Author's Note:
This is a werewolf story. It includes depictions of werewolf and human fornication in multiple forms and stages. Rough sexual activity, bruising, intimidation, etc. are also featured, in case that isn't, or is, your thing.
Either way, you've been warned/primed. Thank you for reading!
I was just looking for a dark, quiet place to nap between classes. The university's planetarium seemed like a no brainer. Then I found Stephen. Well, he found me. Stephen isn't an asshole, not usually. He'd had a rough couple of nights and thought I was there to mess around. I feigned interest in something lunar and he simmered down. Still, his initial demeanor had been a bit scary, and given my fucked up brain it had made me profanely wet.
A week later I was confessing with his head between my legs and my fingers tightly laced in his dark hair. When he looked up at me, past my stomach and heaving chest, those mischievous eyes of his were glowing with more than his usual roguish smile. In that moment, as I stared into those gorgeous hazel green eyes, it became perfectly clear.
He'd known I was full of it since day one.
When he caught me in the planetarium, after he relaxed, he'd launched into this lecture on the history of the etymology of moon types. I guess he thought it'd be some kind of torture for me. Instead he matched my genuinely engrossed energy without ever giving himself away. Not even hinting that my actual interest had surprised him. I was late for class that day with tousled hair and a hickey on my neck. I'd come to wonder if he knew, if he could tell how hot and bothered I got when he first found me, when he'd tracked me down, surprised me, scared me, hovering over me in the dark, making his demands of me.
Soon, probably too soon, I started sleeping over more often than not. Between his work and my schedule, late nights were the norm. With my commute...it just made sense. Not to mention I was like a fucking ragdoll when we were done, well, fucking. I used to think I was insatiable. I didn't even know the meaning of the word! At least not compared to him. There was something different about Stephen. We clicked. In the big ways, sure. But it was a lot of little things, too. All our weird bits just went great together.
One night early on I'd made him promise to not let me stay over again. I needed his will power, which at the time I'd thought stronger than my own. He'd sworn to do his best, mentioning an early meeting he had anyway. Half past eleven rolls around. I'm bare assed, ass up in bed, hugging up on his pillow as he stares down at me with my pussy full of a fairly fresh load of his. And he's trying to shoo me out the door!
"
You made me promise!
I want nothing more than for us to fuck again and to fall very soundly asleep with you in my arms. But you need to get out. Please?"
I think this was our fourth or fifth night in a row of me staying over. I was tired. Not too tired to fuck, but too tired for my hour commute back to my place. And all I wanted was for us to fuck again and to fall very soundly asleep in his arms, too. So I gave in. If Stephen could resist, good on him, but hey, when it's right, it's right.
"I could get up. Let all this warm, gooey cum drip out of me, going to waste. OR..." Popping my ass into the air slightly, making everything more visible to him, including his recent deposit as it started to leak out. "Or you could use it to lube me up and fuck my ass." We hadn't done much anal play up to that point, his rather large endowment was a bit intimidating. But Stephen knew what he was doing. "Please?"
With a groan of resignation and some kind of roar of excitement, he too gave in.
We fell for each other too hard and too fast. Neither one of us denies that. I had it so bad for this guy that I started letting my hair grow out when I heard him mention, once, his attraction to some ho actress because of her long hair. That's how head-over-heels I was for this guy, to put it in perspective. I'd never done that before, with anyone.
I'd also never lived with anyone before. After a few months I had to ask about the regular camping trips he took with his family. Almost like clockwork, every four weeks or so. Sounds a bit weird, right? I know I said Stephen isn't usually an asshole, and he isn't, but he was the epitome of one when I asked about those trips. Defensive took on a new meaning for me after that, and I certainly wasn't going to be bringing it up again.
For the next couple of months as I continued falling deeper and deeper in love with my nerdy, gruff boyfriend, he continued taking these camping trips. Naturally, we developed a routine of our own. We'd get some kind of take out for dinner, spend some quality time together watching a movie, talking, or whatnot, followed by the most wild, lascivious, carnal sex of my fucking life. I'm not sure if he felt guilty or just particularly randy, but he was always so rough in all the best ways.
The bruises on my hips and thighs where he'd dug into me as he fucked me would still be there when he got back. They were like colorful little love letters, reminding me that he'd be back soon. Every time I'd see them they'd make me smile. And since I never wore clothes around the apartment, I saw them, and smiled, often. That's how it was with him, even when he wasn't there.
He made my heart happy.
When our six month anniversary was approaching, he asked me to go with him on one of those camping trips. He wanted to introduce me to his family. Warily, I accepted. He never apologized for freaking out on me when I asked about them, and it still seemed odd to me. Not sexy, fun, ravage me, odd either. I wasn't exactly afraid. He'd be there, and I knew he'd never let any actual harm come to me. Stephen was effortlessly strong. He was a taller guy and had a bit of bulk to him, but he wasn't pumped. I'd never once seen him lift any weights or ever even say about going to the gym. I figured it was just genetics. Came in handy in the bedroom, and the shower, the dressing room at Kohls, and plenty of other places. I certainly wasn't complaining. And he made me feel safe.
I spent most of the drive out into the mountains a bit peeved at him for not helping me calm down, like at all. The whole time I kept letting out exaggerated sighs, futilely trying to let out my nervous energy, fidgeting with anything and everything, and constantly looking over at him as he drove, white knuckled and silent practically the whole time. It was selfish of me. I know that now.
Neither of us handled this well, I'll say that. But he had a lot more on his mind than I did, plus he'd started to get agitated. He had this weird male PMS before he'd go on these trips. I assumed he just went out into the woods and shot at things or peed on trees or whatever guys do to alleviate their aggression or excess testosterone. I chalked it up to one of the reasons why the sex was so good right before he left. Not that his performance wasn't normally in my top three, but just,
fucking hell
it was a world apart!
The cabin itself looked fairly modest. I wondered where everyone slept as we pulled up alongside at least a dozen other vehicles. Stephen isn't the type of person to linger in his car after he turns it off. That day he did. Just staring ahead at nothing.
"We don't have to do this right now, Stephen. I can drive myself back and—"
"It's overdue. After that first day, when I knew, I should have brought you right away. I just...I love you, Cynthia. They're going to love you, too. We'd never hurt you, okay?"
"You're starting to freak me out, Babe..."
He smiled gently, warmly as he took me all in. I loved his eyes, his hazel green eyes I could really lose myself in. He lingered on my own gray eyes, moving down to my lips. He was the first person to tell me I had pouty lips. I don't know why, but I loved him for that. I think that's when I first realized that I
was
madly in love. He tenderly placed a strand of hair behind my ear as he took a deep breath in and sighed out his own nervous energy.
