Contains: Gay, Paranormal, Shifter, Alpha, Werewolf, Dominance & Submission
Not that I minded writing all the banging, but I think the most fun part for me was thinking about the sights and smells of the distant, happy mountain forests~
A tingle runs up my spine and over my scalp. I try to closet off those feelings, pack them down deep inside me. I write off the teeming sensation to the autumn chill, saying, “I’m so cold…”
“Well,” he replies. “We’ll have to do something about that.”
Without asking, he knows what I need. I screw my attention to the gentle, nearby hooting of some curious owl just waking up as he lays me down against the soft ground near the fire. Michel spoons against my back, his arm light as a feather atop my waist, curious as the owl, seeking to broach my boundaries, but slowly. This is how a wolf hunts, I imagine: carefully, moving through the brush in precise motions, silent as a whisper, so he doesn’t spook his prey.
Does that make me some frightful rabbit?
Probably.
My proximity to his furnace-like body banishes the night’s chill. It’s as if I’ve found some hot spring deep within the mountains, something for me alone to relish and enjoy. I fold back against him, wishing to join with him fully, to accept every inch of his heated flesh, so bold and powerful even through my clothing. My fingers hesitate on the zipper of my jacket. I pull it down, just a notch, and the clicking sound freezes me just like a stupid rabbit caught in a stupid snare.
His breathing rolls across my bare neck and I revel in the quiet, intoxicating sensation. His lips must be just inches from me. Without ceremony or urgency, they close against my neck in a fiery kiss, imbuing me with a gentle warmth that squeezes away the thoughts of cold and discomfort. I startle, becoming rigid, and his body against me responds in kind, patient, waiting for my response. It comes gradually—hard to relax just hours after almost getting mauled by a bear, and then being saved by a werewolf. I focus on my trembling muscles and force them to slack, yielding my neck to his warm lips.
As I watch fire flare with orange and yellow hues and inhale the pleasant, comforting scent of pine smoke into my nose, I try not to think too hard when my hand ekes away from the zipper to settle gingerly atop his knee. He doesn’t press the issue either, merely acknowledging my consent by squeezing his fingers firmly against my jeans.
We’re still long enough for me to submerge into the shared sound of our breathing, soft and relaxed. My muscles unwind, releasing the last vestiges of tension from the attack, the fear sunk deep within my bones. With knowing care he guides me, hand lifting from my hip and taking mine along with it. Together, our fingers wrap around the zipper. Together, we pull it down, tooth by tooth, until it is open. He lifts my arms and turns my body as needed, drawing the jacket from my shoulders with a careful pull on each sleeve, shucking it from me and tossing it away, discarding it like the unnecessary sheathe it is. What use do I have for its insulation in the face of the fervent warmth he so effortlessly provides?
His hand roves casually across my chest and, for some reason, I find myself regretting that I’d worn my thermal shirt. Or… maybe it’s not so bad. If the fires of him are this hot that I can barely endure the touch of his lips against my neck without bursting into sweat. Maybe it’s okay to have this thin bulwark of cloth between the burning temptation of our shared body heat, mine hardly a flickering candle as compared to his bonfire blaze. I feel a subtle pressure build against my back. His hips give one gentle rock against me, testing the firmness of my ass. A thrill spreads across my skin, exiting me in a sharp shiver and a sharper gasp. He separates from me, only a fraction, offering me this chance to extricate myself.
This time, it’s my fingers that wrap around his hand, forcing it to stay. I pull it to the hem of my undershirt, slightly rumpled by the rock of our bodies against one another. “Please,” I say. “Stay close.”
Murmuring kindly, he says, “I will.”
Bespoke Smut 