He hadn’t expected that. He scrunched his face as his mind chewed on what could be made of that answer.
“Don’t look so confused,” she said. “There’s nothing wrong with making people feel safe. It’s probably why you’re such a good guard dog.”
“But I keep telling you, I’m not,” he said.
She shook her head. “No,” she said. “You’re not telling me that because you aren’t. You’re telling me you’re not because you don’t want to accept it yet. You like the idea of it. You just don’t want to admit it. It’s hard to think yourself a wolf and realize suddenly that you’re not, that you’re actually the opposite.”
He closed his eyes and stroked her face. Her words resonated in his heart. She had captured his essence. “I do want to be a guard dog, Gothel,” he admitted, opening his eyes and staring deep into her violet ones. “It’s only that I want to guard just you. I think I’d do anything for you.”
A blush spread across her cheeks, and a tender look appeared in her eyes. “I would, too,” she breathed out, and he leaned in and kissed her. Her lips were soft and smooth.
He wrapped his arms around her, pulling him to her. She was warm and soft and holding her in his arms felt like home. Like the one place in the world he was supposed to be. His fingers deftly glided down her back and she pulled her lips from his gasping for air.
“Oh, Stil,” she whispered. “No one’s ever made me feel like this.”
“And I don’t ever want anyone but me to make you feel like this,” he whispered back, then took her mouth again, plunging his tongue into hers, tasting the sweetness that was her, drinking in all that he adored about this woman who had figured him out. He was her protector, and he’d never relished a role more. He slowly moved his kisses from her mouth down the line of her jaw, and eventually to the soft flesh of her neck. A small squeal of pleasure escaped her lips.
He knew she wasn’t like Lisle, and that she may want him to quit, but he didn’t want to stop, not until he felt as connected physically to her as she’d made managed to connect their hearts. He pulled away and he looked at her, earnestly. “I want to be with you, Gothel,” he whispered.
She nodded her head, a slight blush on her face, but her eyes never left his. He gently bent down, grabbing her dress at the hem and pulling it slowly up and over her head. She shivered as the breeze came along, and then blushed crimson. He smiled as he looked at her, lovelier than any maiden he could recall. She had a magnificent grace unlike other women he’d been with. She knew herself wholly, and more importantly, she knew him.
He helped her down onto the soft patch of grass, and lay on his side beside her beautiful body and whispered, “You take my breath away, Gothel.”
She tipped her head toward him, “I’ll give it back,” she teased.
He leaned down and kissed her, hot and fervent. He felt her hands stroke his back, which was still clad in his shirt. He pulled away long enough to remove it. With care, he shrugged out of his pants, and she smiled at him. “You’re handsome,” she said.
“You knew that already.”
She chuckled. “I did, but I’ve never seen so much of you.”
It was quiet except for the occasional bird call and their breathing. He had, probably for the only time in his life, a second thought about this moment. “If you don’t want to,” he said, “it’s not too late to change your mind.”
“I’ve known one thing since the moment I met you, Stil, and it’s that you were the one person I wanted to know fully. You’re the only person I’ve ever felt that about, and nothing has changed.”
He leaned in and kissed her again, but now he was ready to know her fully, too. There was an intimacy that he hadn’t felt with anyone before.
He stroked her pert petite breast, tracing her areola as the nipple rang to life, stiffening. She let out a gentle moan and he watched her face as she discovered this new pleasure. Grinning, his lips found her other nipple and suckled it, his tongue deftly gliding over her mound, and he heard her raspy breath as he toyed with her. The sounds of nature were lost to him, and only she mattered, every hitch and rasp made him feel more the guard dog, more her protector. More her guide into this endeavor.
Her ecstasy became his mission as he guided himself down the smooth soft skin of her belly, past her navel, past the curly tuft of blond hair shrouding her lower lips. He used a hand to spread her legs and heard her moan an “Oh,” a soft, subtle sound, one of surprise yet anticipation. One of trust.
