Now, I felt his hands on me again, rising up the backs of my legs, starting at my ankles, stroking past my calves, tickling the back of my knees as they passed, on along the smooth length of my thighs to land on the firm cheeks of my ass, caressing, squeezing, exploring every part of my backside. Cupping the cheeks, he drew me forward to him, pulling me toward his giving mouth and holding me as I writhed against the intense pleasure that welled up as his tongue now slipped inside me.
I clutched at Clarke’s head, drawing my nails across his scalp in aching frustration at what he was doing to me, then tugging at him, as if I wanted his whole damn head inside me. What I wanted was more, more, more; more of him, more of his amazing tongue. I wanted all of him at once to satisfy the burning and sudden lust that consumed me, even if it killed me. But Clarke was careful and slow and considered, eking out the pleasure in manageable portions, drip-feeding ecstasy into my desperate body, keeping my desire whetted to a sharp edge as his tongue, questing ever deeper, discovered new worlds of ripe pleasure within me.
“Oh, oh, oh…” I gasped as little bubbles of orgasm seemed to pop in my loins as Clarke located and attacked a particularly sensitive spot. My toes curled in the lush grass of the riverbank and I clutched at my own breasts, squeezing the firm mounds between my fingers, trying to heighten my own seething arousal.
“Ah!” Without warning, Clarke had pulled back to rub the rough side of his tongue across my clit.
My legs gave out beneath me but Clarke caught me as I crumbled to the ground, easily supporting my tumbling weight in his strong arms. He laid me out on the soft grass, silhouetted above me like a god. He stared down at me, his eyes burning with need as if I was a banquet laid out before him. My eyes traced down the muscular lines of his superb body to where his hard cock jutted out from his hips, the longest I had ever seen, waiting its turn. I rubbed the ball of my foot along its straining length and watched it leap up with urgent desire. But that desire was to be denied for at least a little longer yet as Clarke’s head descended once more and he buried his face in my burning flesh.
I groaned as his tongue went back to work, swirling in my liquid tunnel, scouring out my insides, while his lips were mashed right up against me. Sometimes he pulled back to kiss, lap and nibble at me, or tweak my clit into sharp arousal with his tongue.
His hands had now slid up my body as I undulated on the ground, discovering every curve, every crease, every contour, every dimple, every scar; wanting to know every inch of me like a blind man. His touch was gentle but firm, teasing but masculine, and a light flush sprang up across my skin wherever he went, his fingers pinching, probing, delving and stroking, lighting me up like a Christmas tree till I seemed to glow pink with arousal. Perhaps inevitably, it was on my breasts that he finally settled, his strong fingers weighing and stroking me, tweaking the nipples, then growing rougher.
The combination of this manual stimulation above and the unending tongue-lashing down below soon had me writhing helplessly against him.
I dug my nails into the ground, clawed at Clarke’s head and shoulders, and finally wrapped my legs about his head, holding him to me as his mouth took me to the pinnacle of ecstasy.
I cried out as the dam burst and a searing wave of orgasm burst through me. I threw my hips up and down, rubbing myself against his face, while he did his best to hold me steady – fighting a losing battle.
It was one of those wonderful, all-encompassing orgasms, where it feels as if your whole body is coming, erupting or flowering into a rainbow explosion of sensation. I rolled my hips in time with the spasms of my climax, finally letting my legs drop, freeing Clarke, though he continued to lap at me, stringing out my orgasm as long as he could, tending to my sated body. I just lay there, soaking up the last aftershocks and bathing in the light of an early morning, and the lightness of my heady orgasm.
As I lay there, enjoying the feel of a light breeze on my naked body, I felt Clarke begin to move up my body. His kisses had now moved from my core and were trespassing higher, up my belly, lingering on my breasts, up my neck to find my mouth. I sucked at his tongue, enjoying the wicked tang of my own juices on him, and our eyes met. To look at Clarke’s face was to see sheer perfection of male beauty, to look into his eyes was to see something else. Something that made me flutter inside my tummy and wonder at what life might have in store in the future.
