Martin And The Wolf

...Lucas and I were left alone.

I thought what would happen was that we’d chat for a while, politely and about nothing in particular, and then he’d make his excuses and move on. Leaving me to get another cocktail—non-alcoholic this time—and drive home at an appropriate moment. On my own. To my empty house and my single lifestyle.

None of that happened.

Instead, Lucas reached out and gripped my arm. The heat of his fingers seared through my thin cotton shirt and into my flesh. Or at least that was what it felt like. It felt like being branded. I gasped and opened my mouth to say something—though, God alone knows what—but didn’t get a chance. Because the next second the man’s lips were crushing mine, and his tongue was ravishing my mouth. He tasted of wine and spices. For another heartbeat, I simply stood there, taking the sudden assault, then my body woke up. For real. I dropped my drink on the grass. I didn’t intend to, but it slipped out of my grasp. Luckily, it didn’t break. Then I wrapped my free arm around his shoulders—my other arm was still imprisoned in his grip—and held on. I realized I was moaning, but I couldn’t help it. It was just so damn good, and so unexpected.

He growled a response into my mouth, but I didn’t want to hear what he had to say. I just wanted him to keep on kissing me. I didn’t need to worry. His body pressed against mine, all muscle and purpose, and he walked me backwards until we were deeper into the trees, away from the light. I came to an abrupt halt against the rough stonework of a wall. It was then that he ended the kiss.

I was panting, hardly able to catch my breath at all. My glasses were half on, half off, and my lips felt bruised and swollen. God, but I missed his tongue.

His hand caught my chin, held it firm. He shook me, not so it hurt, but as if wanting to make sure he had my complete attention. Which he did. No question. Without a word, he removed my glasses, folded them up and dropped them into the grass. I prayed they wouldn’t break either.

Then he spoke.

“I want to mate with you,” he said. “Are you willing?”

I almost laughed. Maybe I would have done, if my cock hadn’t been straining against my briefs and my skin searing at his touch. For a second I told myself he couldn’t be serious. Not here, so near the house, though we were, I think, protected by the trees, and in Frank and Miranda’s garden to boot. Then I understood how serious he was.

“Are you willing?” he said again, his tone low, urgent. “Tell me.”

Unable to find any words for this situation, I nodded and made a sound of assent. Almost a whimper.

“Good,” he said, letting me go. “Then turn around and take off your trousers and pants.”

I obeyed. It didn’t even cross my mind to do anything else. Almost immediately, I heard the sound of a zipper and the hard slickness of his cock against my arse. It felt delicious, but there was something we had to do first.

“Please,” I managed to whisper. “Condoms…”

He snarled. Not words, but a sound of annoyance that both terrified and thrilled me. “No need. As far as this is concerned, we’re both clean. We can’t infect each other.”

That was crazy, of course, but I knew that somehow he saw it as the truth.

“Please,” I said again. “Humor me. You’ll find what you need in my trouser pocket.”

A moment of silence passed when I sensed he was weighing my words in his own private balance. Whatever his decision was, I understood right then that I’d accept it, come what may. I wanted this too much...