She trusted him, and he was going to make sure it wasn’t misplaced. He parted her lips with his fingers and slid a single digit along her edges, listening to her breath hitch as he did.
He took his time, using fingers and tongue to explore her. Her thighs bucked as he delicately caressed her, and her hands grabbed hold of his head, running them through his thick hair as she writhed at his rapacious cunnilingus.
Her walls slick and ready, he pulled his head from between her legs and positioned himself. Gently, he slid himself in, watching her lips part in an expression of surprise, as if she hadn’t expected him to be so big or feel so good. She smiled as he gave a thrust, and her body contoured to his, knowing instinctively how to rock with him, how to complement him.
She grabbed his ass, pulling him tighter to her with each lunge, her mouth letting out primitive sounds that seemed to express the ecstasy when words failed. He stroked her body as he continued to push inside her, enjoying the warmth of her, the steadiness of her, the way she melded around him. They panted in unison as he drove himself deep inside her, and her fingers pressed hard on his back. They moved in unison, like one connected beast, his push and her pull, a rocking unit of motion, frenetic and joyous.
Their dance seemed forever, until finally, he could feel her convulsing gently beneath him with ferocity, her breaths heavy and faster. He felt it, too, the swell of climax, and together they cascaded into orgasm, hers a ravenous cry, and his a merciless release.
Pulling away, he lay down beside her, and he pulled her into his arms, her head burying itself on his chest. Stray hairs, mussed from their lovemaking, tickled his chin. “Oh Gothel,” he whispered into her hair. “You’re the most wonderful person I’ve ever met.”
She laughed. “I love you, too, Stil.”
His body tightened for a minute as her words hit him, but then the tension loosened. She loved him. It was something people rarely said to him, and almost never meant. But she did. He knew it wholeheartedly. She loved him, and he loved her, too. “I do love you,” he said back, and squeezed her tight.
Chapter 7 - Recidivism
His time with Gothel had been more than he’d expected. He’d never met anyone like her. She believed in him. She trusted him. Even his mother hadn’t given him the faith Gothel had. He’d always felt that his mother had never believed he’d amount to much more than his father. He always lived in the shadow left by his father’s absence. But Gothel never seemed to view him in shadow. It was as if he was always bathed in light when she was around.
After their first time in the woods, they went back to their lives as if nothing had happened. While they probably showed a tad more affection toward each other than before, it would have been improper to look like anything more had occurred. And he certainly did not wish to offend his landlord by pursuing his daughter without permission.
Instead, Stil kept his head down and worked for the baker. He made a few friends in town, people he really liked, people he didn’t just consider for how they might be of use to him. But after a few weeks, the itch returned. It was like a twinge in his side, one that itched but he couldn’t quite reach to scratch. One that asked the question: What else is out there? Where should we go next?
He wondered why it had been at bay for so long, why he’d been here for almost two months without the itch. But it returned with vigor, and every time he looked around, he saw the same. He saw that life was the same, that nothing new was happening.
“Stil,” Gothel said one eve
ning as he sat at a table in the pub, taking his meal. Even the meat tasted bland to him.
He looked up at her, no cape indoors tonight, and her hair tied in a knot at the nape of her neck. She wore a plain blue dress, but it didn’t look bad on her. Didn’t accentuate her figure as much as it could, but that wasn’t Gothel’s style. She liked to keep who she was from prying eyes. But as he looked at her bland appearance, he wondered how this had become his life. “What is it?” he asked, trying not to sound gruff but failing.
She shrugged, eyeing him hesitantly as she leaned forward. “You alright?” she asked. “You seem a little down lately.”
He shook his head. “No, I’m fine,” he muttered, unable to shake the bitterness from his voice.
She didn’t speak in response, but nodded, placing a hand on his shoulder and giving a pat. It was a kind gesture. Then she walked back to the kitchen, where she’d help her mother cook. He wondered for a moment why she’d even been out there. To check on him, he supposed. Would that be his new life? A gal who checked on him constantly? A maiden who watched his every move? A girl who knew when he needed checking on? A life where there was never a chance of truly being alone with your thoughts for even a few moments?
