13. Eli

Ihave no fucking idea what possessed me to ask Wisteria to go on a hike with me.

I blame it on the fact that I'd been thrown completely off-guard by the fact that she showed up at all. The last thing I expected, after turning her down for that drink by telling her I'm not the dating type–which is true–was for her to come back and basically say well neither am I. Or, at the very least, that she isn't right now.

I'm not entirely sure I believe her. Well–that's not true…I believe that she believes that right now. But I can see the way she looks at me every time she comes close. I can smell the arousal wafting off of her. It's the same damn feeling that I get every time I see her, every time I get a whiff of her–an animal attraction that's threatening to tear off its leash. And while she might not have any intentions beyond one outing together, I know there's danger in indulging the kind of lust that crackles between us.

I should have told her no. A girl like that wouldn't keep trying after being turned down twice, putting herself out there for a one-night-stand like that. But I opened my mouth to say it, and instead what came out was something entirely different.

Instead, I asked her to go out into the woods with me. It was stupid enough, taking her up on the offer when I'd already determined it was a good thing she turned me down, the first time I tried. But I could have said yes to a drink at some little watering hole in town, or maybe even in the downstairs lounge at the lodge.

Taking her out into the woods is dangerous. Not because I think I'd hurt her–god knows I'd never harm a woman–but because it's going to make it hard to be smart with her. Out there, it's harder to keep those animal urges leashed, harder to make smart decisions with my wolf howling for what it wants. She tempts me too much already, in places where we're not alone, where I'm more man than beast.

I've never taken a woman out into the woods with me, not even for something as innocent as a hike. The moment the words came out of my mouth, I knew none of it made sense. I don't go on dates. I don't share things important to me with anyone else. I've never done anything more with a woman than had a drink or a meal, and then fucked until neither of us could walk straight after.

This is uncharted territory for me. And it's one more sign that I don't understand what the hell is going on between me and this woman.

I don't understand why she makes me feel things, do things, that I've never even considered before–not when she's a human, and incapable of the kind of things that can make a shifter male act against his own better interests.

Only a shifter or a witch can do that, and so far as I know, she's neither. She's sure as hell not a shifter, and I've always heard there's a scent of magic on a witch. A crackle of something dark and bitter, like poisoned ozone. I've run across it a time or two, and I've never heard or scented anything different.

Wisteria doesn't smell like a witch. She smells sweet. Earthy. Like a flowerbed I want to dig my paws into and roll around in until the scent of her is all over me.

She makes me feel like I'm not sure where the man in me ends and the animal begins. It should terrify me. It does terrify me. But surely if I take her to bed for a night, I can fuck it out of us both. So long as I don't give in and knot her, it won't be any different than any other woman I've fucked. A little more intense, maybe, given the attraction–but still, just another warm body in my bed.

Here one night, and gone the next.

When I come downstairs, I see her immediately. She's standing in the entryway of the lodge, looking through the tourist leaflets stacked near the door, wearing tight black leggings and a long-sleeved lavender-hued top that clings to her. Her hair is up in that ponytail again, and I can see from her pristine sneakers that she doesn't hike. Those shoes have never seen anything more intense than an elliptical at an indoor gym. But her footwear is the last thing on my mind.

It's all I can do not to go up behind her and whisper in her ear that we should go upstairs instead. I'm not entirely sure why I don't suggest that. So far as I can tell, we're both of the same mind that this is going to end with us in bed. But I look at her soft curves encased in spandex, imagining how it would feel to wrap that ponytail around my fist and tug her head back so that I can drag my mouth down her throat–and instead I walk over to her, clearing my throat as I stop a foot away.

Wisteria looks up immediately, and I see the instant desire in her hazel eyes when she sees me. I'm not wearing anything special–a pair of battered jeans, old hiking boots and a long-sleeved shirt against the chill outside–but her full lips part slightly, and I can see her brief inhale.

She feels it, too. And I question yet again why I'm so determined to spend an afternoon traipsing in the woods with her instead of taking her up to bed right away. From the way her pupils go dark when she looks at me, I have a feeling she wouldn't say no.

"You'd be better off in hiking boots." I nod at her feet, and she flushes slightly.

"I didn't know." She bites her lip, and my half-hard cock throbs. "I probably should have asked you, now that I think about it," she adds, laughing self-consciously.I haven't actually been hiking before. I had a gym membership in Seattle, so I'm not going to huff and puff a half-mile in–but I didn't know the sneakers weren't right."

"You'll be okay." I shrug. "Not like this time of year there's a lot of mud. We'll just keep an eye out for uneven patches and rocks. The walk to the lake isn't too steep."

"Okay, then." She smiles at me, and then glances at the worn backpack thrown over my shoulder. "Is that for our drinks?"

