But she did hear the howl at two o’clock in the morning, like the howl from her dream. Quite against her better judgement, she shifted in her seat, considering going out to see whether it was Grant out in the snow, which had already covered the lawn in drifts.
It was not until she heard the howl nearer to the house that she closed down her computer and stood up. Leslie was already in bed, so she was the only one in the cabin who was awake.
She pulled on her coat and scarf, which were damp from the other times that evening she had gone out to look at the new-fallen snow. It was always a wonder the first time she saw it each year, no matter how tired of snow she got after a few weeks. It just completely epitomised winter, enclosing the property and making her feel as if she lived in a snow globe. That kind of thought irrationally made her feel safer. But just because she felt safe did not mean she was safe.
As she went out onto the porch, she heard the wolf rushing through the snow. It seemed far away, but in the cushion of the snow, it was difficult to trust her senses. Things far away could sound nearby, and vice versa. Renee wrapped her coat more tightly around her, her right hand pressed against her stomach. She went down the porch steps, letting the cold wake her up a little, feeling it clear her sinuses and throat, clear her mind. With the snow reflecting the moonlight that poured, diffused, through the clouds, Renee was surprised at how well she could see.
She was halfway around the log home before she heard him again. Not running. Walking. It was as if she could hear the crunch of every flake of snow from his huge paws, clear in the silence of the night. She froze where she stood. She did not know whether she stopped because of fear or something else. Her practical side was telling her that it was something else, and she needed to get out of there now. Except she did not exactly trust her practical side anymore, not when it was also the voice of her anxiety, the voice of her fear, the voice of everything that made her life outside the sanctuary, and sometimes inside the sanctuary, difficult at best. She stayed.
There he was. He was bigger than she thought he had been the first time she’d seen him in his werewolf skin. His eyes glowed a momentary green with reflection of the moonlight. When she looked closer, she saw that they were actually just as blue as his human eyes. But as he came towards her, she could only see his smiling maw—he was panting slightly, and his teeth glistened. They were too big for his mouth and reminded her of the teeth of a lion, like simulations she had seen on TV of wolves’ ancestors during the ice age. That was what it was about Grant—he looked primeval, ancient, preserved over the years to return with icy violence and vitality. And he was just a few feet from her, muscles coiled as if he was ready to crouch and pounce.
She did not back away. Her heart was beating faster against her lungs, but she did not feel the onset of a panic attack. She thought she was afraid, but not afraid enough of him. She knew she should be ready to run. When a predator looked at you like that, you were supposed to run. But she didn’t. She couldn’t. She just waited.
He came closer, pressing his nose against her coat as he sniffed over her. Her stomach, her breasts, her neck, the warmth coming from the opening in her coat where she had slid her hand, the frozen breath coming from her mouth and nose. He puffed and sneezed a little in her hair, and Renee resisted the impulse to laugh. It sounded funny to her so near her ear, and it tickled. But then she felt the slide of teeth over her neck, and that was when she knew her first real stab of fear.
That was when she pulled her hand from her coat and pressed the knife against the werewolf’s neck.
Chapter Six
She took care not to press too hard—she wanted it to be a warning, not something more. Not unless she needed it to be something more.
His fur shifted under her hand, and he stood human before her.
“What is that?” he asked, his eyes still strangely feral in spite of the change.
She did not answer him. He knew perfectly well what the sharp point on his neck belonged to.
“You’ll never use it.”
“I will.” Her voice seemed loud between the two of them, as enclosed by snow and wood as they were. “Aren’t you cold?”
Grant was completely naked, as he and the other shapeshifters always were when they shifted back to human skin, and it was about fifteen degrees Fahrenheit outside. And only getting colder. His breath fogged the air between them and mingled with hers. He leaned over and parted the fog.
“I’m never cold,” he whispered. He touched her face, claiming her chin, and she felt the warmth of his skin. It seemed impossible. As he gripped tighter, she pressed the edge of the blade closer to his neck. He let go of her.
