Chapter Thirty-Five #2
Ash’s pulse kicked harder as he pushed forward, following the narrow hall that led deeper.
The bathroom door stood ajar at the end, and another hung open on the right.
He nudged it wider, stepping into Rick’s bedroom.
The space felt too warm, suffocating, blinds drawn but leaking thin stripes of moonlight across a king-sized bed left in disarray.
Shadows clung to the corners, heavy with silence.
And then his gaze landed on the large, writhing shape on the floor.
Rick was stripped bare, skin slick with sweat, muscles corded in strain.
Steel cuffs bit into his wrists, chaining him to the radiator, his frame arched tight against the pull.
His chest heaved in brutal jerks, each breath rasping out half-growl, half-groan, the sound animalistic and intimate all at once.
Ash froze in the doorway. “Rick?”
“Get out!” Rick’s shout pierced the gloom, guttural, threaded with something feral. His face was half-hidden in shadow, but his eyes caught the moonlight—bloodshot, glinting, not quite human anymore. “You’re not safe—”
“What the hell are you talking about?” Ash snapped, words half-cover for the way his heart was stuttering. Something was seriously wrong here. “What’s going on? Are you on drugs?”
Rick convulsed, shoulders bulging, spine bowing as though some invisible hand was twisting him apart. His teeth clattered, jaw clenched so hard the tendons stood out like ropes. “I’m a—ugh—a werewolf!”
Ash blinked and crossed his arms. “Wow. If you want to ghost me, fine. I’ve done it plenty of times, I’m sure I deserve it. But at least find an excuse that doesn’t sound completely fucking insane.”
The radiator rattled as Rick heaved against it, the iron pipes quaking under his bulk.
Metal clanged, bolts straining as if the whole thing might rip from the wall.
His body convulsed, muscles knotted into ropes before snapping taut, dragging him into a brutal curve.
His lips peeled back from his teeth in a snarl, and the sound that tore out of him was no longer human. “Run!”
Ash’s breath snagged in his throat. The terror in Rick’s voice wasn’t for show—he meant it.
But Ash had heard junkies scream worse on bathroom floors, and none of them had sprouted fangs.
He swallowed, forcing steel into his words.
“Okay, big guy, you’re either going psycho or frying your brain, but either way, you need a fucking ambulance—”
Moonlight slashed past the blinds, a white blade cutting across Rick’s figure.
Ash saw it then, in that stripe of light.
The change was undeniable: dark hair spreading where there had been bare skin, fur crawling thick along his arms, shoulders, chest. His muscles, already formidable, swelled further, cords bunching and twisting until the cuffs bit deep and shrieked against the radiator.
Nails lengthened into claws, gouging trenches in the carpet with each forceful jerk.
His mouth opened wider than it should, canines jutting long and pale as knives.
Ash couldn’t move. Every instinct begged him to flee, but shock welded him to the spot.
Rick, and yet not Rick, loomed before him, a hulking silhouette warped by fur and shadow.
The face still carried an echo of the man, but his cheekbones bristled with hair, features distorted in a grotesque mockery of humanity, teeth too long in a mouth twisted by feral hunger.
With a violent wrench, the handcuffs snapped.
Whatever remained of Rick Slade drowned in the tide of change, leaving only a nightmare rising from the floor.
The creature stood tall, bipedal yet monstrously wrong, shoulders heaving, claws flexing.
It fixed him with a stare burning wild in the dark, savage, ruthless.
The roar that followed shook the walls and rattled through Ash’s bones, a sound torn from the pits of hell.
“Oh shit,” Ash whispered—and bolted.
He barely made the doorway when a massive weight seized him from behind.
Claws hooked into his jacket, yanking him off his feet and hauling him into the bedroom.
He slammed into the wall, the impact knocking the breath from his chest. Before he could recover, the beast was on him, towering, unstoppable.
One huge hand closed around his throat and drove him up the plaster.
His heels scraped for purchase, legs kicking uselessly as his windpipe crushed under the grip.
Both hands clamped around Rick’s wrist, straining with all his strength, but it was like trying to bend steel.
His lungs burned, vision strobing white, and still those eyes blazed into him, merciless and unblinking, pinning him harder than the claws themselves.
“Rick…” He dragged sound past the vise at his throat, low, coaxing, a velvet murmur curling into the beast’s ear. “Rick, it’s me… It’s Ash.”
The hand pressed harder, cutting off breath, and Ash wondered if this was the last thing he’d ever say.
Then—hesitation. The pressure faltered, not gone, but wavering, as though the werewolf couldn’t decide whether to tear him open or not.
The monstrous face dipped toward his own.
Hot breath, sharp with musk and copper, fanned his cheek.
Fangs grazed his skin. A nose trailed along his jaw, sniffing, tasting.
The grip shifted; unyielding, yet no longer a killing hold. A claiming one.
“Aashhh,” the monster growled, human syllables warped by a beast’s mouth.
Ash’s chest hitched. Terror flared, but tangled now with something worse: want.
A deep, dark pulse inside him thrilled at Rick’s unleashed power, at the raw hunger made flesh.
Disgust should have been there, but it wasn’t.
Instead, there was heat, startling and impossible to fight.
His mind screamed run while his body leaned in, every nerve sparking with arousal.
What the fuck was wrong with him?
But then again, fear had always been one hell of an aphrodisiac.
The struggle bled out of him, hands slipping uselessly from Rick’s wrist. Shuddering, he tilted his head back, baring his throat. His voice broke out husky, complicit: “Yes… that’s right. You know me.”
