Chapter 4
Knife breathed in and noted her scent bloomed slowly — lust and need threading through the sharp edge of pain. She wasn’t where he wanted her yet, but they’d get there. She was new to true stress positions, and her body needed a map before it rewired this kind of pain into an endorphin high.
Eventually, she’d go into subspace during the rigging process, before the true agony ever hit.
The thought made him pause and remember she’d been clear this wasn’t the beginning of a relationship, so why was he assuming she’d be around long enough for him to rewrite her reactions?
And he had an answer: close relationships with pack wolves aren’t allowed, but patched members can fuck ’em, if everything’s consensual. No reason Tuesday couldn’t be a fuck-buddy.
He traced the taut line of her left leg, fingers ghosting the iliofemoral ligament where it strained under heated skin.
She yelped, hips jerking involuntarily and spiking more pain into her scent, and he moved to another ligament, showing her he understood exactly what hurt, what he’d stretched and pulled on purpose.
He stepped back and took everything in, which muscles were strained, which were already trembling. He’d have had to put some of her weight on the chest harness if she were human, but she’d be able to change tomorrow morning. Instant healing.
She was moving a little too much, trying to adjust, so he added a rope to her straight leg, to make sure it’d stay out to the side where he wanted it, and then it was time for the fun.
He parted her folds with two fingers, taking his time because he could. She was spread wide open for him, completely helpless, and the knowledge sent a dark pulse of pleasure straight to his cock.
He hadn’t gagged her, wanting to make it easy for her to safeword, but he looked forward to someday trapping her entire head inside a thick leather hood.
Something tight, confining, and utterly claustrophobic that would cut off sight, sound, and scent until she existed only in whatever pain or pleasure he decided to inflict upon her helpless body.
For now, he simply enjoyed the view, her body strung up and entirely at his mercy, her most private parts spread wide open and utterly defenseless.
He took his time sliding two fingers inside her, curling them slowly, claiming the heat and the clench as if it already belonged to him.
He circled her clit with the same unhurried fingers, learning exactly how she liked pressure before he gave it.
“I’m fascinated by the clit,” he said aloud, because sometimes the wolf hears despite the earplugs.
Some wolves can only take the world in through the human’s eyes and ears when they’re in the background, but others can use their own, somehow.
“So many nerves packed into such a tiny little piece of real estate.”
He lifted the hood and blew cool air across the exposed glans. It pulsed visibly, swelling and tightening under his gaze, and he breathed in her scent — arousal, frustration, and raw need.
He massaged around her clit with slow circles that made her hips twitch despite the ropes, then peeled the hood back fully and stroked the naked tip with a wet finger.
She jerked hard, a strangled cry tearing out of her.
He turned to the chest and chose a medium vibrating plug — not huge, but thick enough to make itself known. She’d agreed to anal without even a hint of trepidation in her scent, and that told him she liked it and had some experience.
He lubed the plug, and with his right hand still slick, worked a finger into her asshole, then two, feeling the tight ring fight him at first before it relaxed and let him in.
And that was all the prep she was getting.
He pressed the plug in fast, using steady, relentless pressure until it seated deep, then he clicked it on.
Her entire body clenched hard, and a fresh wave of arousal rolled off her.
His dick throbbed in his pants, but he ignored it for now.
He’d sink into her heat soon enough — and not her cunt.
No, he wanted her ass first. He wanted to take the tighter, more forbidden hole while she hung helpless in his ropes, hips on fire, body stretched and trembling.
He wanted to feel her clench and fight and finally surrender while the pain in her joints flared hotter with every thrust.
It felt important for this first violation to be about power more than pleasure.
Plowing into her helpless body, using her while she couldn’t close her legs or twist away, every stroke jerking her brutalized hips.
He wanted there to be no doubt he owned her in every way the first time he buried himself balls-deep and fucked her so hard he rearranged her motherfucking guts.
But first, he needed her desperate, so he leaned down and flicked her clit with his tongue a half-dozen times before sucking it into his mouth, tongue working the glans in firm, unrelenting circles while the plug buzzed inside her ass.
She writhed, the ropes creaking, left arm trembling as she fought to keep it raised.
When he felt her edging close to an orgasm, he pulled back and replaced his mouth with the electric toothbrush — the bristles delivering sharp, excruciating intensity against her swollen clit.
Her hips bucked uselessly with her legs bound spread open, forcing them wide, giving her no choice but to take whatever he gave her.
The movement strained her hip, and the scent of fresh pain wafted into the air.
Most women can’t orgasm with an electric toothbrush going to town directly on their clit, and he smiled at Tuesday’s agony.
She’d been so close, and now it was too much.
She lost the edge. He pulled up on the clit hood and let the toothbrush have direct contact until the torment overtook the pleasure.
He turned it off, set it aside, and returned to soft, wet licks alternated with deep suction, soothing and building her right back up.
And when her scent was molten once again, so damned close she could probably taste it, he switched back to the toothbrush.
Back and forth he went until her breathing was ragged, her body shaking with exhaustion and need. She never once begged him to stop. Not a single plea.
Only when he was certain she was worn out and desperate did he ease the plug free, watching her ass clench greedily around nothing.
He slicked his cock, lined up, and pressed inside her tight outer ring.
Her raw moans spilled out, her scent a tangled mess of pain and need. Inch by inch he sank into her, claiming and invading her body while it hung helpless in his ropes. Her wolf was right there with her — he could feel it, taste it in the air — both of them surrendering. Both breaking open for him.
Her tight walls gripped him, her body arching as much as the ropes allowed.
The movement and angle yanked her right hip harder.
The joint had to be screaming now, a vicious fire radiating through muscle and tendon.
He wrapped his hand around it, fingers pressing exactly where the worst of the agony lived, palm situated so he could drink in every tremor, every involuntary clench.
Her scent was a perfect storm — sharp pain and desperate need blending until they were a single, intoxicating thing.
She pushed back despite the pain, greedy for more even as the movement tore a fresh cry from her throat. Only halfway in, and already she was fighting to take him deeper.
Knife’s wolf surged to the surface, reveling in the raw power.
Tuesday was proving rare and exceptional: a woman who could take his particular brand of control and still push back for more.
A strong female wolf offering her body and her pain, letting him take her exactly as he wanted while she hung suspended and helpless, unable to close her legs or twist away.
He’d had women who tolerated his kinks only because he wove their kinks in. Also, women who performed rather than experienced. Women who suffered through what he needed as the cost of their eventual orgasms.
Tuesday wasn’t merely enduring — she was accepting and fully experiencing both the pain and the pleasure. Both the wolf and the woman were giving him everything, and the knowledge sliced through him at the reminder this could never go beyond a casual scene with a pack wolf he couldn’t keep.
He pushed the thought away and focused on her body, because backing off in that moment would’ve been too cruel.
He gripped her hip tighter, digging his fingers in, and breathed in her pain to ground himself before he drove the rest of the way in with a single, vicious shove.
Her mangled, shocked scream fractured the air, but he didn’t slow.
He fucked her hard and fast, hips snapping, hand never leaving the fiery-hot joint.
Every thrust dragged fresh agony through her hip and sent it singing back to him through her scent and her screams, which shifted from pure pain to darker tones.
Needier and even more desperate, her distress riding the razor edge of an orgasm he had no intention of letting her reach anytime soon.
He owned her in this moment. Owned her cunt, her ass, her pain, her wolf. And his inner wolf drank it down like the finest aged, utterly satisfying whiskey.