Chapter 16
sixteen
. . .
rupert
The second Peony’s soft lips land on mine, I let out an unanticipated groan.
I don’t know what’s happening. I don’t understand it, not even for a second, but I’m more than happy—monumentally grateful, in fact—to accept.
Just this tiny taste of her is overwhelming.
I can’t believe she, beautiful Peony, is kissing me.
Have I died? Is this heaven? How long has it been since I touched another person this way, bare skin on bare skin?
I restrain the urge to grab her, to haul her against me and crush my mouth into hers, but I’m not even sure how our lips fit together yet. Never once have I tried to kiss in this body.
I press back gently, even though my muzzle is quite a bit bigger than her little lips.
My free hand finds its way to her side, and ensuring my claws don’t catch on her clothing, I gently rest it on her hip to keep her in place.
She leans into it, her lips becoming more insistent.
Her fingers fall to my fur, and she lets out a hum of pleasure as she grips it.
She’s bringing me in closer now, and I clasp her tighter in response.
Then, her tongue licks the apex of my lips. My entire body shudders in response, my mane rising and my fingers curling. I want to do the same in return, to twine my tongue around hers, but I have sharp fangs and I don’t want to hurt her.
But I may not have a choice as my body begs to return her gesture, and finally, my lips part. Peony melts against me, now gripping my mane tightly. My tongue ventures out, tasting the edges of her lips, and she lets out a gasp in response. With her mouth now open, I decide to explore it.
Her taste is exquisite, uniquely hers, and it fills up every crevice of my body with an inferno of need. I push my tongue deeper into her mouth, and immediately, my traitorous mind imagines what else I could fit inside her.
No. That’s not possible. She would never want me that way. She could never accept me that way. Even if by some miracle she did, it wouldn’t fit. I would hurt her, either with my cock or with my claws, or maybe even my teeth.
I can’t hurt Peony.
I yank my head away from the kiss, realizing that I need to put some space between us or I won’t have control over what I do next. Gasping for air, I haul myself backward, tripping over my own feet until I’m up against the hot ovens.
Peony’s eyes are wide, her cheeks bright pink, her lips letting out heavy breaths.
“Rupert? Was I…” Her brows are pressed together in worry. “Was I not a good kisser?”
The sudden laugh that comes out of me practically chokes me. That’s where her mind went?
“Oh, no, you are an incredible kisser.” I cough, rubbing my throat. “Too much, perhaps.”
She frowns. “Too much?”
I sag against the oven handle, holding onto it so I don’t fall over. It bends a little under my weight.
“I may have the mind of a man,” I say in a more gravelly voice than I intended, “but the monster part of me is different. And sometimes I cannot keep it fully restrained.”
Peony blinks, her mind working quickly. Then, understanding dawns on her, and she offers me a small, fond smile.
“I don’t think you would hurt me, Rupert.”
But I can’t know that for certain.
“I’ve never done anything, with anyone, in this body,” I say, licking one of my fangs, unable to hold her eyes as I admit this. “I don’t know how it would react. What it would do. Whether…” I can’t even broach the idea. We’ve only kissed, and it ended so abruptly.
Peony’s eyes get bigger, and the red in her cheeks deepens.
“Oh. Okay, yeah, that would make sense.” She cocks her head. “So you’re kind of like… a virgin?”
I stare at her. What a thing to say. But at the same time, I think she’s right.
“I suppose so.” I curl my fingers into a fist to hide my claws. “It’s all new to me in this body.”
When I look up, I find Peony extending a hand to me. Reluctantly, I place mine over it, and she’s practically beaming.
What has made her so happy?
“It’s new to me, too,” she says, clasping my palm. “But maybe we can explore it together.”
A tingle ripples down my spine. Is she suggesting what I think she’s suggesting?
“I don’t want you to feel pressured,” I hedge. “I’m a monster.”
“Stop it, Rupert,” she says sharply. “Is it so hard to imagine that maybe I like you?”
Of course it is. She’s a beautiful woman and I’m… whatever I am. An abomination. So I don’t answer her.
“Hmm.” Her other hand reaches up to brush across my cheek. “Well, I do like you. So tough it up, buttercup.”
Instead of kissing her again, as I want to do so badly, I crouch down and wrap my arms around her, bringing her in close to my chest. She nuzzles her face into my mane, returning my embrace with her hands around my neck.
When I sense I feel happy for the first time in years—a dread washes over me. How long will this last?
That night, Kellen joins us for dinner, giving us both funny looks when he sees us dusted in flour.
I’m both peeved at his presence—there goes my hope of kissing Peony again—and relieved, because then the apple of sin is out of my reach.
If I’m the one addicted to her, then Kellen will be my sobriety coach.
Having him around whenever possible will dissuade me from any nefarious activities that might happen should Peony and I be alone together.
The worst part is that she seemed open to it. She had not flinched at the idea of, well, whatever could come after kissing, but perhaps I’m reading too much into her “virgin” comment. There are lots of kinds of “virginity,” not limited to olive oil.
Even after we say goodnight, my nerve endings are on high alert.
The video reel of Peony and I kissing plays on repeat in my mind, the way her lips gave so easily to me, how she clutched my fur as if she might get washed away.
