by Savage Rose
Lara took a deep breath, her slender, muscular shoulders flexing with the rise and fall of her chest, smallish breasts briefly stretching the fabric of her black t-shirt emblazoned with a worn Metallica logo. She almost had to squeeze her bright, amber eyes shut as her slender finger clicked the computer mouse. Holy shit, I just became a pauper, she thought to herself, staring at the screen. She couldn’t release that breath just yet. Below her motionless, flattish nose, the full lips of her mouth parted, entranced by the utter surrealism of that giant price tag she had just agreed to in confirming her flight to the Emerald City Comic Convention.
When she finally exhaled, her breaths came impossibly fast. She thought it reasonably possible that she might hyperventilate and fall out of her chair in the middle of the Juneau public library. After debating with herself viciously the past several months, she was fairly assured she had made a good call in finally committing to the trip, but regardless she could scarcely hear those reassurances over the mental screaming of WHAT THE HELL AM I DOING? bouncing around in her skull. She had never spent so much on herself before. But this wasn’t just about her. It was about her.
Her friend Cheri. Cherilynne Bouchard. Or Cheri Flambé, as she was known in the pin-up circuit. Or Cheri Van Pelt, as she was known from her suddenly popular werewolf romance series ‘Werever.’ That series led Lara to the online fan fiction site where she had ‘met’ Cheri almost a year ago. Nobody wrote werewolf fiction quite like Cheri, and Lara had much more than a passing interest in the subject. For that matter, she had more than a passing interest in a lot of things involving Cheri.
She had officially lost count of how many times she had browsed through those pin-up photos of her friend with thoughts that crossed the distinct line from friend into something far more carnal, but Lara was at a complete loss as to what to do with those thoughts. Except, of course, for when they goaded her into spending money she couldn’t really afford on plane tickets to Seattle to attend a comic convention of all things simply because she knew Cheri would be there.
She had tried to broach the subject of her attraction in the messages they sent back and forth practically every day, crafting their latest collaboration about seductive werewolves and the irresistible humans that tempted them to disregard pack law, but doubts and fears always kept her silent. Besides, from the emphasis Cheri put on alpha males and their insatiable boners in their little collaborative story, not to mention all the romance novels she had published… it would be ridiculous to expect her to be interested. And yet, Lara had just purchased a very expensive ticket to see her with the admittedly uncomfortable hope that it would amount to more than a very expensive heartbreak.
“Oh, I’m so screwed,” Lara muttered under her breath, raking her fingers through her cropped black hair, wishing there was a rewind button on major terrifying life decisions. But, life being decidedly unidirectional, she would have to come to terms with the plane ride to rainy Seattle in her imminent future. The thought dumped buckets of butterflies in her stomach to run rampant.
Lara sighed, barely registering as her fingers deftly typed in the familiar web address. Her high, broad cheekbones lit with pink as Cheri appeared before her on the screen in her full plus-sized pin-up glory, her outrageous curves dressed in various corsets, ruffled panties, stockings, vintage shoes, and always that amazing, intoxicating, knowing smile, as if she could see Lara and was showing off just for her. Glossy, intricately-styled, vibrantly colored hair and white lace undergarments brought out the deep, delicious chocolate of her skin, thick thighs easily the size of Lara’s entire waist just begging to be stripped of their fishnet trappings. Cleavage for DAYS, Lara couldn’t help but think, her light brown eyes locked on those luscious, too-big-to-be-believed breasts barely contained by that thin white lace bra. In every shot, Cheri looked absolutely, perfectly coiffed and poised… all save one. Lara’s favorite.
Cheri leaned back against a brick wall, giving the camera a dangerous smirk, her black leather corset crossed with buckles, ending just below those glorious, round, bare breasts. A cropped black leather jacket hid those dark, tempting nipples, and made Lara ache for more, even as she reminded herself that it was not at all appropriate to be objectifying a woman she gave so much friendship and respect to, but damn she could not resist. The woman was so damned gorgeous. Cheri’s hair was tousled in that just-been-fucked way that Lara had absolutely zero actual experience in, and yet found herself irresistibly drawn to.
