Page 26 of The Wulver's Bond
Staring into Weed’s cunning green eyes, he suddenly realised he might be in a lot of trouble.
‘Boundaries,’ he rasped, yanking the vine off his arm. ‘I respect yours. I ask you to respect mine.’
Weed nodded enthusiastically. ‘Boundaries, yep. You totally asked before grabbing my dick, right?’
Arran shut his eyes, desire and shame waging war behind them. ‘I amtrulysor—’
He yelped as Weed ducked forward and ran a finger along the outline of his cock. ‘Sorry? I’m not.’
Arran grabbed Weed’s wrist, carefully moving it away. His breaths were loud, sounding every bit like an animal’s, betraying his eroding self-control. If he lost it… God, if he lost it, he’d stuff Weed so full of his cock that his kidneys would hit his throat and his hole would be left gaping for days.
Arran shuddered; his resolve almost shattered under the pressure of that thought alone.
Weed’s scent filled his nose. His slender cock had thickened again, glistening with sticky precum. Weed blinked slowly, long eyelashes making him doe-like as he peered up at Arran. ‘Won’t you order me to satisfy you, master? It’s clear as day you want some release of your own.’
Arran struggled to speak. His tail—his dumb, treacherous, honest tail—wagged like a lunatic. ‘What I may or may notwantis none of your concern.’
Arran finally willed his feet to move, to take him away from Weed and this horribly seductive conversation, even if he could only put the walls of his cave between them. He forged past Weed, head fixed firmly forward so he wouldn’t be tempted to look back.
‘So just to be clear,’ Weed sing-songed behind him, ‘you don’t order menotto shag you?’
Arran huffed at this feeble parting shot. ‘Try at your own risk.’
A sudden well of silence made him double-take over his shoulder. Weed had gone awfully still, and was staring at him with an alarmingly gleeful spark in his eyes.
‘Do my ears deceive me?’ Weed asked. ‘Or did I just receive anexquisitecommand from my master?’
Arran’s mind raced over his last words. What could he have possibly said that could be construed as an instruction…?
Oh,no.
‘No,’ he spluttered, ‘I didn’t mean—’
‘Too late.’
Arran’s feet tipped from under him in a shower of damp earth. A thick tree root reared in the air then snaked about his middle. It yanked him against the ground while another root lunged for his face. Arran snapped at it with his jaws, baring teeth—instantly he realised his mistake. The root plunged across his open mouth, trapping it like a gag when his jaw reflexively snapped shut. In the next second it had coiled around his snout, firmly muzzling him.
Arran strained against it, snarling ferociously, but the distraction only gave an opening for more tendrils to wind around his body. They corkscrewed over his arms and legs, gradually spreading him wide open as he lay flat on the ground.
Arran panted heavily through his nose, staring up at the mottled pattern of twilight sky through the trees.
Weed’s head dipped into view. ‘Comfy?’
Fuck you,Arran endeavoured to snarl in response. The snarl itself came out muffled and throaty, and far more lustful than he’d intended.
Weed snickered. ‘I hope so. You’re gonna be there a while…’
He knelt between Arran’s spread legs, placing a hand on each thigh. Even through his jeans Arran was acutely aware of the heat from his palms. It spread up his thighs and pooled in his groin, igniting in his straining cock.
Weed traced a pattern down to Arran’s knees and back up again, then danced light fingers through the fur over his abdomen, pushing up his hoodie to reveal his chest. A shiver ran through Arran’s entire body.
‘Ooh, sensitive.’ Weed grinned, his fingers drifting lower. His eyes widened as they dropped to Arran’s crotch. He cleared his throat unsteadily. ‘Oh my. You’re a, uh,bigboy, huh?’
Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck.
Arran’s hard breathing rose and fell in time with his thoughts. He was in so much trouble.Weedwas in so much trouble.
Try at your own risk!Why the hell had he phrased it like that? It was barely an order, anyway. But Weed had warned him, hadn’t he, that he could employ a creative interpretation…