“If you do decide to use it, love, you better use it hard and fast. But even then, werewolves heal quickly. You might not even come close to killing me.”
“It’s silver,” she said.
Grant paused. “No, it isn’t.”
“It’s sterling silver,” Renee explained. “I bought it a week after you came.”
In that moment, Renee thought she saw a touch of fear. Then that look turned into something calculating and contemplative before melting into an expression that Renee could not put a finger on. Except that it made her cunt clench.
“So you really do know that I’m a dangerous man.” He licked his lips. “Maybe a cruel man.”
“I’m not stupid. And I don’t have to stab you hard. Just enough to reach the bloodstream. Isn’t that right?”
He tried to step forward, the heat from his body reaching her even through her clothes. And she was not looking directly, but she could just see that his cock was certainly not feeling the cold. She pressed a little harder, knowing that if he came closer, she really would nick him, and that would be bad. Partially for him, but also for her. She did not want to hurt him—she didn’t like to hurt anybody. But she was shaking, and not because it was cold. She vibrated with tension.
“You know you could kill me with that,” Grant murmured.
Renee nodded. She swallowed against a tightened throat.
His eyes seemed to glow red, and there was no question that he was aroused now. “God, I want you,” he groaned, voice deep and low and so primal—the baritone shivered down her spine and pooled in her belly. “I can’t even tell you how much I want you.”
She could not explain where it came from—the same hidden place that had inspired her before—but, still pressing the knife against his neck, she pulled him to her and kissed him as hard as she could. There was no finesse, no skill, no artistry, nothing she could have learnt. There was only the passion that made her squirm where she was, pulling him nearer until he was flush against her, even with the knife clenched in her hand and cold between them. With every groan, that deep half-growl, she tasted him and pressed him closer. He was hot to the touch, and as he grabbed her thighs and pulled her up so that she was straddling him, then pressed her against a wall, his body heated hers until she was sweating under all her layers. All she wanted to do was shed them until it was skin on skin, until the frozen snow around them melted with the fire of whatever abandon he was creating inside her. He splayed his hands across her back, under her coat, under her shirt, pushing the latter up over her breasts. He consumed her with as much artlessness and need as she did him. She had never felt like this, and she was not sure that she liked it very much. But she was sure that she wanted it to continue.
She pulled away. The cold slipped in where he was not touching her, and she almost leant back to kiss him, just to keep that warmth.
He gazed at her lips, seeming unable to look away, his mouth open as though he was going to recapture her at any time.
Renee brought the edge of the knife up over the jugular vein, then touched it to his jaw, then the corner of his mouth. She slid down his body, catching his hard cock between them before her feet reached the ground. He hissed at the chafing from the denim of her jeans.
“You know what this means, love?” Grant said.
Renee covered his mo
uth with the knife, silencing him. But she reached down with her other hand and touched the head of his cock. The skin was surprisingly smooth and soft to her, and she slid her hand down until she held the firm base of his erection in her palm.
“Don’t say anything,” she ordered. And she began to lead him back around the house by the cock.
He followed without question or comment, eyes glowing more brightly. As they went up the steps to the porch, then as Renee opened the front door, his almost-growl grew louder.
Renee strained to hear whether Britt and Jake were asleep.
“Don’t make a sound,” Renee whispered just above a breath. The growl lowered in volume until it was only a vibration through his body to her hand.
Britt and Jake were talking quietly, and there was a slight movement to the mattress springs that told Renee that they were still making their brand of love. She looked behind her to make sure that no one was coming, that no one knew they were there. She let go of Grant’s cock to take his arm and lead him to the room that she had kept closed—her old bedroom. Once she’d shut the door behind her, he slammed his hands against the door on either side of her head.
“So I’m going to be your little secret, am I?” Grant murmured. He pressed his mouth to her ear, licking the edge of it before delving into the hollow right underneath. She exhaled in a slight sigh.