Just another of the many reasons she had totally screwed herself over in this harebrained decision to fly out to meet her writing partner. She was a virgin, even at what she felt was the ripe old age of 23, when every single other person she knew had at least one tally mark carved into their respective headboards. She was a lesbian, at least as far as she could tell in her inexperienced state, and Cheri seemed incredibly, undeniably straight if her focus on writing about big alpha wolfmen wielding giant, juggernaut dicks was any hint. Aaand she was a werewolf. Yeah, she was so screwed. And not in any of the ways she wanted to be.
Of course, if she hadn’t been a werewolf, she likely would never have batted an eye at Cheri Van Pelt’s werewolf romance series. She would never have known that amidst the sea of overdone, ridiculous werewolf-worshipping tripe being unleashed upon the mindless consumers was one series that rang almost frighteningly true. That was what drew her in, she couldn’t deny it. And once she was in, she was hooked. She already owned each of the 3 romances, both hard and softbound, and had tracked the author down via the web, discovering the fan fic site and the pin-up modeling… Hooked.
All that had been attraction, of course. Very deep, strong, and likely hormonal attraction. But it was when she wrote her first tentative foray into the fan fiction in that world Cheri had written that was so like her own that she lost herself. She hadn’t expected the actual author to reply. Even if Cheri Van Pelt wasn’t a household name, per se, she wasn’t doing poorly for herself in a market inundated with paranormal beasts and their human lovers, and with such success Lara simply assumed came a general disregard for connecting on a personal level with fan fiction. Boy, had she been wrong.
“You write like you’ve just stepped out of ‘Werever!’” Cheri had sent her in a private message, making Lara’s heart jerk against her rib cage haphazardly. “Would you be interested in collaborating with me on a little project for the series?” She had added a cute little pink heart just after her question mark. Lara had wanted so badly to write something impressive, or witty, or at least charmingly awkward, but all she could manage was a blunt “Sure.” She had spent the next day feeling like a girl waiting at home for the cute boy to call, not that she’d ever experienced that either.
Cheri watched her motionlessly from the pin-up photo on the computer screen, the smirk on those plump, full lips just begging to be kissed, that sexy, mussy purple hair causing a familiar heat to build between Lara’s toned thighs. They’d never talked in person. Not that Cheri hadn’t wanted to— she’d actually suggested it several times, but Lara had found herself too frightened that she would lose control of her tongue if she heard the voice that went with that incredible body, dear heart, and far-too-insightful mind. And now they would be meeting. In person. In the flesh. The thought made her breath catch.
They had been sending messages back and forth for nearly a year, so it wasn’t like they were strangers. They hadn’t spent all that time drafting wolfy exchanges between characters, after all. She had been able to gather that Cheri was unmarried and had no children, that she grew up in New Orleans, Louisiana, and that she did her own hair coloring, which she was apt to change on a whim from one brilliant shade to another. She knew Cheri’s taste in food, music, and entertainment was vivaciously, voraciously omnivorous. She also knew, in vivi
d detail, how the woman liked to be fucked.
Over half their collaboration on ‘Werever I’m With You,’ the working title of Cheri’s latest werewolf romance project, had been graphic love scenes between Cheri’s dark, dangerous, handsome wolfman and Lara’s young, inexperienced-yet-unreasonably-competent human female. Oh, the irony of that. There was plenty of dominant, possessive bodice-ripping, toe curling orgasms, and superhumanly thorough dickings to be had, and while the process of exchanging these sexually charged story fragments with the object of Lara’s desire made her painfully aroused, it also brought home time and time again that they could never be compatible… in the flesh.
The young werewolf bit the inside of her cheek. She had to send Cheri a message, to let her know that her ticket had been purchased and they would finally be meeting up. With a reluctant sigh, she brought up a new window and loaded up the fan fiction site they all just called ‘The Wolf Den,’ opening her message inbox and selecting Cheri’s name, smiling unbidden at the cute little avatar the author used of a cartoony werewolf with chocolate fur, a purple rose tucked behind one ear, and a wicked, wolfish grin.
