Page 47 of Feral Werewolves
Paladin nodded. “Yeah. Probably.”
I sighed, looking glumly into my coffee.
“But also,” said Paladin, “I’ve never seen a tithe at any of the gatherings be seriously hurt. She always heals and she always walks out of it, and I’ve seen wolves claw into the tithes in bad ways.”
I had to admit that during the full moon, even bad injuries, like when that wolf had dragged me with his teeth deep in my ankle, felt really fuckinggood. And they healed up right away. I nodded.
“Anyway,” said Paladin, “why are you here?”
“I want to stay,” I said.
His eyes widened and he smiled really big. “Really?” He sounded like a kid who’s just been told he could open his Christmas presents early.
Something in my stomach flipped over at that, at how happy the prospect of my being here made him. “Really,” I breathed.
He leaned over and kissed me.
I sighed into his mouth.
He pulled me into his lap.
I straddled him and started giving him deep kisses, our tongues working against each other as I rubbed into the growing stiffness I could feel rubbing at the center of me.
He moaned. He was only wearing boxers, and I was just in a robe.
He reached between us to push the robe out of the way and found me all hot and wet and eager there. “Clementine, I want to shove right up in you right now,” he told me. “I know I shouldn’t—”
“You should,” I said, rubbing against him, feeling him pressing against the thin fabric of his boxers.
He groaned, rolling his hips.
I felt a little bit of his bare skin and then he burst through the flap of his boxers.
“Shit,” I breathed, dragging my clit over the hard length of him, gasping.
He grunted and moved his hips, moved them and moved them and—
Oh, there he was,inside.
“Sorry,” he gasped. “I didn’t mean—”
“Never apologize for this,” I gasped back, pumping my hips against his.
He held onto me and started to thrust in earnest.
We started kissing again.
He pushed my robe out of the way and started toying with my breasts.
I sighed out my encouragement, telling him how good it felt.
“I never felt anything as good as you,” he told me. “I never saw a woman nearly as pretty as you. I never touched anything like you. You’re this perfect goddess.”
I touched his face. “I’m just a girl.”
“No, no, you’re everything,” he told me. “I’m in love with you.”
“I know,” I said. “Me too. We can’t help it, and it’s nice, so—”