Another growl rumbled from Rick’s chest, vibrating in Ash’s core.
He pressed closer, nose buried in Ash’s neck, inhaling him, tasting sweat and skin, rubbing over him with unmasked lust. Ash felt Rick’s cock thickening, swelling against his thigh, until the blunt heat of it ground into him, already wet at the tip, smearing precum over the thin barrier of fabric.
The shock of it made Ash’s breath stutter, his own cock flaring in answer.
His hole pulsed, slickness blooming deep inside him the way it always did, an ache to be filled instinctive, inexorable.
He wasn’t prey anymore. He was chosen. Wanted.
Instead of fighting, he arched into Rick’s grip, grinding his hips against that rigid length, hands sliding over the massive chest, fur coarse under his fingertips, muscles iron-hard.
His legs wrapped tight around Rick’s waist, locking them together, caging him in even as he was pinned. “Do it,” he rasped. “Take me.”
The response was vicious, immediate. With one sharp rip, Rick shredded Ash’s T-shirt, cotton splitting down the middle and flapping open.
A rough tug at his waistband sent the button popping, denim groaning as claws ripped the seams apart, pants falling in tatters around his boots.
His jacket slid from his shoulders in the struggle, flung aside, and cool air licked across his bared skin before Rick’s fever-hot body engulfed him.
The beast lifted him easily, arms braced under his thighs, and in a single, brutal thrust, drove his cock inside.
Ash’s cry broke out raw, his hole stretching around the intrusion, unprepared yet already slick and yielding.
The first shove buried Rick halfway, thick length forcing its way into tight, trembling walls.
He pulled back and slammed deeper, again and again, each stroke breaching further, battering past his second hole until he was hilt-deep.
Ash gasped, mind shattering as fullness consumed him, a pleasure so fierce it blotted out thought. His nails raked through fur, clinging to the broad shoulders caging him. Rick’s cock pulsed inside him, every thrust rough, relentless, yet impossibly perfect.
“Yes—yes—fuck—” His words broke into breathless chants as Rick pounded into him, hammering his prostate with each frenzied strike, sending shocks through his limbs, sparks bursting behind his lids.
His hole quivered, stretched wide, greedy for more, while Rick kept driving past his second ring again and again, pushing ever deeper, filling him past sanity.
Rick’s tongue was everywhere: lapping at his chest, swirling over his nipples until they throbbed, leaving them swollen and aching.
Sharp teeth scraped his collarbone, nipped his shoulders, drawing gasps that bled into moans.
The sting blurred instantly into white-hot delight, his body arching, begging for more.
His world narrowed to cock, muscle, fur, and the merciless rhythm claiming him. He was gone, drowning in rapture, his hole gushing slick to ease the ferocious pace, screaming its surrender, its hunger, its joy.
“Rick—yes, God, yes—” His cry tore ragged from his throat as his legs locked tighter around Rick’s waist, grinding down to meet every savage stroke.
And beneath the monster’s growl, Ash heard that same rough, broken sound that was Rick, his Rick. “Aashhhh…”
The thrusts grew sharper, ragged, the rhythm unraveling into something primal. Ash clung harder, hole stretched wide, each plunge hitting deeper than he thought possible. His moans spilled into gasps and pleas—yes, more, don’t stop—the sound breaking on the edge of sobs.
Rick shuddered on top of him, grinding close, the thick cock inside him pulsing with bestial urgency. Ash felt it cresting, the raw inevitability of it, as though Rick’s hunger was dragging him with it toward the same terrible peak.
“Oh God—Rick—” His voice splintered as his spine arched, hole clamping tight around the ramming cock. Release flooded him in blinding waves, streaking hot between their bellies. His mind fractured into sparks and static, his cry caught between ecstasy and prayer.
Rick roared into his neck, a guttural sound that echoed within Ash.
He slammed deep, holding Ash impaled to the hilt, cock pulsing inside him, stretching him wide, shocking him with the profound fullness as it erupted, flood after flood of cum spilling deep into his gut.
Ash clutched tighter, delirious, his ass milking every twitch, every untamed spasm, until it felt endless—Rick pouring into him, Ash wrung out around him, locked together in ruinous bliss.
Pinned breathless against the wall, drenched in sweat and cum, Ash let his head drop onto Rick’s fur-covered shoulder.
He shook with the last aftershocks, still filled, still owned.
The growl at his ear ebbed into something low, almost human, almost tender, as if the werewolf was trying to cradle him through the storm.
But Rick didn’t stop. Even as Ash sagged, half-dreaming in his arms, the beast shifted with a sudden snarl and flung him onto the bed.
Ash landed belly-down across the mattress’s edge, knees hitting carpet, ass pushed out.
His lungs heaved, face pressed to the sheets.
Rick was already on top of him, cock still iron-hard and slick with cum.
Then he was inside again, slamming home in one ruthless stroke that knocked the breath from him.
The thrusts came fast, vicious, hips hammering into him, balls smacking his ass.
Ash’s hole flexed and gushed, aching, eager, betraying him with every tremor of raw, primitive joy.
He could barely think, vision blurring, consciousness slipping.
Pleasure crashed over him in endless waves, too vast to contain.
His legs trembled, his arms gave out, the world going soft and dark.
And still Rick fucked him, pounding harder, deeper, inexhaustible, growling his name as he rammed into him.
Ash’s last fragile thought as he slid into blackness was a stunned wonder that flesh could take so much—so much ecstasy, so much ruin—and still crave more.