I feel encapsulated by Cole’s aura. But I also know that he is purposely hanging back. He’s waiting in the hall. Somehow, I know he could overtake me, capture me and make me his at any moment, but he’s choosing not to.
He’s choosing to let me set the pace, to let me draw him to where I want him. As I move further into this storage area, I feel the familiar desire for him. A familiar yearning and fitful hunger for him to take my virginity. The same feeling that touched me the first time we met. A feeling that seems bigger and wilder than anything I have ever felt before.
As I step into the dark storage room more, leaning myself against a table still strewn with construction paper, garland, ornaments, paints and inks left over from our opening ceremony. I know he’s at the doorway without even turning around. I feel Cole moving toward me, slinking into the dimness behind me, even without looking at him.
Then suddenly, Cole is there. He’s right in front of me, stalking me. His eyes blazing in the dark. He threads through the shadows like he owns them, like they are a lover and a friend, not an enemy or a nightmare waiting to happen. His amber eyes pin me to the spot, glowing softly, and I find it hard to breathe, but I’m not afraid anymore.
Somehow, I’m happy. I’m thankful to him for stealing my will to run from him. He steals the breath from me, breath I should use to yell at him and turn him away.
I want him. I need him, I realize, backing myself up against more of the table, not caring when I knock almost everything on it over. He will be the one to fill my emptiness, to make my loneliness go away. I gasp as he moves closer. It makes my body tingle and tremble. I jump backward, like I’m really made of liquid stars, not human flesh and bone.
He doesn’t say anything. Just continues to close the distance between us, until his hand is on my cheek. Then on my chin, grasping gently at my neck.
I’ve always been searching for a master, I realize. I’ve yearned to be dominated, and even if I don’t understand any of this, I’m not going to stop him. If he wants himself inside of me, I’ll let him.
Cole leans in, kissing me lightly on my lips. The light in his amber eyes glitters thoughtfully, as if he’s just read my mind.
I’ll let him take me. I’ll let him possess and control me however he wishes. Fill me until I have no room left for anything but him. It’s what I’ve been yearning for.
I scoot back and prop myself up on the table, shaking for his touch. His eyes meet mine and something crosses the gap between us. He stalks towards me and takes me in his arms. One of his hands slides into my hair, yanking my head up and back so that my lips meet his. His kiss is hungry. He sucks, licks and bites my mouth, as I grab his chin and feel the stubble on his face scrape against my fingers.
His lips trace kisses down my face, along my jaw and to my neck, where he sucks my skin and tickles it with his tongue. His caresses urge on my desire and I moan, then reach up and burry my hands in his soft, brown hair so I can pull his body tighter against me. When he is closer, I wrap my legs around his waist. My pussy is wet beneath my jeans; I grind it into his muscular abs and down over the bulge of his cock. It twitches and stiffens beneath me.
“I’m a virgin,” I whisper into Cole’s ear. “I want you to have me.”
His whole body tenses at my words and he bites hard onto my neck. The pain adds to my desire, causing me to thrust my hips harder against him. He drops his hands from my hair and finds the seem of my sweatshirt. He pulls it quickly, urgently, over my head exposing my breasts in only my black bra.
Cole runs his eyes over my boobs. He stands stunned in appreciation, then slowly reaches a hand up and runs it around the curve of my left breast. His fingers trace a pattern on my skin before following the edge of the bra to the back, so he can unclasp it. The material comes free and my nipples harden in the cool air. I’m bare-chested before a man; it’s something I’ve never done before.
Sensing my apprehension, Cole pulls off his own shirt letting me see the muscles of his chest and abs. They are so defined. I reach a hand out and trace the lines of his eight-pack and then down to his belt. As if he can sense my silent bidding, he undoes the clasp of his belt and pulls down his jeans and boxes. His cock springs free of it’s confines, hard like a spear.
Cole kicks off his clothes and stands before me. He looks like he is seeking my approval, but there are no words for the beauty of his body. In answer, I pull off my own jeans. But, my hands catch when I reach for my panties. This will be my first time nude in front of a man. It scares me and excites me.
Cole raises an eyebrow at me. It’s a silent question, asking if I need to stop. I turn to him and reach out for his hands. When he clasps his hands in mine, I guide them to the flimsy pink fabric that covers my pussy. This is the start of my gift to him. I want him to take off this last barrier between us. Two of his fingers wrap in the satin and he pulls my panties down and off my legs. He puts them to his nose for a minute, smells them eagerly, then drops them to the floor.
My breath comes in pants. I scoot forward on the table till my butt cheeks are just at the edge and spread my legs. Cole positions himself between my legs and rubs his cockhead on my lower lips. He teases me open. As I get wetter and wetter, the tip of his cock sinks inside my folds and into the entrance of my waiting pussy, which is aching and ready.
I gasp in his ear, my whole body tight as a wire.
He pushes in, filling me to the core. The moment of penetration is breathless, inexhaustible, and indescribable. It’s beyond anything I could’ve ever dreamt of or prepared for. I feel like I’m floating beyond time and space. In that moment, I’m out of myself and free. Physically, I’m feeling stretched and pressed to my limitations, into my walls, both physically and spiritually. I f
eel pressure and tightness building in one part of me, and joy and freedom building in another.
Through all this, I’m aware of Cole’s cock filling me, thrusting in and out. He’s pushing past my insecurities as well as my secret desires and moving into the heart of me, into the center of my hunger and lust. As I feel him packing my pussy full of thick, hard cock at a measured, and practiced pace, I quiver. I began to melt into a puddle around him.
He pumps his length into me, causing desire and delight to follow. They skitter up and down my stomach and back, deepening my hunger and my madness. I revel in the thrill of him, even as I’m melting quicker, faster and more completely with each move of his hips, each thrust of him deep into my pussy.
But it’s when he grabs me around the hips with his thick, strong hands, that I cry out. I almost collapse completely back against the desk. For a moment, my breathing threatens to give out as he pummels me harder and faster with his penis. As it moves in and out of me, I don’t feel pain, only an escalating, electric aching. The twisting and turning of my tummy in excitement, sets my body’s on fire. My hands and face are marked with sweat, and I’m vaguely aware of some drool seeping out of my gasping, tender mouth. But I’m quickly getting too delirious to pay attention to such things.
Cole, as it is, has yanked up my hips and legs from their near collapse. He sets my ankles up against his shoulders and rights me in front of him again, my legs braced up against his hard abs. He drives in and out of me, my ass being slapped by his pelvis and balls. He rams me hard and fast against him, as if I’m a bad, bad girl, who he has just been waiting to punish this completely.
His increased movement in my pussy sends off strings of pinching and pressure along my folds, and then deep inside, against my cervix, the farthest I can take him. The aching blooms and blossoms into my ribs, between my stomach and back, and makes me lust for his domination even more. I growl at him to push me down and keep me from floating away.