6. Wes
WES
It hits me at four in the morning.
I wake up knowing.
This morning is different.
My body is warm in a way that isn't from the air.
Behind my sternum there's a drumbeat I can feel in my hands.
My cock is hard against the curve of her hip and it has not been hard like this, this fast, without her even touching me.
Not once. Not in all these years. My bear is pacing the length of my ribs and he has no patience left in him whatsoever.
The rut is here.
I lie very still.
I'm a man who has waited a long time for this. I can wait three more minutes to do it right.
I turn my head. I press my face into her hair. She smells like shampoo and sleep and herself, and I breathe her in and my bear shudders through the whole length of my body.
"Lia."
"Mm."
"Wake up for a minute, sweetheart."
She hasn't stirred. Her breath is still slow.
"Lia."
"What?"
"The rut."
Her eyes open. Slow. She looks up at me—her face six inches from mine, soft with sleep, her hair tangled across her cheek—and she takes one full breath.
"Now."
"Now."
"Okay."
"I need you to hear this before I put a hand on you.
" My voice has gone rough. "It's going to be a lot.
Three days, maybe more. I am not going to be able to stop.
Every time I think I'm done I'm going to need you again.
If at any point you want a minute, say red, and I will get off you and walk out of this room until you tell me to come back. You with me?"
"Red."
"Red."
"Got it."
"Say it back."
"Red means stop. You will stop. I will tell you when I want you back." Her mouth curves. Slow. Sleepy. "Wes."
"Yeah."
"I am not going to say red."
"You might."
"I won't."
"Say it if you need to."
"I will. Now kiss me."
I kiss her.
It's not careful. I try—I'm trying, the man is trying—but my mouth lands on hers and my bear pushes up through my chest and the kiss gets hot fast. Her hand is in my hair.
Her leg is coming up over my hip. She is wearing a t-shirt of mine and nothing else.
I push the shirt up her ribs. Get both hands under it.
My palms find her bare skin and I make a sound I haven't made in front of another human in my life.
"Okay." Her voice is soft. "Okay, Wes."
"Going to need to be in you."
"Yeah."
"Fast first. Sorry."
"Don't apologize."
I pull the shirt over her head. I push the covers down off her.
She is bare under me—she went to bed in just the shirt, always does now, has since Tuesday—and I cover her body with mine and drag my mouth down her throat, her shoulder, the soft curve above her breast. I bite—not hard, just teeth—and she arches up.
"Wes—"
"I know."
"Please—"
"I'm going to take care of you first. Always first. But I'm not going to last."
"Then don't."
I slide two fingers into her and she's already slick, soaking wet and hot, like her body knew before the rest of her did, and I press my forehead to her sternum and thank whatever animal engine is running between us.
"You're ready?"
"I'm ready. Come here."
"I want to?—"
"I want you in me, Wes. Now. You can do the rest after."
I push up. I line up. I don't think—my hand is on my cock and the head of me is pressed to her pussy and she's nodding at me with her hands gripping my forearms and I push in.
She is already open from last night. The stretch is still enormous. I don't fit small. I don't fit fast. I thrust my cock home in one long slow drive. She cries out. I freeze, panting.
"Okay?"
"Yes. Yes."
"I have to move, Lia."
"Move."
I move.
Fast. The rut won't let me slow. I thrust into her with my whole weight and she takes it, gripping me on every thrust, her hands gripping my shoulders and her heels digging into my back.
I watch her face. Her mouth is open. Her eyes are dark.
She is making small sounds on every downstroke and I can feel her clench around me and I'm going to come in about forty seconds and I'm not sorry about it.
"Wes—"
"Say it."
"I'm yours."
"Mine."
"Yours. Yours. All of me?—"
"I'm going to come in you. First of a lot. Say you want it."
"I want it."
"Going to keep you full of me all day. All week. Say it."
"Wes, yes, please?—"
"Say it."
"Want it. Want all of it. Fill me up?—"
I come.
It rips out of me—one long pull from the base, my cock pulsing deep in my pussy—and I grind into her as I go and she comes with me, clenching, her nails in my back, her voice breaking on my name.
I don't knot yet. Not the first round. The rut wants me to stay inside her but the knot hasn't caught, and I hold still while I finish, everything I have pulsing into her, her body gripping me rhythmically through it.
I breathe against her neck.
"Still with me?"
"Yes."
"I need you again in a minute."
"A minute."
"Yes."
"Wes, that was thirty seconds."
"I know."
"You're serious."
"I'm serious."
She laughs. Out loud. It's a delighted laugh, slightly dazed, and she strokes her hand up and down the back of my neck.