It was also something that pushed aside all thoughts of exhaustion. I wanted more. Reaching between our bodies, I found the hard, long length of Clarke’s cock bouncing stiffly with arousal. There was no need for words, I simply kissed Clarke on the lips as I guided his towering erection between my legs.
We sighed together as he pushed in, thrusting into my slick wetness as easily as a hot knife through warm butter.
“Oh, Clarke…” I murmured as his hips settled against mine. I could feel him right up inside me, deeper than any man had ever gone.
“Bailey.” There was an almost surprise in his whispered response – was this really happening to him? And with a werewolf?
We kissed again, and again, neither of us feeling the need for anything more, neither of us feeling the need to move just yet. Even in this static state, I felt a breathless rush of sensation steal through me. Just the feel of him inside me, hard and so very long, was enough to set me off.
“Are you okay?” he asked. “Your face went all funny for a minute there.”
I laughed. “I think I just came again.”
“Wow,” he kissed me, “I must be good.”
I kissed him back. “Can we take it slowly. I want to feel every moment.”
And I did. As Clarke began to move inside me, it seemed to send out ripples from my center to every part of my body. These ripples of pleasure made my toes curl and my fingers tingle, I felt the bliss in the roots of my hair and at the backs of my eyes. My whole body was dappled with the sweetness of sex.
Continuing to kiss me at regular intervals, as if he could not get enough of my lips, Clarke pulled back, his cock slowly leaving me, inch by inch, till only the throbbing head remained. Then, without a breath of pause, as if it were all one continuous movement, he slid back into me at the same leisurely pace, feeding that impressive length back into my greedy hole till his hips crushed against mine, at which point, again without a beat, he began to pull out once more. I held his hips in my hands as they executed these slow, unctuous circles, moving like the pistons of some lost machine of the Industrial Revolution. In his face, I could see the strength and self-control necessary, to hold back the way he was, and yet I could see the pleasure, too, the pleasure of making it last, of relishing every caress of my clinging pussy on his hardened organ, of eking out a moment’s pleasure into long, delicious minutes.
For myself, the pleasure was exquisite. I loved being pounded to a bed, but this was something else, something sharp in its beauty, a pleasure that penetrated like a needle and yet seemed everlasting. And to have all that while looking into Clarke’s eyes made it still more special. I did not know where the sexual thrill ended and the intimacy of man and woman – a whole other kind of pleasure – began. The two mingled and created their own intensity. The fact that it was Clarke, lovely, beautiful, brave Clarke who was stirring up this wild excitement in my pleasure-wracked body, made that pleasure all the more perfect.
I don’t know if I came during that long period of achingly slow love-making. I suppose I must have, but my body was in such a state of constant pleasure that it was hard to measure it in degrees. Perhaps it was all one long, slow orgasm, drawn out to an impossible extent by Clarke’s slow, loving movements. I lost all sense of time and place as we made love there beneath the clear blue sky – there was nothing in the world but the soft grass beneath me, the gorgeous man above, and the acres of unstoppable pleasure that radiated out from me, voiding my mind so I felt like I was hearing color and seeing sensation.
As we went on, even Clarke’s iron-cast self-control began to falter. I could hear the stress in his b
reathing, see it in his face and the slight trembling of his limbs as he fought against the needs of his own body in his desire to pleasure me. I could not be selfish to the man who had already given me so much. I folded my arms about his neck and looped a leg over his hips, drawing him hard against me and ending that unending cycle of in and out.
“Darling, now,” I breathed as I drew him to me.
The knowledge that he was on the home straight and would soon have the reward he had long been promised and long denied, seemed to fuel Clarke with fresh strength. I felt his muscles tighten against me, and inside I felt his cock grow to still greater dimensions with a fresh rush of blood for the final push. Clarke ground his hips against me and I bit at the dark skin of his face, the pleasure inside me that had been slow and drip-fed, now seemed fiercer, like a stream widening to a torrent. Clarke’s muscles bulged as he took his weight to pull out and thrust in sharply, hard enough to smack his hips into mine.
