Chapter 1 #3
"You've been carrying tension everywhere," he said conversationally, like he wasn't currently making my brain short-circuit. "Even here."
His fingers moved with clinical precision, massaging the tight muscles at the base of my cock with slow, circular motions. It felt incredible, but it was more than just arousal. It was like he was unknotting stress I didn't even know I'd been holding there.
I let my head fall back against the tile, eyes sliding shut. "Christ, how are you so good at this?"
"Practice," he said simply. His hand wrapped around my shaft, not stroking yet, just holding. The pressure was perfect, firm enough to make me twitch but gentle enough that I wasn't worried about my shoulder. "And I like taking my time."
That much was obvious. Where other guys might have been rushing toward the main event, he seemed content to explore.
His thumb swept over the head of my cock in lazy circles, spreading the pre-cum that had gathered there, while his other hand continued its massage lower down.
Every movement was deliberate, measured.
I cracked my eyes open to watch him work. His golden gaze was focused on what he was doing, but there was something almost meditative about his expression. Like this was as relaxing for him as it was overwhelming for me.
"You don't have to—" I started, some ingrained politeness making me offer an out.
"I want to," he cut me off, finally looking up to meet my eyes. The intensity there made my breath catch. "Trust me, this is exactly what I need right now."
His hand started to move then, a slow stroke from base to tip that made my toes curl against the submerged ledge. The water provided just enough resistance to make every motion feel deliberate, purposeful. He wasn't trying to get me off quickly. He was trying to drive me completely out of my mind.
It was working.
Then, without any warning at all, he settled low between my legs and licked a long stripe up the underside of my balls and shaft.
The sensation hit me like a lightning bolt.
My back arched off the stone ledge, a strangled sound tearing from my throat that echoed off the vaulted ceiling.
His tongue was hot and wet and impossibly skilled, tracing patterns that made my vision blur at the edges.
"Fuck," I gasped, my good hand scrambling for purchase on the slick tile behind me. "Jesus fucking—"
He chuckled against my skin, the vibration sending another shockwave through me. "I told you to relax," he murmured, his breath ghosting over my wet cock. "Let me work."
Work was definitely the right word for it.
His tongue mapped every inch of me with the same methodical patience he'd shown with the massage, learning what made me gasp, what made me shudder, what made my hips jerk helplessly toward his mouth.
He took his time with my balls, rolling them gently with his tongue while his hands held my thighs steady.
I was already close to losing it completely, and he'd barely gotten started.
When his mouth finally closed around the head of my cock, I made a sound I didn't recognize.
The wet heat of him was incredible, but it was the slowness that was killing me.
He took me in inch by careful inch, his tongue working against the underside as he went, until I was buried to the hilt in his throat.
I looked down and nearly came right then.
The sight of this beautiful white werewolf with his muzzle stretched around my cock, golden eyes looking up at me through the steam, was almost more than my brain could process.
His fur was dark with moisture where it met the waterline, and droplets rolled down his shoulders as he began to move.
The rhythm he set was torturous. Long, slow pulls that had me seeing stars, followed by that maddening pause where he'd just hold me in his mouth, tongue working in lazy circles.
Every time I thought he was going to pick up the pace, he'd slow down even more, like he was savoring every second of it.
"Please," I heard myself say, though I wasn't even sure what I was begging for. Probably just more of whatever this was.
He pulled off with an obscene wet sound, his hand taking over with those same deliberate strokes. "Please what?" he asked, and there was definitely amusement in his voice now.
I don't know," I admitted, my head spinning. "Just... don't stop."
"Not planning on it." His tongue flicked out to lap at the pre-cum beading at my tip. "I'm going to take my time with you. Going to make you forget all about that shoulder, all about work, all about everything except this."
He was already well on his way to accomplishing that goal.
My world had narrowed to the heat of his mouth, the gentle scrape of his fangs against sensitive skin, the way his throat worked when he swallowed around me.
The chronic ache in my shoulder had faded to background noise, overwhelmed by the much more immediate sensations he was creating.
