Page 23 of Little Red Riding Hood
Red’s teeth chattered violently, his whole body quaking.
“Shh,” Wim rumbled, pressing closer. The wolf’s massive form enveloped Red, radiating heat.
“W-w-what are y-you d-doing?” Red stammered, his words barely intelligible through his trembling.
“Couldn’t bear to hear your teeth knocking together anymore,” Wim grumbled. “But if you’d rather freeze to death, I can go back over there.”
Red’s limbs tingled as warmth slowly seeped back into them. The numbness in his toes receded, replaced by pins and needles. He flexed his fingers experimentally, relief flooding through him as sensation returned.
Wim’s fur tickled Red’s nose, and he fought the urge to sneeze. The wolf’s scent filled his nostrils—earthy and wild, with a hint of pine and something musky that Red couldn’t quite place. He burrowed deeper into Wim’s thick coat, seeking more of that blessed warmth.
The wolf’s body curled around him protectively, a living, fluffy shield against the biting wind. One by one, Red’s muscles gradually unclenched, tension melting away as heat seeped into his bones. He pressed his frozen nose into Wim’s fur, inhaling deeply.
Drowsiness crept over Red, his eyelids growing heavy. The wind’s fury seemed distant now, muffled by Wim’s solid presence.
Red’s thoughts drifted, losing their sharp edges, the comforting sensation of Wim pressed up against him lulling him to sleep. His consciousness soon teetered on the edge of oblivion. Just before darkness reclaimed him, Red murmured into the soft fur. “Thank you.”
Wim’s only response was a low rumble that vibrated through Red’s entire body. The sound reverberated in his chest, soothing and familiar.
Familiar?
Red almost laughed at himself. How had he becomefamiliarwith a wolf?
But as he buried himself even deeper in the wildling’s warm embrace, he couldn’t help but laugh at himself—for he was now very glad Wim had wanted to eat him the night they met.
Six
Red was enveloped in the most delicious warmth. He was perhaps the warmest he’d ever been. He snuggled deeper into the cocoon of heat, savouring the comfort, then peeled his eyes open. The first rays of sunlight streamed through the trees, casting a golden glow that kissed their camp and chased away the remnants of the night’s chill.
Red’s gaze drifted lazily across the extinguished fire, to where Wim would be—
Wim’s bedroll was empty.
Memory crashed over him like ice water. The wolf. Wim had climbed in with him last night.
His eyes flew open. His pulse quickened to a jubilant dance. He lay frozen, hardly daring to breathe. Slowly, cautiously, he reached behind him, bracing for the brush of coarse fur.
His fingers met warm skin. Smooth. Soft. A light dusting of downy hair.
Red’s breath caught in his throat. Human skin. Not fur at all.
Wim’s chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm against Red’s back. Still fast asleep.
When had Wim shifted back? It was one thing cuddling with a wolf for warmth, it was very much another with a naked man. How long had they lain like this, with Wim’s human body pressed up against him so snugly? And why did the thought send a shiver down Red’s spine that had nothing to do with fear?
Red squirmed against the bedroll’s constraints, heart lodged in his throat as he tried to put distance between them. Yet Wim’s slumbering form mumbled an incoherent protest and clutched Red closer, hot breath tickling his ear.
It was no good. Red was a prisoner in the wolf’s arms. The wolf’s strong, muscular arms, that were wrapped securely around him as if Red were a precious treasure needing to be protected at all costs.
Wim shifted, the barest movement, and the unmistakable press of an arousal nudged against Red’s thigh. Shock coursed through him like liquid fire, but something else simmered beneath it—his own excitement.
A groan threatened to escape Red’s trembling lips when Wim’s solid length grazed against him where his leg met his buttock. He swallowed hard, unable to tear his thoughts from the intimate contact. The sensation sent tingly jolts through his limbs, his own cock happily swelling.
How could he, Red, who’d scorned and scoffed at the infuriating wolf-man, now find himself consumed by desire for him?
His cock mocked him, becoming as stiff as Wim’s, a needy ache throbbing through it.
Oh, how easy it would be to touch himself, to relieve himself of this awful torture.
