she’d answered, in these
dreams. But she knew what she’d say now if he asked. God yes. Yes, yes, a
million times yes. It didn’t matter that he was a wolf—he made the guy in the
laundry room look like a mutant. She knew he did. Before all of this he must
have had girls falling all over him, girls prettier and sexier than her, girls
with pouting lips and fine, straight hair, all ready to devour his perfect,
lush mouth and his stormy eyes and that look about him, that hungry,
ready-to-fuck look.
It was on him now, that look. She got to the bottom of his
legs without glancing at his face, but once there she made the mistake of
flicking her gaze up.
And he was burning at her, just burning. He’d clenched his
hands into fists at his side, which should have been threatening but wasn’t
somehow. None of this was threatening, even though she could see his cock
clearly, jutting up over his belly like a…like a…
Jesus, she didn’t even know. Of course she’d known how big
he was, there—she’d seen it often enough, thick and slumberous between his
thighs—but close up like this and so stiff and swollen and ready to just do
whatever it was he wanted to do…
It felt very, very different.
So much so that her nipples had stiffened underneath the
cotton of her stupid too-thin uniform, and she knew how slick her sex was.
She’d soaked through the material of her panties, at the very least, and when
she moved, things glided.
It was mortifying. Not least of which because she knew one
thing for certain—he’d be able to tell. He didn’t completely turn into a wolf,
not ever, but he definitely had all of the senses. He was always sat up waiting
for her, before she’d even opened the door and walked into the ward. He knew
when she’d stopped washing her hair with the meager supply of shampoo and
started in on the scrappy soap.
He’d know this. He’d be able to smell it, hear it, feel it
most likely. It was probably the reason for his immense erection—he’d gotten
the scent of her ridiculous arousal and it had forced a completely unwanted
reaction on him.
She almost wanted to apologize, but it would just mean
acknowledging what was going on. And that seemed like a bad, bad idea. Better
just to keep soaping him until he started breathing in a completely unsettling
and too rapid way, body minutely squirming and rocking against the bed,
everything so hot and stifling and awful.
When she dared to look at him again, he’d closed his eyes.
He’d turned his head to one side, against the pillow, and it seemed for all the
world as though he’d found himself in the middle of a troubling dream.
His gleaming, parted lips aside, of course. They just looked
like something she needed to touch, immediately. She couldn’t even see the
sharp hint of his teeth, so it didn’t seem like too great a hardship to imagine
sliding a finger inside or maybe…maybe she could just lean down and—
She shook herself hard and kept on with it, teeth gritted,
arms now soaped all the way up to the elbows. Everything would be okay if she
just pretended all of this was normal, if she just continued washing him and
studiously ignored his stiff cock. In a minute she could tell him she was done
and he could clean that place himself.
Hell, he could do other things to it, if he wanted.
She would just turn her back and think of other things
distant and far away, and he could stroke himself to orgasm while her sanity
held on to itself by a thread. Something like that.
Something that was not her running the back of her hand over
the thick length of him, just to see him jerk and shiver.
He didn’t move away though. He didn’t grab her wrist the way
he’d done before, and he didn’t tell her to stop or anything like that. And
when she did it again, firmer this time and with more intent, he opened his
eyes.
Looked right at her, almost feral but not quite, his entire
body rippling with the tense breaths she could see him drawing in.
She
dreams. But she knew what she’d say now if he asked. God yes. Yes, yes, a
million times yes. It didn’t matter that he was a wolf—he made the guy in the
laundry room look like a mutant. She knew he did. Before all of this he must
have had girls falling all over him, girls prettier and sexier than her, girls
with pouting lips and fine, straight hair, all ready to devour his perfect,
lush mouth and his stormy eyes and that look about him, that hungry,
ready-to-fuck look.
It was on him now, that look. She got to the bottom of his
legs without glancing at his face, but once there she made the mistake of
flicking her gaze up.
And he was burning at her, just burning. He’d clenched his
hands into fists at his side, which should have been threatening but wasn’t
somehow. None of this was threatening, even though she could see his cock
clearly, jutting up over his belly like a…like a…
Jesus, she didn’t even know. Of course she’d known how big
he was, there—she’d seen it often enough, thick and slumberous between his
thighs—but close up like this and so stiff and swollen and ready to just do
whatever it was he wanted to do…
It felt very, very different.
So much so that her nipples had stiffened underneath the
cotton of her stupid too-thin uniform, and she knew how slick her sex was.
She’d soaked through the material of her panties, at the very least, and when
she moved, things glided.
It was mortifying. Not least of which because she knew one
thing for certain—he’d be able to tell. He didn’t completely turn into a wolf,
not ever, but he definitely had all of the senses. He was always sat up waiting
for her, before she’d even opened the door and walked into the ward. He knew
when she’d stopped washing her hair with the meager supply of shampoo and
started in on the scrappy soap.
He’d know this. He’d be able to smell it, hear it, feel it
most likely. It was probably the reason for his immense erection—he’d gotten
the scent of her ridiculous arousal and it had forced a completely unwanted
reaction on him.
She almost wanted to apologize, but it would just mean
acknowledging what was going on. And that seemed like a bad, bad idea. Better
just to keep soaping him until he started breathing in a completely unsettling
and too rapid way, body minutely squirming and rocking against the bed,
everything so hot and stifling and awful.
When she dared to look at him again, he’d closed his eyes.
He’d turned his head to one side, against the pillow, and it seemed for all the
world as though he’d found himself in the middle of a troubling dream.
His gleaming, parted lips aside, of course. They just looked
like something she needed to touch, immediately. She couldn’t even see the
sharp hint of his teeth, so it didn’t seem like too great a hardship to imagine
sliding a finger inside or maybe…maybe she could just lean down and—
She shook herself hard and kept on with it, teeth gritted,
arms now soaped all the way up to the elbows. Everything would be okay if she
just pretended all of this was normal, if she just continued washing him and
studiously ignored his stiff cock. In a minute she could tell him she was done
and he could clean that place himself.
Hell, he could do other things to it, if he wanted.
She would just turn her back and think of other things
distant and far away, and he could stroke himself to orgasm while her sanity
held on to itself by a thread. Something like that.
Something that was not her running the back of her hand over
the thick length of him, just to see him jerk and shiver.
He didn’t move away though. He didn’t grab her wrist the way
he’d done before, and he didn’t tell her to stop or anything like that. And
when she did it again, firmer this time and with more intent, he opened his
eyes.
Looked right at her, almost feral but not quite, his entire
body rippling with the tense breaths she could see him drawing in.
She
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