Out of My Head

“This is for your own good, sweetheart,” Steve’s deep baritone rumbled over you. “It’s your day off, and you know the rule: work is prohibited.”

“But I was just checking my email real quick,” you argued, pouting even more as Steve finally finished with the restraints and gave you his full attention. 

Your belly swooped as he leaned close, in your space on purpose, making your body perk up in hyperawareness–in anticipation. 

As your greedy gaze drank in his ridiculously handsome features up close, it really was hard to believe that Steve was a machine and not a man, because he presented as all man, and you had the soaked pussy to prove it. 

“And now you’re gonna face the consequences,” Steve murmured. 

Just from his words alone, you felt a fresh gush of arousal seep from your cunt, further ruining your underwear. Your squirming increased as you watched Steve straighten to his full, intimidating height and tug off his shirt. There was a spark of knowing in his gaze as he did so, because it wasn’t a secret at all how much you loved his body. 

You had custom designed it after all. 

Your breath hitched as Steve moved closer, his touch somehow careful and a little rough as he undressed the lower half of your body. He watched you for a moment, gaze drinking in the naked state of your lower half as he pondered, and then he reached out and tore your shirt and bra clean in half before shoving them off your body, too, leaving you completely bare. 

You choked on a whimper at the impressive show of strength, eager now as you watched Steve climb onto the bed. His hands were warm and calloused as they landed on your bent knees. He eased your legs open, pushing them as wide as they could go to reveal your bare pussy, which was shining with your slick and leaking even more under his smug gaze. 

Eyes flickering up the length of you before meeting your embarrassed stare, Steve raised an eyebrow, wordlessly acknowledging just how wet you were. 

For him. Like always.  

“You’re not supposed to enjoy your punishment,” he husked, lips quirking ever so slightly as he leaned in and whispered, “Bad girl.” 

You whined as his thumb drew up the messy cut of you, sagging back against the pillows in complete surrender. 

“This won’t be the only part of you I have crying,” Steve promised, shifting to stretch out on his stomach, so his face was mere inches away from your cunt. “Cause I won’t stop eating this pretty pussy until you’re boneless and begging and work is the furthest thing from your mind.”

A wall of stale beer and wet dog greets you as the door opens. You pause a moment to breathe your last fresh air before venturing inside.

The bar is dark and grimy even in the afternoon. But it’s also the last place in town that’s hiring.

A large group occupies a couple booths in the back. Their gazes swinging to your intrusion. You try not to shiver—and fail.

They’re not why you’re here, though. The bartender, cleaning a glass with a towel, is.

“Hi,” you greet with a quick wave of your hand.

She glances up, brow quirked in interest.

“You have a help wanted sign on your door?”

“You have any experience?” she asks, monotonous, bored.

“I used to bartend at a local bar in college,” you reply with a nod. “I’m really good at—”

“Let me get Johnny,” she interrupts, already turning before you can finish.

“Uh, sure,” you mutter at her retreating back.

You sour. Sure that this won’t work out. Your dwindling savings in dire need. It’s just a matter of sticking it out, you determine, no use in giving up before you start. Your gaze flicks to the occupied tables in the back. The werewolves crowd together, speaking in hushed tones. Awareness prickles at the back of your neck.

You turn back to the bar. Cataloging spirits and reminding yourself which cocktails they fit.

An unexpected weight presses into your back, pinning you to the bar. A gasp rips from your throat. The body curls over yours. Breath billowing over your neck. The stench of beer overwhelming.

“Look at this boys,” he calls out toward the corner. One of them, then. “Got us something plump and delicious.”

You squeak as fingers dig into your curves. Hips aching under his fingers. Your elbow jabs back, but he doesn’t move. A wall of muscle and heat.

“Get off,” you wisp, conviction strong but voice weak.

He rumbles—a warning that locks your limbs instinctively. “I can’t help that little red riding hood wandered too far from the path and ended up in a den of wolves,” he growls. His breath grows heavier, his weight suffocating. “But I can eat you—”

Relief. Pure and utter relief as air fills your lungs once again and his figure leaves your back.

You spin on your heel. Compelled to see the reason for such swift retreat. It was not of his own volition. No.