“Is that a problem?” Renee asked.
He relieved her of the coat, then pulled her shirt over her head. She was an active participant in it, and she hardly knew her own body as he pressed his mouth to the swell of one breast, above her bra. The bristle of his chin chafed her, but it only made her more sensitive, and she felt her stomach flutter with each flash of hot tongue on the reddening skin.
“Not particularly,” he said.
Renee reached to the side for the light switch and turned on the ceiling fan lights in the room. Everything was much as she had left it, although she washed her comforter a couple of times a year so that it did not get too dusty. The trash bags of Christmas presents were in the corner of the small room, near the dresser. The rest of the décor was somewhat juvenile, but she could not care less as she looked Grant over in proper light.
Everything about him was hard. The line of every muscle was defined, and although they were not overly large, it was undeniable that he was strong. Much stronger than anyone else on the sanctuary, even the ones who did regular physical labour. Renee had never thought she would ever be interested in a man like that.
His erection jutted unashamedly from his body, neither big nor small, but flushed a deep and angry red. Grant seemed unshaken by the physical manifestation of his need—his cock was ready, but his expression was shuttered as he let her look him over. He took the opportunity to do the same to her as she removed her jeans, then her bra and panties—everything practical, unassuming, until it was taken off. Britt had seen her naked before, but never when they’d been sexual together, and Renee had never known how truly vulnerable and even scared she could be without any clothes on. After all, she had no other skin to change into. All she had was this soft, easily torn human skin and no natural defences. Just a silver knife held tightly in her fist.
“While this can be a spectator sport, love, I want to fuck you, and I think you would very much like to fuck me,” Grant said.
When he reached for her, Renee thrust the knife between them reflexively, and he yanked back his hand.
“Do you want to kill me, Renee?” he asked quietly. It was as if his entire body was a burning coal, smouldering. She could feel him even a few feet away, pulling her to his heat, and she stepped forward, the knife in hand and pointing at his flat stomach. He took a step back and found the foot of the bed behind his knees.
“Keep moving,” she said.
He grinned and leant back, pulling himself further up the bed with an intriguing flex of his arms before lying back against the pillows. He began pumping his cock lazily for her benefit. Renee squeezed her thighs together as she watched him move the uncut foreskin over the head, revealing it and hiding it in turns. She licked her lips unconsciously.
Climbing onto the bed, she adjusted her grip on the knife so that she could slide her other hand over the light fur on his leg, softer that she would have thought, although the hardness of his muscle was as she’d expected and felt good under the velvet of his skin. When she reached his thighs, the muscle there twitched, and she got an eyeful of his erection, moist with the spread of pre-cum as Grant continued his slow up-and-down motion, waiting for her. With his other hand, he grasped her shoulder and tried to pull her to him, but she braced herself on his thigh and brought the tip of the knife to his balls. It would not have been an exaggeration to say that Grant froze.
“Fucking bitch,” he breathed, but there was no venom. It was more like a moan, and his cock twitched in his hand.
Renee’s red hair fell over her shoulders and draped over his thighs, brushing his sac as she leant down. The scent was strange to her, but not unpleasant. Her entire body was quivering as she brought her mouth to the base of his cock. He released his hold on it and moved his hand away slowly, so that she would not react and castrate him as well as poison him. He left himself open to her exploration.
She slid her tongue over the flesh, testing. She was ambivalent to the way he tasted, but the more she breathed him in, the more she wanted. She took more of him in, laving the root of his cock and mouthing her way up his length, following the pulse in the prominent vein. The contented growl returned, and she did not tell him to quiet down. As she pressed the flat of the blade closer to his balls, she thought he got even harder. Finally, she flicked her tongue over the foreskin, delving a little deeper.