“Yes,” I growled at the new shock of sensation, shifting up a gear. “Yes.”
Clarke began ramming into me, not aggressive but firm, knocking the wind from my lungs with each stroke, his muscular body gauging and matching my needs. I grabbed his churning hips, digging in my nails and urging him on. Wrapping my legs about his torso, I clung to him, riding him from beneath, reveling in each deep penetration of his hard cock. All those ripples of pleasure that had seemed to radiate from my core during our long love-making now seemed to return, converging on that same spot, pouring wave after wave of undulating pleasure into my frustrated pussy up to and beyond the point of endurance. My impending orgasm seemed to me like a balloon, blown up beyond its capacity, desperate to pop, yet still swelling. I lurched my body against Clarke as he fucked me harder and harder, my teeth clamped against my screaming but muffled squeals, forcing their way out as I frantically fought to claim my final climax.
Clarke cried out as, unable to hold back any longer, he exploded inside me, his long cock jetting its payload deep inside my body.
That was all I needed. The balloon burst.
I cried out violently, and Clarke continued to ride his cock in and out of me as I thrashed on the ground, caught in the throes of an unbelievable come. I suppose I must have blacked out for a moment, as I have no coherent memories. Except for pleasure. I felt every stab of ecstasy that Clarke wrought from my body.
I clung to him, wanting every last shred that he had to give, but also just wanting to touch him, to know he was there, and wanting him to share in the moment with me.
Chapter 15
Thankfully, the area of the river Clarke had chosen to bathe was not a busy one and was well secluded from the rest of the village – presumably why he had decided to go there – so even now we were finished, neither of us felt any need or desire to move. We remained then, lying on the grassy bank, our chests still heaving from our recent exertions, our bodies lightly sheened with sweat from the sex and the sun in which we now basked. These days, werewolves keep their nudity mostly to the indoors, and I felt I was getting a taste of what my forebears must have enjoyed, rolling over onto my back, parting my legs and letting the heat of the sun play across my skin, finding out my most intimate areas. The sun seemed brighter out here in the country, it never seemed this bright in the city, or perhaps it all depended on who you were with.
Clarke laid a hand on my belly and without a word I rolled towards him. We met halfway, both on our sides, kissing deeply, pressed against each other, still enjoying that almost magical sensation of bare skin on bare skin. My hand stole down between our bodies to cup his still-semi-erect cock, enjoying the feel of it in my hand.
After a little more touching, and some readjusting of position, we moved around so I was curled into Clarke’s body. He put his arms about me, his hands resting protectively against my belly. I closed my eyes, just appreciating the intimacy of this moment in these peaceful surroundings.
“I wasn’t expecting that,” murmured Clarke into my ear. It was the first thing either of us had said.
“Me neither,” I replied, softly.
“Don’t really know what to make of it.”
“Do we have to make anything of it?” I asked. “It was what it was.”
“What was it?”
“It was beautiful.”
He kissed me deeply. “I really wish I’d said that.”
I didn’t want to talk. However beautiful it had been and however wonderful this moment was, neither was made to last. His people hated me and all my people with a passion, and my sleeping with humans had made me a target for assassins and turned pack against pack. Romeo and Juliet had nothing on us.
Besides, I didn’t do relationships. I had seen what happened in relationships, and however perfect were the men I had discovered of late, I was not changing my mind. Besides, there were three of them and that wasn’t how humans did things. And I couldn’t choose between them. Best to just enjoy the moment.
I didn’t want to speak. I didn’t want to think. I wanted to bask in the beauty of the moment in the brilliance of the sun.
But as we basked, the peace of the morning was shattered by a scream.
“What was that?” Clarke was on his feet in a heartbeat and tugging his shorts on.
“It came from down there.” With a werewolf’s lack of modesty, I didn’t stop for clothes, but just ran down the riverbank in the direction from which the scream had come. I could hear Clarke behind me, his honed strength matching my natural werewolf speed.
