Chapter Four
PROFESSOR KANE
My nails have shifted and pushed themselves into claws.
Pale, downy fur grows thicker on my arms and legs.
My vest and shirt buttons are pulled to near popping as my breasts swell and my chest broadens.
Lucy hasn’t seemed to notice the changes yet, but I have chains in my suitcase. I don’t want to have to use them.
Lucy just had to sit in that little desk, full, soft skin spilling over the edges, her wetness shining on her thighs and the scent of her desire so strong, I had to growl to keep from biting her.
Now, she just stands there in the corner, back to me, exactly like I asked her to, so still and perfect. Her ridiculously tiny fucking skirt tormenting me with the curve of plump ass that peeks out beneath it and, then, she had to say that—
I’m here because I want you, however you want me.
She said it so clearly, so self-assured. She never managed such certainty in my class. But, facing the wall and following my commands, she is brave, and her words are direct.
In every way you might want me.
I want to sink my teeth into her neck and make her come on my claws.
“What am I supposed to do with you?” I ask her, earnestly needing an answer, because the moon is calling me, and the wolf inside is clawing at my flesh.
But I work here, and she only just graduated; she is a human, and I am not.
She seems so perfectly plucked from my fantasies, I don’t dare believe her statements could be sincere.
“I told you. Whatever you want.” Lucy is breathing heavier, the wild musk of her even stronger.
She makes her desire so clear, it makes my clit ache, and I have to roll the pointer stick back and forth across my desk just to give my claws something to do to avoid reaching for her.
“How do you want me?” Her voice gains even more strength and mouth-watering desperation. “Tell me, and I’ll do it.”
I swallow a groan, the stick snapping in my claw, the pointed half flying off the desk. It clatters to the floor and rolls until it hits the heel of Lucy’s boot.
I should get my chains.
No, I just need space; the air between us is too thick and hot. I can’t calm the wolf. I feel it moving inside me, and I stumble back to sit on the steps, the first row of desks on either side of me as I sit in shadow.
“Professor?” Lucy asks, back still to me.
“Pick up the pointer stick.” The wolf moves my mouth, pushing out the demand along with my lengthening fangs.
Lucy turns on her heels, drops to her knees, and reaches out a pale hand to grab the stick.
Her hand is marked with a few white scars, no doubt from her art practice.
I always imagined, with how much excitement she brought to my class in an area of study she was not focused on, that she must be an exuberant and fearless thing to behold in her element.
In all my snooping, I never allowed myself to search out her artwork; that level of intimacy seemed dangerous.
My pulse beats firmly beneath my breast as Lucy’s long, soft fingers wrap around the lacquered wood.
“Do you want it?” She stays kneeling, thighs spread, pussy folds shining beneath the sheer fabric of her panties, not remotely covered by the belt she called a skirt. “Should I bring it to you, Professor?”
Her gray-blue eyes narrow, a little smirk fixed on her plump, glossy lips. She’s challenging me and, unknowingly, the werewolf that's so determined to rip its way out of me.
Hold it. It’s too early. Make it to the cabin. Do I need to get the chains?
“Yes,” I breathe. “Bring it to me.”
My skin ripples with shifting muscles and bones beneath my clothes. The pain feels so good and necessary—a reminder of what a bad idea this is, how this has ended in failure before.
Lucy begins to stand.
“No,” I say.
She stops moving immediately.
Perfect teacher’s pet.
“Crawl.” The wolf once again forces out my desires.
Her smirk spreads into a smile as she sets the pointer gently back on the wood floor and drops to her hands and knees. My skin aches, stretching tightly over my swelling muscles. My breath quickens, and my fangs, longer now, rub against the sensitive, wet flesh of my lip.
Lucy leans downward, arms bent, framing the deep valley of her cleavage as her shiny glossy lips part. I restrain a howl as she takes the pointer between her teeth, her wet, pink tongue curling over the lacquered wood as she adjusts its position in her mouth.
Chains? I should get the chains.
“You are so good at following my directions, Lucy. I would’ve never guessed from how often you were late to class.”
She stiffens and blushes harder as she looks up at me.
“You like following my orders, Lucy?” I ask, keeping my voice neutral as my blood hums through my body, desperate for ‘yes’.
She nods more frantically, her cheeks growing redder, her blue eyes lighting up as her muffled words of excitement are lost to the pointer stick in her mouth.
“Good girl,” I whisper.
My body is changing in ways hidden beneath my clothing and in the shadows, but the mystery of what I am won’t last much longer.
I will stop this before it goes too far.
It’s enough to know someone desires me how I want to be desired—that it’s possible.
It’s not fair to Lucy; she doesn’t know what I am or what she’s doing to me.
But then she crawls to me, and my wolf’s desire takes over.
Holding the broken stick in her mouth like a puppy, she crawls towards me over the hardwood floor. Her breathing is partially hindered by the bit-like stick, and saliva glistens on the corners of her full lips. She’s eager, so eager; she speeds up, and the sudden urge to chase grips my chest.