She jerked back at the sudden bitterness, and Grant chuckled low in his throat. His head was thrown back, his throat working as she tried again, now prepared for the taste of his glistening cockhead. She took him in, dipping her head down until she felt him throbbing full in her mouth. He jerked his hips, but another press from her knife, closer to the flesh, persuaded him to hold back his reactions. His entire body shook from the effort, and it gave her a heady sensation of power as she took more of him in, sucking lightly. At the first snag of her teeth, she thought he was going to jump, but instead he just slid his fingers into her hair and pulled her up. Her mouth and chin were wet, her face flushed, and her hair tousled—she could only imagine what she looked like to him, but whatever it was, he seemed to like it.
“How about you put down that knife?” he said quietly. “We have all night to play like that. But I don’t want to play right now.” He tightened his fingers in her hair until he was almost pulling at the roots—it was just on the good side of pain, and he pulled her up his body until she was poised with her lips above his, the knife still against his drawn testicles. Slowly, she ran the tip up the sensitive vein of his cock, and she almost whimpered from a wave of arousal when he closed his eyes tightly, his jaw clenched through his own wave. She drifted the knife’s tip from his cock and drew an invisible line up his stomach, his chest, along his throat. Grant strained to capture her lips, and she tossed the knife to the side to let him.
The second she heard it hit the comforter, he engulfed her in his arms and pulled her flush against him. He was even hotter with skin against skin, and all Renee wanted to do was eat him up as she kissed him, bit his neck, let every impulse have its way. She had never felt like this, unfettered and wild and as dangerous as the man beneath her. He groaned every time she lifted herself to her knees and rubbed his erection with her wet cunt, wanting him inside her more than anything, but not knowing how to begin. As for him, he was no less insistent than she was, except he seemed to know more about what he wanted from her. He held her as though he wanted her to melt into him. She pushed her breasts against his chest until he bit an exhilaratingly painful line down to one nipple and sucked softly, then too hard, pulling it with teeth that felt as if they could be sharp at any moment.
And it did hurt, it all hurt,
but she didn’t push him away, didn’t tell him to stop, felt her juices stick to the inside of her thigh as her cunt tightened around nothing. She dug her nails into his arms, the flesh of his back, tearing the surface with every minor tremor that shook her body. And throughout everything, that deep vibration from within him continued.
It was all messy, hard, unpractised, unchoreographed, hot, panting, secretive, and all she could think was that it was not enough.
“Inside,” she whispered into his mouth before he slid his tongue in, before he drank the word from her lips. She reached for the knife again, and at the first touch of the flat edge on his side, Grant’s eyes flew open, and he flipped them over so that she was underneath him, surrounded by his weight, his heat, the shadow of his body.
“Forcing me to take you at knifepoint,” Grant murmured. He clicked his tongue mockingly. “Now, now, you don’t need to convince me.”
“Don’t care how hard,” Renee said. “Please. Just…”
“I hope you’re not a virgin, love…” He parted her thighs until her knees were almost on either side of her chest, spreading her for him, exposing her far more than she felt comfortable with. But comfort was far from the front of her mind as he took his cock in his hand and covered her again to slide into her. It had been a while since she had penetrated herself with anything and the aching stretch was almost pleasant, like the first time running after a week of recovering from illness. He did not even let her adjust—she had not expected him to and welcomed the burn of it. He pulled back and slammed into her again, rolling his hips so that he rubbed her clit and something else on the inside, which made her bite his shoulder to hold back from crying out.
She had not known that sex could be like this. She’d had a taste of it with Britt, but Britt had stopped her. She had thought that the earlier encounter with Grant and her previous experience with toys would have prepared her. But it was so different than using one of her vibrators, even one of the more realistic ones. It was the difference between rubbing an ache in her neck and having someone do it for her, like getting someone to scratch the itch she just could not reach herself. She had never experienced it on such a scale, crashed with surge after surge of pleasure that tore her apart on the inside and banished her thinking mind entirely.
Winter Howl (Sanctuary) Page 12