Before long, he’s rocking his hips into my chest while I clutch my tits around his cock.
I’ve done so much avoiding him lately, even when I kissed him the other night. How many times did I even look directly at him this week, until I was kneeling between his knees, stroking his cock?
Time has cut into his face, there are creases around his eyes that didn’t used to be there. The years have definitely blurred my memory of him. Or maybe back then I’d been too busy curling in on my insecurities to really, truly look at him the way I am now.
When his cock pushes up between my breasts, there’s just enough bend in my neck to drag my tongue over the head of his cock, or to give the occasional teasing suck between every few strokes.
I don’t know what Shawn thought was mystical about my tit-jobs, I thought they were fairly standard.
His shoulders heave with a labored breath and he grinds out, “Fuck, I’m not going to last long.”
Before I can make a teasing comment in return, I feel something else start to disrupt the rhythm of my tit-job. A swell towards the base of his cock, growing more prominent with every pass between my breasts.
I slow my heaving bosom, taking his cock in my hands again, laying my eyes on this new addition. There’s a bulging knot split by a seam of veining, swollen near the base of his shaft. I could feel a more intense heat coming off the skin as a bead of precum welled at the tip, his balls tightening below.
I trace my fingers over the formidable curve of it, marveling for just a moment. Is this supposed to go inside?
“That’s my knot.” Shawn sighs, the muscles in his neck tense as his chest rises and falls with heavy breaths.
“Knot?”
“It’s...kind of a wolf thing. I mean it is a wolf thing,” he mutters. He glances away from me, dragging a hand over his face, but I can still see the rush of red peeking between his fingers. “It’s for mating.”
“You never knotted with me before.”
“Maybe we weren’t ready for that,” he pants and swallows. “Wolves mate for life. Or you’re supposed to.”
There’s something about that statement that makes me bristle. Maybe it’s the guilt I feel at leaving without a goodbye, or maybe it’s that I’m still gun-shy at the thought of commitment.
Whatever it is, I drop my eyes to the ground at his words, not really able to handle the weight of that statement. Part of me wants him to explain what he means by that, but I can’t stop and interrogate him about it, so I just focus on finishing this.
“Elise—” Shawn starts to say, interrupted by his own climax. He comes with a groan, hot spurts of his release painting my clavicle, my neck. It cools almost the second it touches my skin, but there is something extremely gratifying about his climax dripping onto me. It’s interrupted by a stinging pain in my shoulder creeping into my awareness, as he grips me too hard.
His cock twitches the last of his release against my tits. A low, guttural rumble in his chest becomes a snarl, the corners of his mouth dragging down. My eyes widen, seeing him shift further into his wolfish form. It’s startling to witness, hearing the creak and snap of bone.
I can’t help but recoil.
“Ow!” I hiss, pulling back out of Shawn’s grip, but that only makes it worse. I realize as he lets go of my arm, the tips of his claws pull out. They had dug in, perhaps even emerged further as he’d gripped me through his climax.
I fall back on my ass, scooting away from him in the dirt. I clutch a hand over where the pain in my shoulder is, and my palm comes away wet.
“Shit, Elise, I’m sorry,” he starts to say, but the words are tainted by the wolfish gnarr now in his voice. He starts to reach a clawed, jagged hand to me.
“It’s ok. It was an accident—”
I glance at my hand, the way my palm is fully red with my blood. I can see when the metallic scent hits him, the way heshudders and shifts a little more into the monster he was afraid I would see.
He looks horrified with himself, but it’s hard to decipher the human expression from the wolfish features surfacing. He backs away, stuffing his cock in his jeans haphazardly and clearing the fieldstone wall behind him in a swift movement. “You need to get home, lock the doors.”
“Shawn, I know you didn’t mean to,” I plead, almost yell, after him. He’s halfway across the field again when he stops and barely turns to me.
“Elise, please. I couldn’t live with myself if worse happened.”
The fading sun catches and reflects a bit of scarred skin on his arms, a few thin scratches where his coat doesn’t come in.
I can see them then, the marks his mother left in his arm, scars nearly as old as he is, before he turns and runs away.
This whole fucking family, man.