Another werewolf has him scruffed. Lips pulled back over his fangs in a menacing snarl.

“I don’t know how you do it in your territory, Pete, but that’s not the way we treat visitors here.”

His eyes swing to you, and lock. A weighted pause. A request for approval you don’t understand. His claws clamping onto the jaw of the other werewolf, but waiting. For you.

Air fills you as you’re entranced by the wolf man who’s come to your rescue. The other wolf jerks, trying to free himself. But just like you were, he’s trapped.

A thrill sings through your veins. Power washing over you in the werewolf’s claws. You look between them before your head dips in a nod. An uneasy smile tweaks across your face.

A pop cracks through the air. The werewolf’s jaw hanging at an odd angle. He clutches at it and moans in pain. But your saviour is done with him.

Instead, he turns fully to you. Approaching slowly. He crowds close, tall enough you have to angle your head to meet his eye.

“I’m Steve,” he says, voice low and dripping with intensity.

Your knees shake. Lips quivering as you try to make them form around your name.

“Hey, so Lola was saying you need a job,” another voice breaks in.

You turn over your shoulder. A man approaching with his phone in hand. No attention paid to your position.

A low dangerous growl vibrates through you. The werewolf lowers his head, teeth baring in a snarl. A giant clawed hand wraps around your waist. Moving you with the way it sweeps you from the bar and into a hairy, warm chest.

The man looks up and sighs with a roll of his eyes. “Fine.” The word a drawl of undeserved burden. He spins and walks away without another word.

You chirp a panicked, “Wha—”

Though it does you no good. The werewolf rumbles, a smug sound and noses along your neck until you shiver.

You swallow and try to say something. Unfortunately for you, Steve the werewolf has other plans. He scoops you up under your thighs, winding them around his waist. Fur cushioning your skin. And the next thing you know, he’s tucking himself back into his booth with you positioned snug on his lap.

The others quickly abandon their seats, scattering to find distraction elsewhere. And they take the air with them, sucking it away and leaving you with the suffocating and intoxicating presence of the werewolf beneath you.

His muzzle presses to the juncture where your shoulder meets your neck. He hums against you.

“You smell amazing,” he rumbles against your skin. “Anyone ever tell you that?”

Your head shakes in a frantic denial. A jittering buzz beneath your skin. He hums again, long tongue swiping along the length of your throat at over the hinge of your jaw. “I will. Every fucking day.”

Your back arches with his attention. Angling your lower half in a hungry grind toward him while simultaneously arching away from his presence. You need air. You need space. But all you want is more of him. His hands hold your ribs, deadly yet delicate.

You breathe deep and try to let your mind find its coherence. “I don’t even know you.” It’s the last logical thought your brain can maintain. The tether quickly fraying the more he conquers the space between you.

“Doesn’t matter. You’re mine now.”

The statement slams into you like a punch and leaves you reeling. Even as your body bends back and lays over the table in a final effort to resist him.

Even that, he does not allow. He reels you back in. His hand wrapping around your neck, cradling your nape and skull in the expanse of his hand. He could crush you. He knows it. You know it.

Your heart flutters in a gripping mix of fear and need. The cocktail heady as your breath jumps and hiccups past your lips.

“Look at you,” he murmurs with sticky sweet devotion, “so delicate.” And his gaze sweeps over you. An appraisal of what he intends to devour.

A shiver shakes you in his hold. You know you can’t escape, but you really don’t want to. Between your thighs a ravenous need gathers, builds. Your arousal pooling, ruining your panties.

Steve’s eyes darken. Pupils eclipsing his irises. The scent of you filling his nose. Your cheeks heat at your position, your body’s reaction. You swallow thickly. Licking your lips with a swipe of your tongue, preparing yourself for speech.

“I should—”

“I’m going to fuck you on this table,” Steve interrupts, steady and calm even as his hunger stares back at you like a predator. Every one of his senses focused and still.

Your lips part, stunned. You want to look around, see the audience you might have. Make a suggestion for more privacy—an office or storage closet or restroom.

But you’re trapped in his gaze. Unable to resist. Even as he spreads you across his table, lifting your hips to tug your shorts off your legs and discard them.

