Chapter 1 #2
In one swift motion, he ripped the bra down, freeing my breasts completely.
His mouth latched onto my nipple again, but this time there was no fabric between us.
He sucked hard, teeth grazing, tongue flicking mercilessly while his hand shoved my skirt higher up my waist. I cried out, back arching sharply off the sofa as sharp pleasure lanced through me.
I gasped at the stretch, my walls fluttering wildly.
He curled them perfectly, stroking that sensitive spot over and over while his thumb circled my swollen clit with ruthless precision.
My hips bucked against his hand, chasing the friction, but he pinned me down with his body, forcing me to take every intense sensation.
"You're so fucking wet for me," he muttered against my skin, switching to the other breast. He bit down gently, then soothed the sting with long, hungry licks. I moaned loudly, fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him closer.
The orgasm crashed over me without warning. I screamed his name, body convulsing as waves of blinding pleasure ripped through every nerve. He kept stroking me through it, drawing it out until I was whimpering, oversensitive and trembling.
But he didn't stop.
He rose up, shedding his shirt and pants in record time.
His cock sprang free—thick, hard, and leaking at the tip.
I stared, pulse racing. He gripped my hips, pulling me to the edge of the sofa, and rubbed the blunt head of his cock against my entrance.
I shuddered at the contact, still hypersensitive.
"Look at me," he commanded, voice strained with need.
Our eyes locked. I nodded frantically, and he pushed inside in one long, deep thrust. I cried out at the stretch, the fullness—god, he was big. He filled me completely, bottoming out with a guttural groan. For a second, he stayed buried, letting me adjust, his forehead pressed to mine.
Then he started moving.
His hips snapped forward, driving into me with powerful, steady strokes.
Each thrust hit deep, brushing that perfect spot inside me and sending sparks exploding behind my eyes.
I wrapped my legs around his waist, nails digging into his back as I met him thrust for thrust. The slap of skin on skin was loud, rhythmic, intoxicating.
"Fuck—you feel incredible," he rasped, pounding harder.
Sweat slicked our bodies. He leaned down to capture my mouth in a messy, desperate kiss, tongues tangling as he fucked me.
One hand kneaded my breast, pinching the nipple, while the other gripped my ass, tilting my hips for even deeper penetration.
I was lost in sensation. Every slide sent fresh waves of pleasure crashing through me.
I clenched around him deliberately, earning a broken moan from deep in his chest. My responsiveness drove him wild—he thrust faster, deeper.
My orgasm hit like a freight train, ripping a scream from my throat as I convulsed around him.
He groaned loudly, thrusts growing erratic but still strong, chasing his own release while prolonging mine.
Even after that, he didn't pull out. He slowed but kept moving, deep and languid now, letting me catch my breath while still keeping me full.
Is this what a werewolf's stamina is like?
His hands roamed my body—stroking my back, cupping my breasts, teasing my nipples until I was whimpering again. I was exhausted, blessed out, yet already feeling the stirrings of fresh heat low in my belly.
This night was far from over. He was nowhere near done with me, and the thought sent a thrill through my spent body.
I woke to sunlight streaming through the curtain gaps. The bedside clock read 6 a.m. The man was gone. I struggled to sit up. Every part of me ached, especially between my thighs. I barely looked down. A mess, still streaked with white sticky fluid.
I slowly turned on my side. The pain radiating through my body made me gasp. More shameful—I could feel what he'd left inside me leaking out, sliding down my inner thigh. I glanced down once, then immediately looked away.
My clothes were completely ruined. Torn fabric scattered everywhere. I found a blanket draped over the sofa and wrapped it around myself, trembling.
The mirror was on the opposite wall. Last night, I hadn't dared look, because looking would make me see from outside just how wanton I'd been, how active. Now I saw myself—hair a mess, face flushed unnaturally, neck, collarbone, chest covered in bruises, like I'd been mauled by a beast.
I felt that strange emptiness inside. Hard to describe—like I'd lost something important.
The air still held that cedar and amber scent, mixed with the heady aftermath of sex. I took a deep breath.
What am I doing?
Am I actually... smelling him?
Too weird.
I struggled to stand. My legs were still weak.
My body felt like it had been claimed, marked everywhere.
I looked around and found some men's clothes in the closet.
I put on a white shirt that almost covered my butt, pulled my uniform skirt back on, letting the shirt barely hide the parts he'd torn.
I hurried out, practically fled.
"Elena, are you sick? You look terrible."
