Page 63 of The Wulver's Bond
He heard Moss’s breath hitch. ‘Is that so, wolfie?’
Something thin and reed-like curled around Arran’s throat. He jolted upright, almost throwing Moss out of bed with the movement, before realising it was a single vine of honeysuckle coiling loosely about his neck.
Moss stared up at him, illuminated by the red embers of the hearth. The humble light flowed over his lithe sapling body, kissing it on the tops of his leaf-speckled shoulders and spread knees. His needy little cock twitched under Arran’s glare.
Arran stuck a claw under the collar. Already, his beast bayed for release. ‘Tighter.’
Moss obliged. The vine dug into Arran’s flesh, making the unspoken promise that he’d be choked if he disobeyed. Arran gave a raw groan. His cock jerked in reaction to the tantalising pressure.
‘Good boy,’ Moss said softly, and Arran almost went for him.
He was equal parts thrilled and infuriated by the pleasure those words shivered up his spine. His tail even wagged, hitting the bed with a rhythmic thump.
Arran willed his beast and body to be still, to be cold like iron even as Moss continued to stoke the fire in him. He sat on his haunches, waiting for Moss’s command.
Moss was clearly going to make Arran work for it, too. He reached forward and pressed his palm firmly between Arran’s legs. Arran shuddered as Moss’s hand cupped his painfully heavy balls, squeezing through the denim of his trousers.
Arran’s limbs trembled with the effort of holding himself together. He knew Moss must be feeling the same. He reeked of need. Of desperation. The leash between them was the only thing keeping either of them in check.
‘You like that?’ Moss slunk forward on his knees, so small compared to Arran, and yet intimidating under the memory of his goliath dryad form. ‘Let’s see how you do with this for a command… Stay still.’
Arran’s beast roared within. He kept it trapped inside, concentrating on the smooth surface of the vine collar and the leaves that brushed the underside of his chin. He looked straight ahead at the cave wall, not even daring to watch Moss’s fingers as they unbuttoned his trousers and peeled the fabric away from his cock. But when Moss’s mouth closed around it, he had no way of fighting the way his whole body rocked under the strain.
The collar tightened again, morphing his instinctual growl into a muffled grunt, and then finally a whine as Moss sank past the head and took at least half the shaft down his throat.
Don’t move. Don’t move. Don’t move.
Arran didn’t know if he was begging himself or Moss. All he knew was that he was near his limit and being on Moss’s leash was so fucking delicious and hedesperatelywanted to be called a good boy again, and all the while the thoughtless beast part of him was in a hot rage, urgently calculating just how hard he was going to slam his cock into Moss’s tight little body just as soon as he was free to do so.
All the while, Moss sucked slowly, using his tongue to tease the grooves around the head of Arran’s cock, and then over the thick veins near the base and his knot. When Moss’s teeth gave a light nip at the skin over his knot, Arran released a strangled howl.
‘You wanna come, wolfie?’ Moss asked, lapping up a gush of precum from Arran’s cock. ‘If you’re a good boy, you can come.’
Arran could barely speak. He realised his claws were clutching at the collar, though it wasn’t restricting his breathing just at that moment; more like it was the only thing he felt he could hold onto. He nodded helplessly.
Moss sat up on his knees, stroking Arran’s cock with one hand, and running his fingers through the fur over Arran’s throat with the other. ‘Good boy,’ he whispered, almost reverentially. ‘You’re such a good fucking boy. You know how to be even better? You know what would make me really happy?’
Arran’s tail wagged so hard it hurt. His cock thudded with pleasure in Moss’s hand. Moss stretched up as high as he could and pulled Arran’s head down so that he could whisper in his ears.
‘You’re going tocome. And then you’re going to shag me onto your knot, and you’re going to keep shagging me ’til I beg for mercy. Can you do that for me, wolfie?’
YES.
Arran’s cock fired a thick jet of cum over Moss’s chest, followed by several more. Moss grinned, lapping a stripe off the back of his hand while Arran watched hungrily, waiting like a predator.
The brief release was hardly enough. His cock was still hard. His body tensed for the hunt. Moss looked up at him, full of naïve, smug innocence.
The leash around Arran’s neck slipped away.
And he pounced.
Chapter Twenty-Three
In a matter of seconds Moss’s world was completely up-ended.
One moment he was basking in the satisfaction of Arran’s climax, and the next he was face-down in the sheepskins mewling like a kitten with the Wulver’s tongue buried deep inside his ass.
And what a tongue. Wider and more dexterous than a human’s, it curled in interesting ways that caught on every nerve ending and kept Moss quivering like a useless mess.
