Page 46 of Werewolves and Witches AU

I chuckle, but at the mention of food my stomach rumbles. The faint smell of dinner being prepared drifts upstairs from the kitchen, and then I remember Rowan telling me he’d wake me for tea. He must be in there cooking, and if dinner is anything like breakfast, then I can’t wait.

“Yeah, sure. I should see about getting some food too. So I’ll catch you later.”

“Sure. Night, Miles. Be careful if you have any more dreamscapades.”

I giggle-snort. “Yes, sir! Night, Ray-Ray.”

19

Safewords And Codenames

Milo

Sliding my phone into the butt pocket of my jeans, I leave my boots and jacket where they are, pad over to the door, and follow the wholesome scent of home-cooking out into the hall. My socked feet sink into the thick fibres of the beige carpet as I tread past closed bedroom doors.

It’s disorienting, napping in a strange house, so it takes me a minute to register the unmistakable sound of sex coming from within the second room on my right.

I draw to an abrupt halt, warmth rising to my cheeks. Surreptitiously, I turn to stare at the innocuous gloss-white door. It’s a bit of a thing, among witches, to always joke about the sex-drive of werewolves, or liken our more base and primal instincts to the phase of the moon, which invariably leads us full circle back to commenting on people fucking like wolves. But I haven’t ever… and to hear it now… so clearly…

“That’s exactly what you think it is,” Tuesday’s Australian accents states plainly.

My head snaps up to find him leaning casually against the wall a little further along the hallway, one foot crossed over the other at the ankle, arms folded across his broad chest, knowing smirk written all over his face. My blush intensifies at having been caught clearly listening in on one of his brothers.

“At least once every hour.” Tuesday tilts his head as if straining to listen. But werewolves hear better than humans, so I know he’s doing that on purpose. “This one sounds like a skull-fuck, no? It’s that sloppy, wet, schlucking sound.”

He brings his hands down in front of his pelvis, as if holding an invisible head, and circles his hips. My heartrate kicks up at the lewd image. But also, yes, that’s what I’d thought it sounded like too.

I drop my eyes down to where my toes curl into the carpet.

“That means he’s in a good mood. It’s when the knotting videos come out that you need to worry.”

“The knotting videos?” I ask, but I’m swarmed with instant and hot regret. Why did I ask that?

Tuesday pushes away from the wall and steps closer a little. “You know about alpha wolves and knotting, Pup?”

That word, from Tuesday’s lips, hits differently, and I stand a little taller. Of course I’ve heard about knotting. Fantasised about it even—on occasion—but I didn’t know there were videos, and I’ve never…

He comes to a stop not two feet in front of me, bends his right arm at the elbow, and then holds his clenched fist up between us.

“Imagine it. Something that big swelling just inside your rim, locking you in place, but hurting in the most exquisite way.” Tuesday drops his fist, arm swinging down through the air. “Which is why it’s a problem when a cunt like Thriller gets on that need train. Desiring to lock a partner onto him, when he’d just need to go again before he’d even deflated, represents an itch he can’t scratch. A drive he can’t match. A situation beyond his control. But a skull-fuck… that’s a good day.”

My jaw falls open a little at the image he paints. That’s a possibility for werewolves? Being locked together then getting the urge to go again? Conflicting thoughts and emotions light up my brain, rendering me speechless.

Tuesday winks, as if he understands perfectly the effect his little speech has had, and is proud of himself.

As the tell-tale click of the door opening on my right opening sounds out, Tuesday smoothly disappears into the room on my left. Turning slowly, I come face to face with Thriller. A towel hangs dangerously low on his hips, and his chest and abs are generously coated in dark hair. His eyes, an unusual shade of forest-green, rake over me, but he says nothing.

Clearing my throat, I mumble an awkward, “Hi.”

It’s painfully obvious what I’m doing, standing here outside his bedroom door in an empty hallway. The sound of porn playing through the tinny speakers of a laptop is louder with his door is open.

Before he can say anything, I scurry off and rush down the stairs.

Leaping the final few steps, I swing around the corner and burst into the living room like I used to as a teenager. For half a beat, I expect Aunt Anabelle to arch a perfectly shaped eyebrow and ask me if I was raised in a barn. But there’s no Anabelle, only Delilah and Guardian, whose heads are so close where they sit at the breakfast table with countless papers and laptops, they’re almost touching.

Sheepishly, I avert my gaze, dip my head, and retreat to the sanctuary of the kitchen where I firmly close the door behind me and lean against it to blow out a long breath.

“Ye okay, Pup?” Rowan pauses on my intrusion.