Jenny looked up from the living room. She was my werewolf roommate, worked at a nearby coffee shop.
"No, just tired lately." I set down my fragrance bottle, rubbing my temples.
This was the third time recently I'd felt nauseous. Three months ago, I'd quit the bar. I was always exhausted. Decided to focus on expanding my fragrance business instead.
On my worktable sat various ingredients—rose oil, mint leaves, frankincense, myrrh... Usually, my favorite scents. But today they made me want to vomit.
"You sure?" Jenny walked over, leaned against the door frame, bit into an apple, wrinkling her nose. "You smell weird."
I froze. "What?"
"Just..." She tilted her head and bit into her apple again. "How do I put it... Something's off. Have you been—"
Before she could finish, nausea suddenly surged. I covered my mouth and rushed to the bathroom, bent over the toilet, dry-heaving.
"Girl." Jenny followed, leaning in the doorway, still munching her apple. "I'm just saying, you might be pregnant."
I braced myself on the sink and splashed cold water on my face. "Don't be ridiculous."
"I'm not being ridiculous." Jenny shrugged. "You've been throwing up constantly, you look like hell, and... your scent really has changed. You know my wolf nose doesn't lie. You smell like my pregnant cousin."
"Impossible." I denied immediately. "How could I be pregnant? I don't even have a boyfriend—"
Halfway through the sentence, that night three months ago struck like lightning.
No.
"Hey, when was your last period?" Jenny bit her apple, suddenly serious.
I stood there, dazed.
When?
I... I didn't remember.
My periods had never been regular anyway.
"Elena?" Jenny set down her apple and grabbed my arm. "You're white as a sheet. Don't tell me you really—"
"I'm getting a pregnancy test." I cut her off, grabbed my jacket, and bolted. "I'll be right back."
Half an hour later, I sat on the bathroom floor, back against the cold tile, staring at three pregnancy tests lined up neatly on the sink.
Every single one showed two lines.
I was pregnant.
Outside the door, Jenny's voice came carefully. "Elena? You okay? Want me to come in?"
"I'm fine." I heard myself say, voice floating like someone ease's. "Just... I need a minute."
"Okay." Jenny paused. "If you need help, you know I'm here. Just shout if you need anything."
Her footsteps faded.
I slowly stood and looked at myself in the mirror.
My stomach was still flat. No visible change. But I knew a life was growing inside.
A stranger's child.
My hand moved unconsciously to my belly. I remembered high school biology. If the father was a werewolf, abortion would be extremely dangerous. The mortality rate three times higher than normal.
You want to keep this child.
I startled. The voice in my head spoke again, certain and undeniable. It had been there for three months, popping up occasionally, snarling impatiently, telling me to find that man.
How was I supposed to find him? VIP client identities were confidential. And if he'd wanted to find me, he wouldn't have left that morning.
I couldn't help touching my belly, fingers stroking gently. I didn't know what this voice was, but it struck the deepest part of my heart. Yes, I wanted to keep it. Even though I knew it would be hard. But I couldn't let go.
This child would be my first family after Dad died. Would fill the void that had stretched from childhood until now.
The phone suddenly rang. I answered. "Hello?"
"Ms. Elena Windsor?" It was the school registrar. "Regarding your enrollment, the start date has been confirmed. Can you report?"
I walked out of the bathroom and stared at the acceptance letter on the table. Finally, voice hoarse: "Can I defer enrollment? I need to handle some things."
After a few seconds of silence, they agreed. I hung up, took a deep breath, heart pounding. I knew I'd made a decision. And this decision might turn my life upside down.
The pain came suddenly at three a.m., months later.
I crawled out of bed and woke Jenny. She helped me into the bathroom, laid towels in the tub, and helped me sit.
Books said werewolf pregnancies were agonizing, especially first births. I'd prepared myself mentally.
But I hadn't expected this much pain.
Every contraction felt like someone carving out my insides with a knife. I bit down on a towel, tears streaming uncontrollably. Jenny held my hand the whole time, helped me regulate my breathing, and gave me water.
Outside, the sky gradually brightened. I didn't know how much time had passed. Only that I'd gone numb with pain.
Then, after one final push, I heard crying.
Thin, sharp baby cries.
Trembling, I reached out, picked up that tiny, sticky life.
A boy.
He was wrinkled, covered in blood, crying loudly. Jenny cleaned him with warm water, wrapped him in a prepared blanket, and placed him in my arms.