"Okay," she says. "A minute."
I pull out. Slow. She makes a small sound at the loss and I slide down her body before she has time to protest and put my mouth on her pussy.
"Oh—"
"You didn't come hard enough."
"I came plenty."
"You'll come again."
"Wes—"
"Open your legs."
She opens her legs.
I go down on her pussy with my cum still inside her, still warm from me.
She bucks up into my mouth. I pin her hips flat with my forearm.
I work her clit with my tongue—slow at first, then fast, then slower.
She grips my hair. Comes on my tongue in about two minutes.
Then I slide one finger inside her and take her through a second one. Then a third.
Her voice is wrecked. She is saying my name and god and please and nothing else. Her thighs are shaking.
"Wes—" She's barely breathing. "Wes, I need you, come here?—"
I rise back up.
I'm hard again already. The rut doesn't slow.
I take her from behind this time—roll her gently to her stomach, pull her wet hips back, push into her pussy again—and she grips the sheets and takes it.
My hand is flat against her lower back. My other hand is at her hip.
I drive into her and watch my cock disappear inside her and I talk to her the whole time.
"Look at you. Taking me like this. Born for it."
"Wes—"
"Say it."
"Made for this."
"Made for me."
"For you. Wes, please?—"
"I'm going to put a baby in you today." My voice is not mine anymore. The rut is talking. "I'm going to breed you all day, sweetheart. Going to fill you up again and again until there's no room for anything but me. Going to watch you grow round with mine. Say you want that."
"I want it. Wes. God. I want it?—"
"Say breed me."
"Breed me."
"Again."
"Breed me."
I drive into her harder. She is soaking wet around me. Her arms are shaking. I slide one hand under her hips and rub her clit in slow circles while I pound her into the mattress and she comes on me with her face pressed to the pillow, muffled sobs, her pussy clenching my cock impossibly tight.
The knot starts.
She feels it. She knows it now—the swelling, the catch, the stretch beyond stretch—and she presses her hips back into me like she's asking for it.
"Give it to me."
"Say it."
"Give me your knot, Wes. Please."
It seats. Catches. Locks.
I come.
Deep, long, endless. My knot keeps everything I'm pouring inside her and her body accepts it all, keeps clenching wet and tight around me, keeps milking me. I drop my forearm to the mattress next to her head and I rest my forehead against her spine and I come for what feels like the full minute.
We are locked.
I lower us carefully onto our sides, my front to her back, my knot still thick inside her pussy, my arm under her head. I kiss the back of her neck. Her throat. The shell of her ear. I tell her she's good and she's mine and she's perfect and she's beautiful and I mean every word.
"Wes."
"Yeah."
Her breath gradually slows against my collarbone. My palm is flat on her back. I can feel her heart start to come down.
"I'm going to survive this."
"You are."
"I'm going to need you to feed me at some point."
"I will."
"I need water."
"After."
"I'm not moving."
"You're not going to for a while."
She laughs. It rumbles through her. I feel it around my knot and I groan into her neck.
"Don't do that," I say.
"What?"
"Don't laugh. It feels—yeah."
Her hand moves up into my hair. Slow. The tips of her fingers work against my scalp.
"Wes."
"Yeah."
"You're going to be this hard for three days."
"Possibly four."
"Four."
"Yeah."
"Jesus."
"I warned you."
"You warned me."
"Water's in the glass on the nightstand. Reach."
She reaches. I don't move her. She drinks. Hands the glass back.
"Sleep for an hour," I tell her.
"You'll let me sleep."
"Yes."
"You won't."
"I will."
She settles into me, her cheek against my shoulder. Her eyes are already closing.
"Wes."
"I will. Pinky promise."
That gets her eyes open. She tilts her chin up just enough to look at me.
"You don't even know what a pinky promise is."
"I know what one is. Leon's daughter taught me."
"Leon has a daughter."
"Yes."
"You're so full of surprises."
She tips her face up. My mouth finds her temple. I keep my knot deep in her and my body curled around her body and I say, "Sleep, sweetheart. I'm right here."
She sleeps.
I don't sleep. I watch her.
My bear settles, for the first time, completely.
By noon Day One she has eaten two pieces of toast and an entire sandwich I made her at the counter in my robe while she sat on the kitchen stool watching me with her hair tangled and her mouth still red.
I fed her half of the sandwich with my hands.
She let me. She also, thirty seconds after finishing it, pressed her palm flat to my sternum and said again and I took her against the refrigerator with her legs wrapped around my waist and the milk jug vibrating on the shelf behind her head while I filled her up a second time.
By evening Day One I've had her in every room of my apartment.