He had to get out of here. He had to go somewhere that didn’t feel so oppressive.
He finished his meal and left the pub. He walked out into the evening air. It was around six o’clock, but already night had settled in. Darkness had claimed everything, even his thoughts. He walked in no particular direction, letting the cool air pelt his skin. He realized after a bit he was on the road out of town. On the road that, if he continued, would take him far away from here. A road that would take him to someplace exciting and new. Or, if not exciting, at least new. And wasn’t there always excitement in new? Always new people to read and to figure out.
“Stil,” he heard the familiar female voice call out. He stopped midstride. It was dark enough that it was hard to see where he was going. He looked around until he found the source of the voice: Lisle. She was wearing a red dress that accentuated her bosom, her wide hips, her fine ass, and her smile said, Come hither.
He smiled back and walked over to her. She, even if not new, was definitely someone exciting. “Lisle,” he said. “So nice to see you again.”
She grinned. “Is that why you came this way? To see me again?”
He looked around and realized he was almost exactly where he’d run into her before. A dark road on a hillside, a barn nearby. “Of course that’s why I came,” he lied.
Actually, he wasn’t sure it was a lie. Had his brain been leading him here without knowing it? Perhaps what he needed was a little adventure with a sexy she-wolf. Would that make this town feel less oppressive?
He watched her backside swish seductively as she returned to the barn where they’d been quick and dirty before. The memory of the release, of the edge of excitement he’d felt at taking her, came back at once, filling him with a need to feel it again. He cocked his mouth to the side in a smile, anticipating the warm comfort of a lass who wanted nothing from him but a good time. He followed her into the barn.
It was much like the first time they met, a lantern in the corner, the smell of animals, but this time, there was a lone horse in a stall in the corner. It wasn’t facing them, which somehow made Stil feel better. He didn’t want an audience for this.
He had expected it to feel warmer inside than it had outside. Only, it didn’t. The old barn chilled him to the bone. He shivered as she turned to him, her smile as enticing as a shiny new toy.
He walked toward her, and she took his hand and drew him toward the back of the barn, to an empty stall. It was darker, the light not filtering so far from its source, but he could still smell animals and heard the soft neigh of a horse. When she drew him inside the rectangular compartment and their feet crunched on the soft straw beneath, he tried to block out everything. He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close, hoping for warmth, for the familiar heat of another body mingled with his.
Her lips were fiery and smooth, and there was an all-consuming hunger in them. He pressed his fingers to her back, the fabric still cold from the evening air. Her hands grabbed his waistband, tugging at his pants. She wanted the same thing as him, a quick hit, a thrill of bodily connection. As she pulled down his knickers and stood among the bales of hay, the anticipation built in his loins, the steady flow headed to his cock. He looked at her dark hair, which he noticed was knotted in two braids, the same way Gothel often wore her hair. Apprehension gripped him. What would Gothel think?
She wouldn’t know, he told himself. It wouldn’t matter if she didn’t know. It was just this time, to quell his restlessness.
Lisle tugged him down to the hay-strewn floor of the stall, laying him on his back. “We have to hurry,” she whispered, that same solicitous smile she’d flashed earlier, and he felt his worries of Gothel disappear, replaced by his desire to have Lisle here and now. Nothing else mattered. In that moment, all the important things stiffened: his resolve to enjoy her, his loins, his ability to set Gothel from his mind.
Then they heard the noise, a creaking of old hinges, and both froze.
“Lisle,” a stern voice called out. It was cold and harsh and filled with bitterness.
“Stay put,” Lisle whispered, as she pushed down on his chest to enforce her words. She’d been lifting her skirt, preparing to mount him, but she shot up like a cannon, letting her skirt fall into place around her legs as she stepped out of the stall. He lay still, not moving, knowing he was concealed by the stall walls. He listened quietly, and a moment later Lisle spoke.