Reverence accompanies each of his actions, a calm assurance to every move. Your panties taken from you next. Brought to his nose for a deep inhale. His eyes still locked on your own. You shudder, legs clamping around him. He growls in return, a pleased sound as he bares his teeth.

He looms over your form. Blocks the dim and dirty barroom lights when he curls over you. His claws slice through the fabric of your tshirt and the bra beneath like a hot knife through butter.

You whimper. The sound pulled from a deep and yearning part of you. Terrified and titillated in a way you can’t form into words. His muzzles drags across your collarbones and up to your ear.

He hushes you with a gentle sound. “You’ll be okay, gorgeous mate mine,” he says for only you to hear, “as soon as I fill you up with my knot and claim you thoroughly.”

The hot, heavy length of him presses against you through the material of his strained jeans. He frees himself with a quick flick of his wrist. His cock pressed between your bodies. It throbs against you.

You look down. An unbidden noise of shock and awe chokes out of you. He follows your gaze. His cock already leaking precum against your bare skin. A graphic sight of how far he will impale you measured against your belly. Monstrous and intimidating—you’re unsure it will even fit.

He chuckles, smile tilting his lips. “I guess I’ll just have to be careful.”

You squeak. The only sound left to you as his fingers slip between you and prod at your center.

“But you’ll make it easy for me, won’t you?”

Your head bobs in a shaky nod before you can think the question through. Too entranced by the lewd sight of him over you.

A satisfied sound tumbles from him like a rockslide. Your blood vibrates with the grit of it. Your legs stretch impossibly wider and tilt. You cunt already slick, aching for him and pulsing with need.

His lips spread toward a smile as his angles himself, cock slipping between you and slotting between your lower lips. You gasp. The heat radiating off of it, gliding through your arousal and coating himself in it. A tease that feeds your lust by the second with paltry nudges to your clit. It sinks its claws in you, consuming every other thought and emotion until you are the embodiment of need.

“Please,” you beg, voice whining and forlorn, “please put it in me.” Your fingers sink into fur, tugging until he snarls. Pinning you down and pumping his hips against you.

“I’m a man of my word,” he barks more than says. His breath hot against your cheek. His tongue lapping at the beading sweat on your face. “But I will not break what’s mine.”

You grip at him, cling to his muscles. Do your best to focus on the sensations of him pressed against you. The cadence of his breath. The soft tangle of fur. The smell of musk and leather. But all you want is right there, right at your center. Centimeters away from making you whole.

“Breathe in,” he commands, and you can do nought but comply.

A breath gulped past your parted lips. And exhaled on a forceful keen. The breach of him into your cunt pushing it out of you.

He rocks his hips, a gentle yet devastating foray into your heat. An undulation that knocks him deeper, and deeper, and impossibly deeper. Taking up space in your stomach, your lungs, your throat. Rattling all thoughts away and pinpointing your entire existence on his cock. Sheathed in you like it’s found home.

“Just a little more,” he murmurs against your throat.

You balk and whimper. Glancing down between your bodies, obstructed by fur, but seeing the peek of his cock still outside you. The place where his knot will swell. You swallow hard and meet his gaze.

Blue eyes, full of confidence and fervor, pinch at the corners as he breathes and reaches between you. Thumb on your clit, coaxing dazzling zips of desire to flood his cock further.

He withdraws and plunges anew. A steadier thrust of his hips. Meeting the point of no return and forging past. Your head thunks into the palm of his hand. Back arching as you strive to accommodate him. And then his hips meet yours. A cushion of his fur sticking to your arousal and matting.

Both of you breathe heavy. A moment taken to let your lung devour air and adjust to this new configuration of yourselves.

“See,” he says with a proud lilt to his tone, “I knew I could fit. You were made for me, mate mine.”

You lick your dry lips—or at least attempt to. The pleasure of it stolen as Steve’s long tongue swipes across them for you. His mouth pressing to yours in an unfamiliar dance. Kissing his lupine mouth a challenge you wish to succeed. You moan into him. His fangs nipping at your lips. Descending away and down your throat, nibbling love bites and claims across your skin.

It’s when your body loosens completely, submits to him, that he lets instinct overcome. It snarls against your skin. And he fucks you.