As I rounded a massive tree, marking a bend in the river, another scream rang out. There in front of me, a human girl, no more than ten years old, lay on the ground, with blood on her face. Looming over her was a wolf. It roared at her as it lunged forward for the kill. I didn’t hesitate – I’ve never moved faster in my life.
I sprang forward, shifting form as I went and fastening my teeth onto the strange wolf’s throat. It snarled in angry pain and clawed at my body but I fought back viciously, kicking my legs hard into its belly, my claws digging in and making it howl. It thrashed violently and I was thrown, hitting the ground and rolling back up into a standing position. Now, I got a better look at my adversary; a male wolf, grey and shaggy, a sharp contrast to my thick, russet hair.
It snarled at me, I snarled back, and we sprang at each other once more, claws slashing, jaws snapping. I felt a hot streak of pain across my side as his claws found me, but the pain just spurred me on. Ducking beneath his guard, I leapt upwards, taking him by the throat once more and knocking him over backwards with my momentum so we both tumbled into the river. Water filled my nostrils and was tinged pink in my vision as blood flowed from the wolf’s neck. It struggled and thrashed against me, desperate to breathe but I held on, even though my own lungs were bursting, too. The wolf gave a final jerk, life leaving it in a spasm. I let go of its neck and flung my head up to draw in air, changing back into human form as I went, suddenly very aware of the pain in my side where the wolf’s claws had found their mark.
But as I stood up from the water and turned back to the bank, I found that more people had joined us. Clarke was looking after the little girl, but behind him and around him, lining the bank, the Wolf Takers of Hobton stood, staring at me with a mixture of disbelief and dislike.
I wanted to say something. Maybe something like ‘I saved the kid, what more do you want’. But they probably all thought that I was the one who had brought this other wolf into their midst. They may have been right. And even were it not for that, it wouldn’t matter. I was a werewolf, that was all that mattered. I was condemned by what I was.
A woman pushed her way through the crowd and snatched the girl from Clarke’s arms. “Come on, Amelia.”
The little girl, more shocked than badly hurt, looked back at me where I still stood in the water. “Thank you.”
But her mother grabbed her face, turning it away from me. “Don’t speak to it.”
One by one, the Wolf Takers started to leave, all glaring at me as they left, man
y of them shoulder barging Clarke on their way past him. I suppose I should have been grateful that they hadn’t killed me, but I just felt sick, sad and lost. I had been rejected by the community that yesterday had welcomed me, simply because of what I was. More than that, I had caused Clarke to suffer the same rejection – someone who had been one of them for all of his life was now ostracized. When he had first introduced me, they had all assumed that we were together, and that assumption had most likely not altered. Whatever the opposite of a man-bitch was, that was how they now saw Clarke.
It had never occurred to me that it could cut both ways. That a human might be as rejected for taking a werewolf lover as I had been for taking human lovers. Whichever way it cut from, prejudice was an ugly shadow that could make good people do bad things. Perhaps I couldn’t blame the people of Hobton, they had not seen what I had seen, they had not gotten to spend time with wolves as my guys had. The seclusion of their existence here was a double-edged sword that left them isolated from experience, relying on traditions passed down from a time when things were very different.
I looked down at the bloody corpse of the wolf I had just killed. Then again, maybe things weren’t as different now as I would have liked to think.
It had been such a good morning up to that point.
“There are wild wolves out there,” said Clarke. “And they do attack villages from time to time.”
“Wolf Taker villages?” I asked, skeptically.
“It must happen.”
When we had walked back to Clarke’s house, a group of Wolf Takers had been gathered outside. They did not try to stop us as we entered – they said nothing and did nothing. They were still there now as afternoon wore into evening, watching the house. A silent protest against my presence? A condemnation of what Clarke had done and what he had brought into their community? Or were they keeping watch on me, making sure I did not revert to my violent nature – as I surely would at some point – and kill them all as they slept. Like all prejudice, the one that governed Hobton was routed in fear.
Her Forbidden Harem Page 11