Chapter 6
Chapter
Six
Cherry
I tell myself that I’m leaving my door unlocked for Alma’s sake.
If something happens to me—vampire attack, werewolf attack, demon, lich, swamp monster, what have you in this town—I want her to be able to get in instead of busting down the door with magic. Door hinges are especially tough to fix after a magical battering ram.
That logic might not be sound, but it’s all I have.
I’m leaving the rest up to fate.
Hey, at least I’m staying home, just like Timber told me to do.
I fill my time with researching about werewolves. I learn all about the mating rituals. Marking. Knotting. It’s primitive and wild. Deeply fascinating stuff.
Would I let Timber do those things to me?
I spend the rest of the evening tidying up the cottage, putting those thoughts aside.
To my astonishment, the answer is yes.
But how did I come to this point?
Needing to give my anxious brain something to refocus on, I deep clean the baseboards and remove all dust bunnies from under my bed and the sofa.
Will Timber come scratching at my door tonight? Will he bust through a window? Does a werewolf know how to use a doorknob?
I can’t help but laugh at myself.
Through the kitchen window, the moon is rising, clear and bright for the third night in a row. Tonight begins the moon’s waning, so the influence won’t be as intense, I tell myself.
Sweaty from cleaning, I decide to shower while I wait for Alma to show up.
She texted a while ago saying she had some things to talk about with a friend, which I understand.
I miss my friends in New York, but I haven’t kept in contact with them.
They’d want to know what I’m up to, and how do I explain that I’m studying full-blown witchcraft and not just the WitchTok influencer version of the craft?
It’s far more complex than “A lot of you have been asking how to buy sustainably sourced white sage for smudging.”
It’s real. Magic is fucking real. Demons are real.
Vampires are real. And now, apparently, werewolves are real.
Monsters lurk in the dark. And sometimes during the day.
Spells and rituals have consequences. One can make Instagram reels about one’s salt circles and hand-bound grimoires all day long, but most people have no clue what they are messing with.
Case in point: Me. I screw up all the time, which is why I’m in my current predicament.
In the shower, I try to put Timber out of my head.
But the more I try, the more he appears in my thoughts. The memory of our first kiss. The way he touched me. Nuzzled my breasts in a way that almost made me wonder if he was looking to feed from me. Oh goddess, that’s a whole other kink I’m not ready for.
The more my head tries to point out the wrongness of all of it, the more I find myself lost in a fantasy.
I close my eyes as I rub my loofah over my skin, the thick layer of foam licking across my nipples, my belly, my thighs.
Pressing my head against the tile, I inhale the steamy air and let the loofah find its way between my thighs.
I spread wider, giving in to the erotic self-pleasure. Back and forth, again and again, remembering Timber’s tongue.
It’s not until I open my eyes that I realize I’m not even working the loofah with my hands. My one arm rests on the tile, with the other hand stroking a nipple.
I’m too turned on to be terrified of my own psychokinetic powers that made the loofah do that to me.
I’ll take it.
Wait…was that the door? I hold my breath, trying to stave off the orgasm for a minute longer, but it’s no use.
I come quickly, but it’s not satisfying.
“I told you to lock up.”
The savage, throaty rasp behind me can only mean one thing. I’m no longer alone in the shower.
Gathering my post-orgasm breath as I lean against the shower wall, I look back over my shoulder.
There he is.
Half wolf, half man. Fully naked and wielding the biggest unit I’ve ever seen.
My jaw drops, wanting to scream, but no sound comes out.
My knees buckle as I reach for the shower rod, but there’s no need. Timber has me, one furry arm hooked around my middle as I go face down in the tub.
“I’m sorry, I just couldn’t lock you out. I need you, Timber,” I whimper as he has his way with me.
Steam rolls around us as he nudges open my thighs.
Excitement rushes through me, and I grab onto the sides of the ceramic tub.
My hands get a workout as this creature licks over my wet skin, nipping me with his fangs.
The slight pain gives way to pleasure quickly, and I open my thighs and push back.
“Fuck me, Timber. Do it. Please. I know you won’t hurt me.”
Though if he does hurt me, I won’t care. That’s my little secret.
Nothing could prepare me for the stretch.
That thick, long, ridged wolf man cock is almost too much.
If I were fully human, this would be impossible.
But we witches are built differently. Emotions, when controlled, can do many small, useful things. The minor amount of effort it takes to fit him in me is almost as gratifying as the fullness of that monster hog buried inside me.
The slight pain of the first time is nothing.
“I don’t know what you were so worried about, Wolfy,” I say, trembling, then gasping as he pulls out and drives back in.
My only regret in this moment is wishing we were face-to-face. What the wolf needs, the wolf will get. And he’ll only get it from me.
That’s how greedy I instantly feel with him in me.
My pussy grips him hard, and he snarls, covering my back with his warm, strong body. He lets his fangs nip a little harder against my shoulder, and I cry out with pleasure.
“That’s it. Yes, Timber.”
“You let me fuck you so good. You let the monster fuck you and mark you. Is that what you want?”
“Yes, Timber!”
“Sweet, sweet Cherry,” he groans as he moves in me.
Our bodies move as one, and I whisper encouragement along the way. He needs to know that I see him and accept him for who he is. That he can’t hurt me.
That, in fact, everything he does feels incredible.
“I’m yours, Timber.”
At that, he lets out a wild, feral sound, but that’s not the most concerning thing. Where our bodies are joined together, the base of his cock seems to grow.
My jaw drops, but no sound comes out. The stretch is almost too much, even for me. And Timber’s no longer thrusting because everything is too tight to move.
I don’t hate it, though.
“What…what’s happening, love?”
When I look back at him over my shoulder, Timber is so far gone that he’s lost his capacity for words. His eyes have gone black.
A flood of liquid heat fills me.
“Oh…oh my goddess.”
“Be still,” he manages to grind out, one arm hooked around me and his voice rasping in my ear.
His other hand reaches around and finds my clit expertly.
And the flood from his cock just keeps coming. The stretch is next level. Yet the way he holds me, the way he strokes me, even the way he’s breathing is a precursor for what’s next.
I glance at him over my shoulder once again, and his fangs are bared.
He needs to mark me. The beast needs this.
“Do it. I—I want you to do it, Timber,” I cry out.
With an inhuman grunt, he lunges at me. The fangs sink into my skin, the momentary pain searing into my shoulder. As quickly as the pain comes, it dissipates into pleasure.
I’ve been claimed by the wolf, and there’s no going back.
“You’re my mate, little Cherry.”
He licks over the wound, so sweetly. Ritualistically.
I can suddenly feel what Timber feels for me.
I can almost read his thoughts. How he came to be this way.
How his mother and father abandoned him when an old family curse manifested.
His ancestors spent generations trying to eliminate the werewolf gene, and his parents never told him about it.
They thought it was finally over. This his shift happened, and he was cast out.
He struggled so badly on his own. Meeting me for the first time, feeling the instinct to imprint on me, gave him hope for a future.
It’s an unbreakable bond that Timber has created. Perfect loyalty. A true connection. And isn’t that what I’ve always been looking for? Someone devoted, honest, and faithful.
So maybe I did do an accidental love spell. Would that be so bad, if I’ve found my person?
At the same time, I’m still weak from my earlier orgasm, and yet I’m frantic with need as he toys with the ache between my legs.
“I’m yours, Timber,” I whimper.
His body stiffens as I milk what’s left of him.
Timber roars in my ear, and I grip harder.
“Cherry…my Cherry.”
“Yours…I’m yours, Timber.”