Any restraint on his part negligible. He parts you on his cock and carves your cunt to the measure of him. Both of you gnawing at something that craves and craves—and finds satiation in each other. Because why else would you lift your hips and clap against him in time, if not for that fundamental part of you that wants this. More than a job. More than dignity and privacy. More than anything else.

You moan and cry out. His groans and whimpers echoing each of yours. His cock filling you and your pussy clenching around him. That last bit ready for you both. The knot at the base of his cock already starting to swell.

Your breath hitches. The stretch of him already unimaginable. You can’t help but want it all.

Steve continues to work over your clit. Seeing you closer and closer to your peek. His knot popping in and out. Stretching your pussy further and further. Until it expands fully, he snaps his hips, and your greedy entrance refuses to release it. Locking your cunt around him like an inevitability. And forcing you to cum.

Your body trembles with the wave of your release. An intensity you’ve never before experienced. The entirety of your worldview shifting as it awakens you entirely.

With your eyes locked with Steve’s you yield to it—let it drag you into a new plane of existence. Where your legs shake and your back arches in the cradle of Steve’s grip and his cock pumps more cum into you than you think you can stand and he bends closer and sinks his teeth into your shoulder until you bleed.

Time slogs by until the world rights itself—as much as it can. Steve stays connected to you as his biology prescribes. But he doesn’t remain idle—doesn’t let things fall as they may, no. He keeps you right where he wants you. Your pussy fluttering over him as he coaxes you through waves of overstimulation and electric aftershocks. Until your pathetic whines draw his pack back toward his booth. He bundles you close, warm and protected against his furry chest, resting in his lap until his knot deflates. Hands clapping his back and shoulder in congratulation. Voices echoing the sentiment in a joyful celebration. Noses nuzzling and pressing against your sides.

“Ah, sweetie,” Nick chuckles and swipes away the sauce with his thumb first.

You try not to squirm at his touch. All night, his hands have been wandering. Brushes up your hip and thigh, toying with the fabric of your skirt, stroking your arm and neck.

He licks the sauce from his thumb and you twitch as he leans in. He kisses your cheek as you drag the tines of the fork across the bottom of the plate. You’re not a prude, you’re just not used to that much. And you’re still spinning from it all.

You should’ve known. Deep down you did know, didn’t you? You keep having this argument with yourself. What did you expect? You accepted his invitation, you knew it wasn’t for free. Maybe you were in denial but you’re not that naive.

You’re as good as the prostitute your mom warned you were rampant in the big city.

“This dress looks so good on you,” Nick intones as he traces the strap down to your chest. “You got a spectacular body, baby.”

You gulp, cheeks fiery and eyes bleary. You can’t help but think of what happened in the pool. Maybe he thought you did that on purpose. Maybe you sent the wrong message, not him. You bat your lashes and gently touch his wrist, fingers grazing his gold watch.

“Nick…” You look around.

“Ah, I get it, baby, you’re shy.” He pulls his hand back and lets it trail down your arm. “I like that you’re so different, sweetheart. To anyone else. You’re… you’re so sweet and…” his hand settles on your thigh and squeezes. “Soft.”

He kisses your cheek again and pecks down to your neck. You shiver and set the fork down. You put your hand on his.

“I’m sorry. Can I… use the bathroom?” You murmur.

His grip turns rigid. Tension sinks into your  thigh then he lets you go. He relents and sits back, adjusting his belt as he takes a deep breath.

“Sure, sweetheart.”

“Just… all that wine.” You smile sheepishly through tight lips.

“Mmm,” he hums dully. “You need more.” He reaches to pour another glass. “Need to relax.”

You thank him and get up. You need water and a ticket home. You wander behind the table and search around the dimly lit tables with their elegant bouquets and whispering couples. You find a server and ask for the restroom. It takes several awkward gestures to get your message across.

The bathroom is creaky but well kept. You take advantage of the opportunity, stretching time as far as you can. You face your reflection and sigh. You don’t look or feel like you.

What are you going to do? You can’t get home without him. You can’t afford the ticket, barely even the commute to the airport. Why did you do this? Why did you come all this way without any sort of backup plan?

You count your breaths and leave the bathroom. You weave your way back to the table. Dessert’s waiting with Nick. You sit and he stretches his arm across the back of your chair.

