Page 92 of Howl for Me
Frankie stares up at me with wide eyes, the performance faltering for just a second as she takes in the beast I’ve become. “God,” she breathes, almost to herself. “That’s so fucking hot.”
I want to vomit.
Her scent invades my nostrils and my cock wilts slightly. I line myself up anyway, pushing into her with slow, careful force. She gasps, one leg wrapping around my waist as she moans, “Oh my god..Johnny..yes…”
She rubs her clit with practiced desperation, squeezing her muscles tight to get herself there fast. We both know this scene is about the grand finale, not the journey.
My hips move on autopilot, but my mind isn’t here. It’s in my damn kitchen. Cassidy in those stupid little shorts. Hair up. Lips parted as she sips her coffee. Eyes half-lidded, half-daring me. My mate. Her scent. Her voice. The softness in her face that morning when she said, Yes, I do actually understand where you’re coming from.
Fuck, I want to know how she tastes. I want to know what her moans sound like. I want her clawing at me, not because the cameras are rolling but because she needs me inside her. I want to take my time, worship her, ruin her. I want her to feel how deep this goes.
“Johnny,” Frankie gasps. “I’m gonna—”
I pull out fast, just in time for the money shot. Frankie arches her back and lets loose, squirting across my chest, the bed, and my thighs. She cries out, back arched and dramatic, perfect for the camera.
I growl.
Not out of pleasure but out of disgust, because now I’m drenched in her scent. It coats my skin like oil, clings to my fur,sticks in my nostrils like poison. My body shudders, wanting to reject every trace of it, it’s not Cassidy. It’s not right. But I don’t stop. I can’t, I have a job to do.
Frankie’s still panting, playing it up, waiting for the last few shots to wrap. I force myself to move again, pushing back into her, my claws digging into the mattress as I thrust. The friction is all mechanical now. There’s no pleasure in it, just the grim need to finish, to get it over with. I look at Cass and her eyes find mine and she’s smiling. Not wide. Not sweet. But knowing and sexy. There’s a glint in her eye as she raises the pen she’s been holding, slowly presses the cap to her lips, and bites down. Just enough to make my gut tighten. Her mouth, fuck, her mouth is enough to ruin me. I focus on it, focus on the curl of her pouty lips, the smooth drag of her teeth over plastic.
Frankie lets out another gasp. Her body jerks under me, and I don’t have time to process whether it’s real or not. She squirts again, wetter, messier. My fur is soaked, but my attention is locked on Cassidy.
And then I come. With a growl caught somewhere between need and frustration, I pull out and finish across Frankie’s chest. She moans and arches again, catching the last few drops like she’s starving for it.
The director yells, “Cut!” and the crew erupts into half-assed applause.
Frankie rolls to the side, breathless and pleased. “That was so fun,” she purrs, brushing my arm. “You’re incredible.”
I grunt and step back, shifting down, body trembling from the effort, not because it’s hard to shift but because I’m holding back the urge to scrub myself raw until her smell is gone. I glance offset. Cassidy’s still in her usual spot, but she's holding a towel, with a look of amusement on her face.
She seems fine. It was a good shoot, but I still feel like I’ve failed her. I feel like I fail her every time the woman I touch isn't her.
Chapter Sixteen
Cassidy
I bite down on my bottom lip, trying not to laugh again. The sound of furious scrubbing echoes from the bathroom. Water splashes like he’s trying to drown himself. I swear I just heard a whimper. Johnny didn’t say a word after the shoot. Just snatched the towel from my hands, teeth clenched, and stomped straight to his dressing room like a man possessed.
Unlike the others, he has his own room in this house-turned-studio. I sit back on the velvet couch in the room while waiting for him to come out of the ensuite bathroom.
“God damn it,” Johnny’s voice echoes. I don't even try to hold in the giggle this time.
He hated that shoot. A part of me did too. I hate them for a very different reason than him though. I wish it were me he was touching like that. No, keep your head straight.
Which, to be fair, I get. Frankie is… a lot. She makes no apologies for being the center of attention, and today she brought a whole damn water show with her. I’ve never seen anything like it. I thought she peed on him. Honestly. My brain panicked, and I was ready to throw a towel, but then I caught the crew guys in the corner murmuring like she just performed an Olympic-level stunt.
“There she goes. Fuck, that’s so hot.”
They were impressed, like what she did was some rare skill I didn’t even know existed and now here I am, sitting, thinking about how I will never be that girl. Johnny’s had every kind of woman. Slick, confident, loud women. The kind that walks into a room and owns it. Women who wear fur coats with barely anything underneath and light cigarettes after sex like it’s an art form. Women who moan on command and know how to squirt on cue and have nicknames like Cherry or Star.
Meanwhile, I’m over here in my thrifted bell bottoms and a T-shirt. What did he call me? Plain Jane. This is just another example of why I could never pursue anything with this man. That scene today just confirmed it. He’s in a whole different league. And I’d be a disaster if I even tried to play along. He deserves someone impressive. Someone who doesn’t melt when he smiles or choke on her own spit when he walks by shirtless unexpectedly. I mean, I see him screw women on camera, and it still catches me off guard. I’d be boring. Clumsy. A letdown.
The bathroom door swings open and Johnny steps out, steam trailing behind him like he’s some pissed-off deity fresh from a scalding bath. Towel slung low around his hips, droplets still clinging to his chest hair. His feet stop short when he sees me on the couch.
His eyes narrow, head tilting just a bit. “Are you laughing?”
I try. I really do. But the corner of my mouth twitches, and then I catch the outrage on his face and lose it.
