Wolf on a Chain
by Amanda Ferry
“Blindfolds are useless on a werewolf.”
He tried to sound calm, but the sight of her kneeling at the foot of the bed, a black scarf in her hands, aroused his beast and he could hear the animal growl in the undercurrents of his voice.
“Hush.” Soft as antique silk, her hair feathered over muscles of his stomach as she moved up the length of the bed to tie the scarf firmly over his eyes.
The hot skin of her thighs brushed against his legs as she crawled down his body. He could hear the soft sighs of her skirt and blouse coming off. Then… stillness.
He didn’t have to strain to know she was near. His wolf knew where she was the way that he knew which way gravity pulled. He could smell her body, taste her breath, hear her pulse.
Italian for lunch–garlic and oregano and red wine. Pizza at Il Posto. She’d switched shampoo again, still trying to find something that didn’t irritate his wolf’s nose. Under that, the musky smell of her sex, the brine scent of her sweat, and the coppery blood just under her skin.
His skin shivered and his muscles ached with the need to do something. To tear the blindfold off and drink in the sight of her nude body in the pale light of the crescent moon. To slip his skin and let his wolf howl with lust. To bury himself in her wet heat.
Flesh aching with anticipation, he shifted his hips and moaned.
Then, a hot wet tongue flickered down his cock.
His back arched off the bed.
Mirrored from Circlet Press: Welcome to Circlet 2.0.