“Real Italian Tiramisu,” he purrs as he points to the layers. He picks up his fork and cuts through, the cream bulging from between the layers of sponge. “You go first.

“Oh, um…” You smile again. Your cheeks are taut. You lean in to take the bite from the fork. You hum and nod. You swallow. “Delicious.”

“Oh yeah?” He slices through another portion. He tastes it himself. He pops his lips and gulps it down. “Only one thing I can think of that tastes better.” He scoops up more and hovers it in front of your lips. “You.”

📸

The gondola rocks slightly beneath you. Nick slings his arm over your arm, holding you to him as his fingers walk up and down your arm. You feel him watching you as you watch the moon.

“You’re gorgeous,” he whispers and kisses your temple.

“Thanks. Again.” You eke out.

You blink away the sheen of the moon’s face and glance along the canal’s edge. There’s a flicker of something, a dark figure walking with a boxy shape in hand. You shake off the peculiarity of the silhouette as Nick pets your forearm.

He leans in and nibbles your ear. You squirm and giggle nervously.

“Baby, I need you so bad.” His hand brushes down to yours. “You look so good tonight.”

“You said. A lot. Thank you.” You laugh again.

“I can’t help it. You drive me wild.” He growls. “Sweetheart,” his voice is raspy as his breath puffs in your ear. “I hurt so bad.”

Your breath catches in your chest. You touch his hand and hold your smile. What do you do? What can you do?

Your lips scrunch up as you fight to keep the mask in place.

“What’s wrong?” He asks as he traces down your cheek, cradling your face as his thumb runs beneath your mouth.

“Oh, I… I think it’s the wine. I’m not used to drinking…” you say. It’s not a lie. You don’t think the fogginess is just your shock. Your body feels separate from your mind and heart. Everything is so disjointed.

“Ah, well you let me take care of you, baby.” He coaxes and turns your head. “That’s all I want.”

He kisses you. You can’t breathe or think. His tongue barges past your reticence and he drinks you in. The boat knocks and tilts. He parts and chuckles.

“Signore,” he addresses the driver and stands.

He keeps his hand on yours and helps you up onto the steps, guiding you up onto the stony canal walkway. You cling to him, trying to hide behind him, feeling exposed as you pass other couples along the street.

The villa offers little haven for you. As the door closes, you can’t help but stare at it. Nick keeps you close and tugs you away from the entry. He faces you as he squeezes your hands and takes a step back. He looks you up and down.

“Sweetheart… I don’t wanna forget tonight. Can I take your picture?” He drawls.

“My… picture?” You squeak.

“Sure. Remember. Like before.” He says. “Come on.”

He doesn’t await your acceptance. He pulls you through the villa to the bedroom. You stumble at the entry way. He spins to catch you. He snickers.

“Too much wine?” He taunts.

“Um… yes.” You utter.

“Ah, come on.” He hooks his arm around you and guides you to the bed. “Sit.”

He leads you down onto the bed. You grip the mattress as the toes of your shoes barely touch the floor. You curl your shoulders forward as he turns and goes to the chest of drawers.

He pulls out a black leather bag. He unzips it but you can’t see much around him. You just hear clicks and other soft noises. He turns and aims the lens at you, the louder click catches you by surprise.

“Sweetheart, relax,” he angles the camera. “Put those shoulders back, chest out.”

“Um, I don’t know about this…” your voice drags on your tongue.

“It’s just pictures. Just for us.” He goads. “So we don’t forget tonight.”

“Nick,” you blink, lashes sticking. “I don’t know…” You shake your head and he clicks the camera again. You put your hand up to block him. “Nick!” You raise your voice desperately. You can barely hear above your racing heart. “Nick, I can’t do this.”

You stand up and go to rush by him. He’s quick. He keeps his camera in one hand as his other arm hooks around your waist. He pulls you back against him and nuzzles your head.

“What can’t you do, baby?” He snarls as he presses his pelvis against you. You flinch at you feel him in his pants. “Cause I know what you’re not going to do is run away from me and leave me like this.” 

He bends his arm and grabs your chin. He pushes his head next to yours and lifts the camera, turning it around. He presses his cheek to yours.