I want to hold on to that moment forever, in case it never happens again.
Instead of pulling down a book and sitting in my chair in front of the fire, as I usually do, I shamefully make my way to my bedroom.
There I take off each article of clothing, all of which are covered in flour, and drop them in the laundry bin.
Then I clean off in the shower, spending extra time combing out my mane.
I even use the shampoo and conditioner I rarely touch, thinking that perhaps next time, Peony will appreciate the feel of my fur under her hands.
I’m painfully hard when I exit the shower, and my cock remains that way, alert at the thought of her flushed cheeks, her soft hips, her tender mouth.
The shaft is unusually swollen, even pinker and wetter than usual.
I don’t even make it back to my bedroom before I have one hand wrapped around it, relishing the sensation of my scaled palms running over the surface.
My thoughts dart back to Peony, and I wonder what she looks like under that cute flower-print blouse.
Her breasts are large, I know that much.
I wonder what color her nipples are. Could I suck on them without damaging them with my teeth?
Would I simply circle them with my tongue, lapping at them, winding her up more and more?
My eyes roll back in my skull at this thought, my hand stroking faster.
What about lower, underneath those tight jeans?
She has a marvelous rear that flares along with her broad hips.
I imagine kneeling before her, perhaps even pushing her up onto one of the kitchen counters, naked with her legs spread open.
A moan erupts from my lips at the thought of putting my head between her thighs, soaking up everything she has to give me.
Precum dribbles from my tip, and even more white-hot pleasure threads up my spine as I imagine licking little Peony there, making her whine and whimper as I delve into her with my tongue.
Perhaps I couldn’t make her come all over my cock, but I could do it with my mouth if I’m careful with my teeth. Just the idea of it, of having her permission to devour her… I meet my finish easily, but this time I’m prepared to catch my rather plentiful ejaculate with a towel.
I stare at the smear on the towel for a long time before I crumple it up in my claws. Is it possible, as Peony suggested, that I could control the monster with her? Is it possible that I could engage in a relationship with her without injuring her?
She seems willing to try. A woman who has accepted my form, who has held conversations with me and spent time baking cookies with me, has also expressed an interest in pursuing something more. It is truly the greatest gift I could ask for.
Closing my eyes, I fall back on the bed, my cock sated—for now.
Even if I did explore that with Peony, I still know my ultimate fate. I will not get to have her, not if it meant I could be happy. That season finale is not for me. Which means it can only end one way between us.
Can I know that truth, that eventuality, and still pursue her? Can I set myself up for inevitable heartbreak?
I pick up my mobile and make a call. There is one person who might have some answers for me.
peony
My head spins my whole walk back to my rooms. I was a space cadet during dinner with Rupert and Kellen, and I don’t even remember what we talked about.
The only thing on my mind is Rupert’s mouth, the softness of his fur, his thick arms around me as he hugged me. I don’t think I’ve ever felt so safe, so protected and yet so wildly aroused as when Rupert held me close to his chest, encircling me completely.
Ah, shit. I am down bad for this guy.
He’s charming, he’s funny, and he’s a good cook. He’s kind, gentle, and genuinely seems to want me to be happy. It’s an incredibly unfamiliar sensation to have someone looking out for me who isn’t doing it to control me.
No, Rupert simply cares about me. Of that, I’m certain.
And despite his strange and unfamiliar body, I find myself… attracted to what he is, to who he is. I love his fur, and how his very human expressions play across his animal-like face. His horns are majestic, and I’ll never forget the way my small hand vanished into his big palm.
Also, it’s pretty cool that he doesn’t have to wear shoes with those strange, scaled feet.
I still wonder what his tail feels like. I hope he’ll let me touch it sometime. That thought is bizarrely erotic, and I think it would be rather intimate if he did. Would it turn him on?
What does he look like… there?
Now my thoughts are going to utterly inappropriate places. I drop onto my bed as I try to rein in my imagination, but it’s already leapt right off the rails.
Would his cock be human-like, or something else?
Without my permission, my imagination conjures up Rupert, right here in my bedroom. He crawls onto the bed on top of me, his massive, furry body covering mine, his billowing mane blotting out the light. He kisses me again, harder this time, his tongue plundering me.
While I imagine this scenario, I unbutton my jeans and shuck them off onto the floor. I’m so turned on already that I play with one of my tits through the fabric of my shirt and bra, not even bothering to take them off. My other hand knows what to do.
I feel guilty, ashamed, as I think of him this way. Rupert was quite hesitant to even kiss me, so what makes me think he would want more? That he would even be comfortable with more?
And besides, I just left Andy mere weeks ago. I haven’t given myself time to properly recover. Perhaps I’m torturing myself with this fantasy, but it’s just that—a fantasy. It can’t hurt anyone except me, right?
The closer I get to orgasm, the more wildly my hand shakes, until I’m frantically rubbing and moaning. Finally, the dam breaks, and a wave of blissful serotonin washes over me.
At least I feel calmer now, even if I’m still pretty horny.
Eventually I change into my silky pajamas—which, yes, I recovered from the trash—and climb into bed, but I still can’t shake the ghost sensation of Rupert’s hands on me, of his large muzzle and clever lips.
I sure hope he wants to do that again.