The moans grew louder. “Fuck, yes, fuck, fuck.”
He rubbed my clit with his middle finger. I pushed his hand away and turned around. I wanted to touch him, too. Falling into him, I reached down and grabbed the front of his pants. He was hard, and big, bigger than any cock I’d touched before. It bulged against the front of his pants, as though it wanted to burst out. I rubbed up and down the length of it, feeling it pulse beneath my palm. And he rubbed my clit, faster and faster, until I felt the start of an orgasm. I threw my head back (wolf mask still on, I must’ve looked like I was howling) and let out the moan to rival all moans.
I had gone skeet shooting as a girl. The shotgun had kicked my shoulder so hard I’d almost fallen, even with the instructor behind me, bracing me. The orgasm reminded me of the jolting sensation. It knocked into me, and caused my whole body to writhe. Sweat pricked every part of me. The room was suddenly hot, like a blanket. And then it all released, and I buried my face in the lion’s neck, pressed my face against the mask, not caring that it dug into me. I was even wetter now.
“Fuck me,” I whispered in the lion’s ear. “Fuck me, now.”
He didn’t need to be told twice. He grabbed my arms under the armpits and lifted me like I weighed nothing. This turned me on like crazy. I loved feeling small, weightless, powerless. I loved the idea of it, anyway. I had never met a man who could really fulfill the role. But when the lion lifted me, I recognized the eruption of lust in me for a long-awaited feeling. He carried me to the bed and threw me down on the mattress. He unbuckled his belt and pulled his pants and underwear down, kicking his shoes off. His cock sprung up, huge, almost intimidating. Usually it would have been intimidating. It was too big. Good ol’ Jessica couldn’t take a dick like that, but the wolf could.
I pulled my panties down (damp on my hand) and kicked them off my ankles. I was about to kick my heels off, too, when the lion laid his dagger-hand on my leg. “Keep them on,” he said, in the tone of a man who will accept nothing else.
He knows what he wants, I thought, a thrill moving through me, touching every part of me. It was refreshing to meet a man who knew what he wanted, and was willing to take it. The boys at college—and they were boys, most of them, even the puffed-up frat boys who thought they were the manliest men around—were not like that at all. They were timid, mouse-like. I stopped kicking my heels off and opened my legs, baring my pussy for him.
He ran his hand up my leg, from my calf to my thigh, and then to my pussy. I closed my eyes and focused on the ball of wet heat down there as he slid his finger inside of me. He wiggled it deep within me, massaging my sweet spot. My pussy went tight, and a mini-orgasm shot from the heat and took my body. When I opened my eyes, the lion’s jacket and shirt were off. He had tattoos on his torso, too, I saw. Across his chest he had a swirling pattern that was like a tribal tattoo, only colored blue and red, like the dagger. His six-pack, hard-muscled belly was tattooed with two daggers, brothers of the one on his hand, with drops of blood dripping down toward his cock.
I pulled my dress over my head (careful not to disturb the mask). Then he leaned down, lifted me, and undid my bra with one expert motion. My small, pert breasts were loose. My nipples went hard. He tweaked them casually, and then knelt down and fished a condom from his pants pocket.
“You’re well prepared,” I commented.
“You should always be well prepared,” he replied, sliding the condom onto his rock-hard cock. “You never know when you’ll meet a sexy as hell wolf, do you?”
I opened my arms to him, gesturing him. I had never wanted so badly for a man to be inside of me. Losing my virginity, and the spattering of experiences after that, were nothing compared with this. I had never felt such heat, such intensity. My arms and legs, my hands, my feet, my breasts, my nipples, my clit and deep inside my pussy—all of it ached. All of it begged to be touched by the lion. He fell atop my, bracing his arms around either side of my head. I reached up and grabbed his muscles, feeling the curvature of them, how they bulged. He was built like a quarterback, tight and honed and muscular.
The lion looked into my eyes. “Are you ready?” he asked.
“Yes,” I replied.