It was raining; of that much, Brianna was sure. Focusing on the sound of rolling thunder helped rouse her from her sleep and drown out the pound of her trembling heart. She sat abruptly, brushing the last remnants of her nightmare away, staring with wide grey eyes at the ancient clock stuck to the dingy wall of her cheap room; it ticked loudly every second, sticking here and there as the second hand made its way around the face. She stared at the clock intently, waiting for the beating of her heart to slow once more. The sound of the pouring rain and the nearly steady tick of the clock helped to calm her.
With an angry sigh, Brianna flopped backwards onto her stiff, creaking bed, dark brown hair sprawling out in curls across her white pillow; feeling frustrated at another night's bad sleep. She had been having these nightmares for close to three months now; they had gotten so bad so quickly, that for two weeks, before she left her home, she had stayed up every night, not allowing herself a moment's sleep. That, of course, led to a decrease in productivity at her work, and her immanent termination. Finding herself now with a bit of free time on her hands, Brianna had decided to take a small break before looking for new employment. She had saved up a good sum of money, and always having had a curiosity and desire to see Ireland, she flew across the Atlantic from her home in Northern California, to the little island.
That was how she had found herself here, in this worn down inn, an hour or south of Dublin, southwest of Dun Laoghaire (a seaside town she had briefly passed through, finding it beautiful, with a wonderful public park), right in the middle of nowhere. She ran a pale hand across her face, her pink tongue darting out to taste her lush lower lip. The dream had never been as vivid as it had just been; and if she were being honest with her, there was a bit of excitement mixed in with all that fear. She swallowed, closing her eyes as she tried to recall it.
It started the same as it always did; she had been alone in a drizzly wood, wearing naught but a white nightshift that ended a few inches above her knees with a bit of lace, and dipped down dangerously across her adequate bust line. The drizzle would then turn to a light rain, and she would get an itch between her shoulder blades, as if she were being watched intently. She would turn slowly, and be met with the curious, intense stare of a large, black wolf, amber eyes boring into her own. They would stare at each other for a few long moments before it would pick up a growl in its throat, something dark moving through those gorgeous, lustrous eyes. And, of course, she would turn and flee the opposite direction, moving clumsily over fallen trees, around broken stumps and past hanging lichen. Her movements were comparatively slow to that of the wolf, which could run at thirty five miles an hour.
She would hear it panting after her, paws noiseless on the soft, sodden earth. It was a log that would do her in, causing her to be airborne a few moments before face planting into the moist, rich soil. She would lay, stunned, her nightshift crumpled around her waist, exposing her nether region to the world at large. Before she had the time for her senses to return enough to get back up, or even to crawl away, the wolf would land on her, claws digging into her tender white flesh, teeth snapping at her back. She would scream as it snarled above her, and that was normally when she would awaken. But not last night; no, it had continued. The wolf had not immediately begun devouring her as she had expected. Its claws had dug into the expanse of her shoulders, and the backs of her sturdy yet soft thighs, leaving cuts and scrapes in the flesh. It had snarled in her ear; snapped its jaws at her neck, biting down just enough to draw blood. It had then lapped eagerly at the wounds, making soft, guttural sounds as it drank down the coppery taste of her.
She had begun to cry softly, making small helpless noises with each stroke of its rough tongue along her sensitive skin. The wolf, having lapped up all the blood at the surface, pulled its muzzle back, letting out a coughing bark as its claws and paws dug more fiercely into her thighs. Brianna cried out, more from shock than pain, her legs jerking, trying to squirm out from under the menacing talons. The wolf began panting in her ear, growling low again. She froze in response, willing her heart to stop its painful thud; surely the wolf could hear it, and she knew it could smell her fear like some sweet perfume on the air. Then it did something completely unexpected; it stepped down, off of her thighs, standing its hind legs between them, before dropping its hips and rubbing a slender erection against her bare bottom.
Her grey eyes flew open wide then shut tightly as it began grinding itself against her soft flesh, grunting horribly all the while. The front paws slipped off of her shoulders, landing in the dirt on either side of her head as it rubbed and rubbed, the erection slowly growing thicker, more familiar; the grunts become deeper, but less animalistic. The smell of the creature moving so eagerly against her changed as well; it went from a deep musky scent to something sharper, cleaner but no less intimidating. Bolstering her courage, Brianna managed to open her eyes, shocked to see tan hands beside her head instead of the ruthless paws.