He went back to work with renewed focus, alternating between his mouth and his hands in ways that kept me constantly guessing.
Sometimes he'd take me deep and hold me there, throat muscles fluttering around my length.
Sometimes he'd pull back and focus on the head, tongue working in patterns that made my toes curl.
And sometimes he'd abandon my cock entirely to lavish attention on other areas, nipping gently at the crease of my thigh or sucking one of my balls into his mouth with careful pressure.
I was completely at his mercy, and he seemed to know it. Every time I got close to the edge, he'd back off just enough to keep me hanging, building the tension higher and higher until I was practically vibrating with need.
"You're going to kill me," I panted, my fingers tangling in the wet fur of his ears.
He hummed around me, the sound sending vibrations straight through my core. When he finally pulled back again, his muzzle was wet and his eyes were dark with satisfaction.
"That's the idea," he said, his voice rougher now. "I want you completely wrecked. Want you so relaxed you can't remember your own name."
He was getting his wish. I felt like I was melting into the stone beneath me, every muscle in my body gone liquid under his attention. The constant low-level stress I carried had been replaced by something much more immediate and urgent, but somehow infinitely more manageable.
His mouth closed around me again, and this time there was something different in his approach. More focused. More determined. Like he'd finished playing and was ready to get serious about taking me apart completely.
The pace was still slow, but there was an inevitability to it now that made my breath catch.
He worked me with steady, relentless precision, his hands and mouth coordinating in ways that had me seeing stars.
I could feel the orgasm building at the base of my spine, a slow burn that was going to consume me completely when it finally hit.
"I'm close," I managed to warn him, though the words came out as more of a groan than actual speech.
He didn't pull back. If anything, he doubled down, taking me deeper and working his throat around me in ways that made my vision white out at the edges. His hands found my balls again, rolling them gently while his mouth did impossible things to the rest of me.
The climax, when it finally hit, felt like it started in my toes and worked its way up through every nerve ending in my body.
I came with a shout that echoed off the bathroom walls, my back arching off the stone as wave after wave of pleasure crashed over me.
He held me through all of it, swallowing everything I had to give while his hands gentled on my thighs.
When it was over, I collapsed back against the ledge like a puppet with its strings cut. My entire body felt like warm honey, loose and golden and completely boneless. The werewolf pulled back slowly, licking his lips with obvious satisfaction.
"Better?" he asked, settling back in the water beside me.
I tried to answer and discovered that my brain had apparently forgotten how to form words. All I could manage was a weak nod and what I hoped was a grateful smile.
He chuckled, reaching out to steady me when I started to slide sideways on the ledge. "Easy there. Take your time."
Time. Right. I had no idea how much had passed, but the light in the bath seemed dimmer now, more intimate. A few more men had filtered in while I'd been completely preoccupied, but they were giving us our space, respecting the obvious aftermath of what had just happened.
"Thank you," I finally managed, my voice completely shot.
"Thank you," he replied, and there was genuine warmth in it. "That was exactly what I needed."
I believed him. There was something deeply satisfied in his expression, like taking care of me had been as good for him as it had been incredible for me. It was a kind of generosity I wasn't used to, especially not from a stranger in a place like this.
We sat in comfortable silence for a while, letting the hot water work its way back into my consciousness. My shoulder, which had been screaming at me for days, felt loose and manageable. The rest of me felt like I'd been taken apart and reassembled by someone who actually knew what they were doing.
"I should probably..." I gestured vaguely toward the locker room, though the idea of moving seemed impossible.
"You should probably sit there for a few more minutes," he said firmly. "Let your blood pressure come back down before you try to walk anywhere."
Good advice. I settled back against the stone and let my eyes drift shut, feeling more relaxed than I had in months. Maybe Marco was right. Maybe I did need to come here more often.
“And when you are ready,” he added. “There’s another stop you need to make before you leave.”
I glanced over at him, one eyebrow raised. “I’m not sure I’ve got it in me.”