The Wolf's Captive by Chloe Cox

didn’t say she couldn’t look, after all. And he was a sight. He prowled around her, as he had at the Dance. Like an animal, stalking its prey. Claiming its mate. Again, she shuddered.
    “Your nipples are erect,” he said. His words had an odd, stilted rhythm, as though they required extra effort to say. She wanted to scream for him to take her then, there, immediately, no longer caring about whether he would know she was a virgin, whether she would be bad at it. She didn’t understand why he hadn’t. Why he wasn’t even touching her. What was wrong?
    “Yes,” she finally answered.
    “You are aroused.”
    She swallowed. Somehow she still retained the capacity for embarrassment. “Yes.”
    “Prove it.”
    Lucia looked at him in open-mouthed surprise, and then shame. The weight of her inexperience felt heavier than ever. She had no idea how to do that. He waited for a response, and then narrowed his eyes.
    “Come here and put your hands flat on the table,” he commanded. He picked the heavy wooden chair up and tossed it aside, sending it skidding across the hard stone floor, into the shadows. His strength was frightening.
    Lucia took a step towards the table, her hands instinctively moving to cover her breasts as they bounced gently with her gait. Lord Cesare only glared, and shook his head slightly. Her hands came down. She was glad to have somewhere to put them when she reached the table.
    He had spared no expense in the settings. She still had no idea why.
    “Bend over, with your forearms flat on the cloth.”
    Lucia managed to suppress a small gasp.  She couldn’t have explained why this felt so depraved, like she was just a piece of merchandise, a mere commodity to be inspected. That humiliating thought only aroused her more, and she hung her head to hide the blush spreading to her cheeks, only to let that gasp escape when her nipples brushed up against the chilled metal of the dinner plate.
    And then she waited. In agony, she waited.
    She heard him move behind her, just to the side. And yet he did not speak, did not move, for what seemed like an eternity. With every passing second she grew more aware of his presence, more conscious of her vulnerability, and, to her confused shame, more swollen and hungry for his touch. For his cock.
    She’d never known what that was like, and yet all she could think about it was how it would feel to have him inside her.
    Instead, she felt his soft boot between her ankles, and, without warning, he pushed her legs apart.
    “Keep them spread,” he said.
    Dumbly, she nodded. She tried to understand what she was feeling, and was surprised to discover that she wanted to please him. Not just for him to have her, not just for the hard hand of the Severille. She wanted to please him while he took her. The tiny part of her mind that still cared about pride at that moment screamed and shouted its defiance.
    Before she could rebel against her body, his hand was on her inner thigh. His touch sent an immediate pulse through out her long, prone limbs, and burned through the rest of her thoughts.
    Lucia sighed deeply, and as she exhaled the last of her resistance left her. She no longer cared about anything else. Her back arched her hips towards him all on its own.
    “Let’s see,” he said, slowly running his hand up her thigh, toward her soaking wet slit. A shiver ran through her. Slowly he let his fingers feel their way along the delicate crease of her leg and her vulva, and brush lightly against her outer lips. She was already so wet that her juices had spread, and his fingers were slick, sliding along her skin.
    She dropped her head to the table, her flesh quivering. Lord Cesare chuckled.
    “You are ready, aren’t you?” he murmured, and slipped a finger inside her.
    She tensed, her back arched, and let loose a small cry. He only teased her around the sensitive rim of her entrance, round and round, testing, probing. That mere contact, after so long, after wondering for so