Page 25 of The Wulver's Bond
A large, hot palm shoved his hand out of the way and enclosed his dick in a powerful grasp. Weed’s eyes snapped open, all the breath leaving his body as he beheld the Wulver leaning over him, mouth curled in a snarl, while his clawed handsqueezed.
Weed shouted, a high-pitched cry that got higher and higher as the Wulver wrung his throbbing dick like he had a vendetta against it. Weed’s orgasm exploded violently, making his body twist and stutter as though blown about in a gale. It seemed to keep on going; long spurts of cum painted his shirt, his nuts pulsing with the need to be entirely empty, and the Wulver showed no sign of stopping until Weed was utterly, utterly spent.
Finally, his dick went limp, dribbling its last, exhausted effort over the Wulver’s fist.
‘Well, shit, wolfie,’ Weed said breathlessly. ‘Looks like youdoshag, after all.’
Arran’s chest heaved. His snarls faded into feverish exhales, puffed through his nose. He whipped his hand away from Weedand in a few long strides had crossed the width of the cave and disappeared down the entrance passage.
Weed allowed himself to flop, sprawled like a flaccid starfish over the sheepskins.
So, the Wulver was game for a bit of fun, after all, eh?
Weed let out a throaty snigger, tinged by euphoria. It struck him that, if the wolfman was really so determined to not exert any power over him then, well—what was to stop Weed from taking whathewanted?
Let’s see him pity me after I’ve had my way.Weed’s mouth curved into a sly smile as he contemplated all the avenues suddenly open to him.One of us needs to be the master in this relationship.
Chapter Ten
Outside the cave, Arran grappled with madness. He stamped back and forth over the same thin strip of dirt, itching with the need to burn off his frustration. He needed to run—to race wildly against the wind, dodging trees, leaping rocks, like a wild animal. He needed to dive into the river and quench his blazing arousal. His cock was engorged, heavy between his legs, still thumping to the smell and feel of Weed underneath him.
Why did the prickly little wretch excite his body so much?
Arran forced himself to stop, to breathe deeply of the cold evening air. He was beyond disgusted with himself. Some base, animal part of him had decided it liked the shape and scent of Weed, and he’d given into it like a weak-willed pervert.
How long had it taken him to abuse his position over Weed? Barely a month.
He should take Weed to visit the Walker witch as soon as possible.
Arran’s anguish subsided a little as the gravity of this thought sunk in. They would have to gather supplies. Weed would need to be better equipped for the journey. It would be months before Arran would see his home again.
His shoulders sagged. So much for peace.
As if summoned by the sentiment, Weed’s voice announced his appearance. ‘What’s happening, wolfie? Need ahandwith anything?’
Arran held in a groan. Weed was still licentiously ruffled, smelling of cum and satisfaction and wearing the smuggest of grins. It took Arran an extra second to register what else Weed was wearing—which was practically nothing. He’d discarded all his clothes except for the velvet frock coat. He wore it open, with his hands on his hips, brazenly displaying his nimble body and his spent cock, which nevertheless twitched as Arran’s gaze flicked to it.
‘Seems you’ve got aconditionof your own there, wolfie,’ Weed snickered, staring below Arran’s waistband.
Arran growled in response. Whether out of lust or warning, he wasn’t sure himself. ‘I am sorry,’ he managed to bite out, even though the beast in him definitely was not. ‘I should not have—’
‘Used my cock like a hand-driven hammer drill?’ Weed cackled, twirling on the spot. ‘Made me come like a squealing piglet in a wolf’s jaws?’
Arran’s fists clenched so tightly he felt his claws drawing blood.Fuck,why did Weed have to push so hard? If only he knew how close Arran was to snapping—to throwing him down and breeding him like the over-sexed bitch he smelled like.
‘It was… a… misjudgement,’ Arran rumbled, grating out the words between his fangs.
Weed skipped closer. ‘But you liked it.’
‘That’s beside the—What are you doing?’ Arran’s attention tore from Weed to a woody creeper of honeysuckle that was curling around his arm.
‘I thought I’d repay the favour,’ Weed replied innocently.
‘No,’ Arran snarled, though his cock, if possible, got harder. ‘Stop tha—’
‘Ah, ah!’ Weed wagged a finger under his nose. ‘You can’t make it an order if you want to preserve my free will!’
Arran’s eyes widened. Weed was, technically, correct.