We shouldn’t be doing this. Yes, we are both adults, and she graduated, didn’t even go to my university, but we are still on campus. Someone could walk through any moment. She doesn’t know what she’s getting into. I can’t let this go too far.
Then, Lucy is at my feet, kneeling, her knees spread wide so they straddle my shoes. Her scent is so strong and intoxicating, I feel my ears stretch from a soft, rounded shell to long and pointed. I pray I’m hidden in the shadows enough that she doesn’t notice.
“Open,” I tell her, and she releases the pointer into my outstretched hand. “Gods, you are good at this, Lucy.”
She smiles up at me, her chin inches from my thighs. “I’m not usually good at following directions, but I want to be, for you,” she murmurs and sets her chin on my knee like an eager little pet, my perfect fantasy come to life. I don’t trust it.
Her full breasts press into my shin, and her hot breath warms me from thigh to cunt. I want to shove her mouth into my lap, but I limit myself to reaching out for her.
My claws dig into her wild hair. I can feel her against my slowly shifting hand, feel her heat and softness, but I hold her at a distance.
Lucy moans and presses her face into my thigh.
I stroke her hair, claws tightening on her red locks, keeping her in place, but then she rubs a rounded cheek against my knee, and I want to feel her skin.
I release her, running my claws over her face as she moves higher up my leg.
She inches her way towards the apex of my thighs.
I could stop her—I’m strong enough as a human and infinitely stronger so close to the full moon.
But then she pushes her way between my thighs and rubs her nose against the seam of my pants, pressing upwards into my cunt.
My hand is back in her hair, but now, I dig my claws into her curls to get a better grip and pull her closer..
“Lucy, what are you doing?” I exhale.
“Whatever pleases you,” she whimpers, her hands clasped behind her back, as if she has taken my command to not to use her hands to heart.
Lucy nuzzles my crotch with her nose and chin before she licks and presses forward.
The chains. I should get the chains…
I hold her firmly between my legs, gripping her hair at the root as I rock myself against her, guiding her soft lips and nose against the hard line of the zipper.
I press all that stiffness between my folds and against my clit, holding her still as I work my hips over her.
The pressure of her mouth and face against me, even through the fabric of my pants and underwear, is enough to make me want to howl.
“Fuck,” I growl. “Fuck, Lucy.”
Pleasure builds quickly as she follows the silent direction of my manhandling with ease. Her lips and tongue work in circles over my folds, as her nose, strokes up and down until she finds my clit beneath the fabric and I can rock myself against the firm contours of her face.
I’m so close. So godsdamn close.
My claws are full length now, and they tangle in her hair. Legs spread wide, grip firm and tight, I’m aggressive with her, and she likes it, seems to crave it. I want to give her more.
“Do not stop, Lucy. I do not give you permission to stop, you hear me?”
She lets out a muffled response between my thighs and against my wetness, as I’ve soaked through my pants. Release is building, uncontrolled and unrestrained, my body no longer operated by the human part of me, but by the wolf.
I howl, loud and guttural. The room seems to shake, and Lucy’s body suddenly stiffens under my claws.
I’ve gone too far. Way too far.
I push Lucy back and off my lap, her pretty face pink and glistening with sweat, her red hair a tangled mess, sticking out like a flaming halo.
“My angel, sent to me,” I mutter to myself, losing the words in the heavy breathing.
“Did I do something wrong?” She looks so eager to receive notes. Fuck, if my clit doesn’t throb at the thought of her wanting to take corrections. “We don’t have to stop. I want to keep going.”
My body is not my own right now, not the sane part of me anyways. It’s the wolf’s. That part of me is selfish and demanding, impulsive and aggressive, always so incredibly hungry. I don’t want to stop with Lucy—I want to devour her.
I need my cabin, and I need my chains.
“Stand up.” My voice is rough and weighted.
Lucy jumps to her feet, eyes glossy and half-lidded.
“Hands on my desk,” I command.
She tries biting her lip, but her smile is too strong; as she slams her hands down on the smooth surface of the table, her lips pull upwards.
“We shouldn’t be doing this,” I tell her, even though I know I won’t stop unless she tells me to.
“Why? I came here to be with you.”
She stares greedily at my hands, and I jerk them back to my sides, hoping I’m hidden enough by the shadows that she mistakes my claws for fashionable long-nails.
“You came for this?” I ask, testing her as I show her the smooth, thin end of the broken pointer stick, my hand turned to hide the long, black claws. “You came for me to use you to get off and then to take a stick to your ass?”
“Yes,” she gasps, “I know who you are, what you want, because I want it too. I came exactly for this.”
“Lift your skirt,” I demand.
I’ve not yet changed into my werewolf form, not fully. I can do this—get her off and get her out before I lose myself completely. If I feel my tail come in, I’ll stop. I’ll chain myself to the radiator in the back and ride out the transformation until Lucy is far away.
“Drop the underwear,” I bark, saliva pooling at the base of my fangs, my lips barely able to cover them now.
She yanks her skirt up to her waist and shimmies her panties down her hips so fast, they rip.