“Hey Cheri,” she typed, wishing for the umpteenth time she knew how to be smooth and charming, instead of settling for bland in her fear of coming across wrong. “Got my tix. I’ll be seeing you at comicon after all. I’m flying out tomorrow. Can’t wait.” She debated typing in a smile, self-doubt near smothering her. She typed it in quickly and hit send before she could rethink everything. Slightly slanted amber eyes went wide as she realized she had accidentally typed ;) instead of :). That winking smile mocked her from the screen.
“Shit shit shit,” she whispered, looking for a way to erase the message, to take it back, but it was too late. It had already been launched out into the ether of the internet. She just barely resisted the urge to slam her forehead onto the keyboard in frustration and despair, stopping a mere inch from those black plastic keys. A soft chime from the computer stopped her breath. She wrote back? Already? FUCK MY LIFE.
The reply message sat waiting for her for what felt like an hour, though it was realistically less than 20 seconds before she could lift her eyes to see what travesty her typo had wrought. Her mouth went dry and her thighs clenched, her heart beating a furious and ill-conceived tap dance inside her rib cage. There was that adorable little wolfy avatar again, that wicked grin making her heart beat all the faster.
“EEEEE!” came the reply. “Oh sugar, I just can’t wait to wrap my arms around you!” Shit, she’d really written that? Lara felt her cheeks flushing hotter at the idea. “Want company for the ride from the airport? I’ll swing by and grab ya.” Ohhh yeah, she was screwed. There was no way she would survive a car ride with the woman that had her so infatuated without embarrassing herself to death. Still, she couldn’t help the distinctly joyful thud of her heart. The traitor.
“It’s a pretty late flight. I’m not getting to SeaTac until 10pm.” she typed, reading and rereading to make sure she wasn’t about to send off another regrettable mistype before sending.
“Oh, I’ll be there with bells on, sugar. I’ll be the one with the purple hair and the sign that reads ‘Sexy Smut Partner.’” Lara felt a rather unhinged giggle wanting to escape, but shoved it down hard. Yes, sometimes Cheri could come across a bit flirtatiously, but that was just her way. It would be a mistake to take it as more than that, and Lara was already dealing with enough mental anguish. She didn’t need to go creating more for herself.
She closed the window, sucking in a hard breath as Cheri’s pin-up portraits took over the screen once again. She’d forgotten that was still up. Those typed words resonated in Lara’s head, filling her with I just can’t wait to wrap my arms around you! as beautiful, dark eyes regarded her with a powerful, smoldering hunger from the photographs. The pull was relentless, only growing in strength the longer Lara stared. One hand slid down past the waistband of her black yoga pants and into her boyshort-cut panties. She gave a silent sigh, her thighs parting as she leaned back in her chair.
She could so easily imagine those plump, dark arms enveloping her, pressing her wanting mouth against those impossibly full, undeniably smooth, soft, and warm breasts. Her breath came quicker as she imagined being squeezed into all that beautiful softness. Her slender fingers slipped between her yearning folds only to discover how incredibly slick she was just thinking of it. She grabbed the mouse with her left hand and double clicked on that portrait of Cheri in leather, expanding the image until it filled the screen as thoroughly as it filled her thoughts, stroking herself with gentle fingers. It didn’t feel right, exactly, but damn did it feel good.
Wet fingertips teased her slit from one end to the other, softly brushing her already swollen clit, forcing her to repress a shudder. Oh sugar, she could hear in what she imagined as Cheri’s voice, those penetrating dark eyes blazing at her from the screen. She wondered what that imaginary voice would sound like in the heat of orgasmic pleasure, her legs parting even further as she spread her folds apart, her middle finger still stroking between her hot, wet, aching lips. Oh! Sugar! she imagined, adding a touch of a growl to Cheri’s imagined voice. That did it. God damn it, that growl always did it.
Lara let out a soft whimper, unable to help herself as her orgasm clenched and released her, soaking through her panties and yoga pants, and she finally slipped one finger inside her virgin tightness, feeling those powerful muscles contracting in time with the waves of pleasure ripping through her and threatening to cause a scene in the public library she was just now remembering she was very much still in. Wow. Classy bitch here, masturbating in public to photos of her gorgeous, straight friend.