She stifled a small, hysterical squeak as one of the hands disappeared and she felt her legs being further spread. The man above her, and he was a man, no doubt about it, angled himself as he drew her hips up just a fraction and plunged into her surprisingly wet and slick interior, burying himself to the hilt. Their voices mingled in a strangled cry, twenty fingers digging into the dirt as he began to slowly withdraw from her warm folds. He was panting heavily above her, murmuring something in a language she couldn't understand; it was rough and fluid all at once, soft and harsh, as were his actions.
He had run a surprisingly tender hand down her back, slipping around to her front to cup one of her generous breasts, squeezing softly. Then she felt his mouth clamp down on her shoulder, teeth biting into her flesh hard enough to draw flesh blood, making her cry out. His hips, slender she could feel, began pounding out a hard rhythm in and out of her. Seemingly unsatisfied with her lack of response, the hand that wasn't busy fondling her breast eagerly, slid down her front, pressing down on her swollen feminine mound. He began rubbing in a circular motion until her breathing became a heavy pant and her throat issued a series of helpless cries, whether for him to stop or go on, she could no longer tell. One of his fingers, thick and calloused, slid inside her, rubbing her clit softly at first, then harder and harder, as Brianna's moans grew louder and more frequent. Her hips, traitorous hips!, began to rise in fall in time with each hard thrust, his shaft sliding smoothly and firmly in and out of her.
Her attention was abruptly shifted back to her breast as he gave a sudden tug on it, fingers pinching at the swollen pink nipple, rolling it between his thumb and forefinger. To her surprise, she found her own hand rising to pull at her unclaimed breast, pinching and pulling at the nipple until it was as hard a peak as the other. He growled his pleasure in her ear, sending a series of shivers down her spine. His mouth then once more latched onto her shoulder, sucking on the wound he had made earlier; the tip of his tongue darting out to flick the edges of the scrapes, eagerly drawing more, fresh blood forth.
With every powerful thrust of his hips, every inch he gained inside her, she cried out, until her voice was ragged from the strain. Another finger was added to the one circling and rubbing her clit, and the two began gently pulling on it, tugging it and rubbing it with a ruthless abandon. A warmth seemed to be just on the brink of exploding inside of her and she let out a hoarse cry, barely registering his own shout of pleasure as she dimly felt him shoot his seed inside her.
And then she had woken. The fear had driven back the arousal that had been upon her, but now, laying safe and warm on her squeaky, stiff bed, she felt her breathing become a little ragged, eyes glazing slightly. As she twisted in bed and flung back her covers, she could feel a dampness in her underwear. Brianna closed her eyes, her hand drifting down towards her swollen, aching mound. She was getting hot, so very hot! She tossed her covers off, fingers flicking tentatively over her arousal. Her breath caught, the gentle sensation seeming to pierce right through her. She began to rub herself desperately, one hand going to squeeze her own breast through the thin material of her shirt. Her hips began bucking in a steady rhythm as she tried to finish her orgasm, feeling it building up so very, very close. Something was missing – no matter how hard or fast she rubbed, no matter how many times her skilled fingers flicked across her clit, she just couldn't come. She could have screamed her frustration to the walls, but was still alert enough to realize if she did, the old proprietress of the inn would come running and that would be rather bad, wouldn't it?
She was about to cover her face with a pillow to muffle a small scream, unable to hold back any longer, when the window to her room slid open and a ruffling noise let her know someone had entered. She jolted bolt upright, hands flying to her sides. With flushed cheeks and wild grey eyes bright with passion, she looked like an untamed creature of the forests; something long forgotten in the modern world of machines and technology.
No more than three feet from her stood a man that looked no less tame. He was tall, well over her own petite 5'2"; probably over six feet. She stared at him in wonder, too shocked to do anything but take in his form. He was tanned; even in the dull glow of the moonlight she could see the golden sheen to his skin. He had a mop of curly black hair that hung nearly to his broad shoulders. His jaw was square-cut and strong with a hint of a beard showing through, a five o'clock shadow. His nose was straight, not too wide, but a little long. His lips—god, his lips!—were lush and sinfully kissable. A fine misting of dark hair spread across his broad, masculine chest, dipping low on his belly. It was then she realized he was naked, and rather happy to be there, watching her with the oddest eyes; they were bright amber in color, a shade akin to gold. In fact, they reminded Brianna oddly of the wolf from her nightmare...