“Father,” she said, her voice shaky, apologetic. “What are you doing here?”
“I was looking for you,” he barked. “We’re supposed to be going to town for dinner.”
Her voice was soft, but Stil strained and heard her say, “I know, Pa.” A slight pause. “I just wanted to check on the horse first. I thought you said we would leave in a half an hour.”
“That’s because you don’t pay attention,” her father snipped. “I swear, child, you’re worthless. You cause me great consternation, never listening, always getting into trouble.” Stil heard the old man harrumph. “I ask one thing of you tonight. Simply pretend not to be the sinner you are and put in a good appearance at the pub for dinner, and you wander off to check on this infernal beast.”
At this, he heard the horse neigh indignantly. It was almost as if the thing had understood their conversation. “Pa, Swift is a nice horse.”
Stil had heard talk at the bakery that a horse, wild and fast, had been wandering around town. He’d been unruly and angry, and he’d tried to bite or kick anyone who came near him. But when the Lisle had approached, he’d bowed his head and gone with her. The beast had stamped and gnashed its teeth at everyone who’d approached it, except for the girl, he’d been told. Some had drawn the conclusion that Lisle was blessed by God so that the horse would go with her. Others, who’d heard rumors of Lisle’s wildness, had drawn the opposite conclusion—that it was a satanic beast drawn to her wicked ways. Either way, the horse had been the subject of much gossip.
The father huffed. “That remains to be seen. At any rate, he won’t be here after tomorrow.”
“You found his owner?” Concern laced her voice.
“Yes,” the man said roughly, as if he were annoyed that Lisle continued to question him. “The wicked thing escaped from his keeper, a widow. She’ll be traveling here to retrieve him. She sent a servant earlier today while you were out to confirm it was her horse. But you know, this thing. Won’t come with just anyone. She’ll come herself tomorrow. If you ask me, she ought to put the thing down. If you can’t break a horse, it’s not worth anything.”
The horse neighed angrily again.
“We need to leave this place,” he said. “I do not like this beast, and if you hadn’t troubled to approach the thing, we wouldn’t be saddled with keeping it.”
“You are the pa
rson, Pa,” Stil heard Lisle say. Then he heard the sharp thap of a hand slapping flesh.
“Don’t talk back to me young lady.”
“I’m sorry, Pa,” Lisle croaked.
“We must go. I want dinner. Come.”
Stil heard footsteps, and then Lisle said, “I’ll get the lantern.”
With that, he heard the sound of the door sliding open slightly and then being pushed back into place. There was darkness now. He sat up and tried to compose himself. He’d not pegged the parson for such a wicked man. But he supposed the parson was like any other con man. He showed the world what he wanted, but those closest to him saw what he was really like. For a moment, he understood why Lisle sought comfort from others. That man could not be easy to live with.
He looked into the darkness and silently counted to two hundred. He wanted to leave, but he also wanted to be sure he’d given them plenty of time to be out of sight when he emerged from the barn.
As he counted, his eyes adjusted to the darkness. He pulled up his trousers, cursing the unsatisfied boner, and started toward the door. That’s when the horse whinnied — a strange, hollow sound, one he’d never heard an animal make before. He turned toward the noise, feeling compelled to walk over and see the beast. The one that had been so quiet as he and Lisle had attempted their rendezvous.
The horse was jet black, with a thick mane that looked lustrous even in the dark. Its eyes were large and wide. Even though they were clearly settled on an animal’s face, they felt human. They felt as if they were trying to connect to him.
A sharp pang of guilt shot through him as he stared at the horse. He thought of Gothel. Of the promise he’d made to her. Not aloud, not verbal, but a promise in his actions. A promise of his heart. She made him feel so good about himself. And here he was, out with Lisle. Out for a good time.
He shouldn’t be here. He should go back to her. He missed her. And what would she think if she found out? She’d think he was a wolf. She’d think she’d misjudged him.
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