Her cheeks blushed hotly as she pulled her slick hand out of her pants and awkwardly shut down the computer with her left hand. As she tried to walk casually to the restroom, doing her level best to ignore the wetness between her thighs, she found herself wondering what Cheri would think if she knew her ‘Sexy Smut Partner’ was pleasuring herself while looking at her pin-up shots. The young woman passed the mirror above the sink, catching sight of her own reflection. The look on her face was answer enough.
God, but she was ashamed of herself. She’d thought about it so frequently, but today was the first time she’d actually given in to that particular temptation. It had been a mistake, and she’d do best to shake it off and try to forget how weak she’d been. The hot water stung the vulnerable skin of her hands as she washed them guiltily. Out damn spot, anyone? She sighed heavily as she dried off with the rough brown paper from the wall-mounted dispenser. She had indulged enough for one day. It was time to refocus on what was really important. She had a pack to get back to.
There was a peace to it, getting back to the aspect of her life that was certain and unshakeable. Her virginity was a problem that would eventually solve itself, she decided, and her interest in women… well, really one particular woman, was a problem she was completely without the ability to solve at the moment. But being a werewolf? Now, that was a problem she understood through and through. There was no solving that one.
Lara nearly forgot her brown hooded sweatshirt hanging on the back of her computer chair where she had so nearly publicly humiliated herself. As she grabbed it, she felt distinctly as though she was returning to the scene of a crime. She had to fight not to bare her teeth in a defensive snarl as she jogged out of the library and down the road to the bus stop, waiting for her ride over to the small, deeply forested island of Douglas, where her pack was likely growing very irritated waiting for her.
Digging her small, thin, silver mp3 player and ear buds from her sweatshirt pocket, she lost herself in the heavy rock music, slipping her arms through the sleeves of her hoodie and zipping it shut against the chill of the southern Alaskan March evening. She could smell the exhaust from the bus before it turned the corner and came into view. This time of day, there weren’t many riders, and Lara made her way to her usual perch in the very back by the right window.
She didn’t m
ake eye contact with any of the other passengers, and none of them attempted small talk, like always. It was the effect she usually had on people, and she was glad for it. Relating to people was already hard as a young woman still trying to figure herself out on so many levels, and that just became impossible when the werewolf was factored into the equation. True, maybe that distance was really her doing. She had never been all that gifted at reaching out to people, even her own people. They called her shy, aloof, sometimes accused her of being self-involved, but the truth was she had absolutely no clue how to go about opening up or letting people in like she saw everyone else do as naturally as breathing. And yes, it made her deeply, painfully lonely. But there was a comfort in that reliable loneliness, in its quiet acceptance of her likely self-imposed limitations.
Her heart jolted as she felt the bus jerk to a stop, all senses on alert as she looked out the window, the forests of Douglas calling to her, making her blood run hot in her veins. This was where she belonged, even if it didn’t make her exactly happy… she belonged. She was whole. She was wolf.
It was hard not to run, to force these muscular-yet-weak human legs to walk one step at a time from the bus. Her feet crunched on gravel, even under the persistent dusting of snow that had yet to fully give way to spring, the wind bringing her sea spray and moist loam and spruce needles. Home. She jogged off toward the woods bordering the shoreline, ready for the comfortable confines of her pack, the unquestioning sureness of family. She found them gathered by an abandoned building overgrown with forest life, a common sight on Douglas where the small mining community had been destroyed and rebuilt elsewhere.
As packs went, they were a very little one, numbering only nine including Lara and her parents. The remaining pack members consisted of families that had been in Juneau far longer than they had. No one looked particularly pleased to see her, though there was a detectable sense of relief. Her father, Brady Hunt, a relatively tall, muscular man with light brown eyes, thick dark blonde hair, and an amiable, bearded face, sent a telling look to her mother, and Lara felt ice form in the pit of her stomach. Oh great, Mom’s pissed.