There's a teasing glitter in her eyes that sends a shiver down my spine. I'm not used to a woman teasing me. I'm used to being wanted, sometimes feared, sometimes both–but the kind of women I pass a night with don't laugh with me. They don't tease me. Hell, I've barely talked to most of the women I've slept with.

"That, and a bit of food and some water. Just things for the trail. You ready to go?" I raise an eyebrow, and her cheeks flush a bit deeper. If I were standing closer, I have a feeling I know what scent I'd find rising off of her.

"Let's go," is all she says, and we set off.

The trailhead is just behind the lodge. The beginning of it is a fairly well-traveled and well-kept path, and Wisteria keeps pace with me without trouble, though I make sure to shorten my normally long stride a bit for her. She's quiet, looking around the woods as if she's never seen trees before and is a little in awe of it all, and I don't have the slightest idea what to say. All I can think is that I don't know what the hell came over me to do this in the first place.

"It's beautiful," she says softly, breaking the silence, her eyes still wide as we walk deeper into the trees. I try not to think about the last time I was out here, a few days ago, about the scents of blood and rut and the animal fervor that filled these woods on the night of the moon.

It's nearly impossible, because she looks beautiful. Her face is soft and glowing, faintly sheened with sweat despite the cool afternoon, and a few small pieces of her hair have fallen out around her face. She turns towards me, her hazel eyes alight, and I feel something foreign tighten in my chest.

"It's still a little hard to believe that I live here now." Her voice is soft still, hushed, as if she doesn't want to break the peacefulness of the forest by speaking too loudly. "I've lived in the city my whole life."

"Can't say I like being in the city all that much." The last time I was in one, when I spent three days in jail, still itches beneath my skin. I'm in no hurry to go back. I also have no intention of telling the pretty, sweet woman walking next to me about that. Some women would be quicker to hop in my bed, hearing I'd spent a few days behind bars, but I don't think Wisteria is one of those.

"It's not for everyone. It's not for me." She goes back to surveying the trees as we walk, the trail beginning to narrow into something less easily passable.

"Why'd you stay there so long then?" The question surprises me–it's not like me to give much of a shit about anyone's personal story. None of this is going to matter once I have her naked and breathless in my bed, and none of it is going to matter after, when she leaves and I don't see her again. But oddly, I find myself curious about the answer.

Wisteria shrugs, as if it doesn't matter, but I see her teeth graze over her lower lip. "It's not easy to just pick up and start over," she says quietly. "I went to college in Seattle. I had an idea about how my life was supposed to go, and I took the steps to do that. By the time I realized how miserable I was, it wasn't as easy as just changing my mind. Leaving a place costs money, you know, and finding a new job isn't simple."

"Not as hard as you might think." It's my turn to shrug. "I've been goin' from town to town my whole life."

She raises an eyebrow, glancing at me. "I'm afraid I don't know how to ride a motorcycle. And in any case, I don't know how far my car would have gotten me. But I guess I'm just not that brave–going from motel to motel and job to job. I'm not that adventurous."

There's that strange tugging sensation in my chest again, as if hearing her talk about herself in that faintly disparaging tone hurts me somehow. "I dunno about that." I reach into my pack for a water bottle, just to give myself something to do with my hands. "You picked up and came out here, yeah? Must've taken some nerve to do that."

"More than you know." Wisteria laughs softly, her cheeks faintly coloring, and she takes the water bottle from my hand. "But I'm here now. And I really like it. I wasn't sure if I'd stay, at first. But even if the shop doesn't work out, I feel pretty sure I'll stay, now. I have a house that's paid for here, after all. There's upkeep and property taxes, but that's nothing compared to rent some places, and–" She breaks off, the color in her cheeks deepening. "I'm sorry. I'm talking your ear off again about things that don't matter to you."

She's right. They don't matter to me, and with anyone else, I'd probably be annoyed. But I can't help thinking that I don't mind what she talks about, so long as I keep getting to hear the sound of her voice.

"Why wouldn't the shop work out?" I ask, an unfamiliar curiosity getting the better of me before I can stop myself. "Seems like your aunt had it pretty well set up already. Was it not profitable?"

"It is, as an apothecary." Wisteria takes another deep drink of the water, and hands it back to me. I take a drink too, trying not to think about the warmth of her lips touching it a moment before. My cock twitches despite my best efforts, and I grit my teeth. I've never been so fucking horny just a few days after the moon, and it's starting to make me feel slightly insane.

"But I want to turn it into a bookstore and tea shop," she continues. "A sort of hybrid of the two. And so if I'm changing it pretty much into something totally different from what my aunt built it up as–" She shrugs, but it's clear from the expression on her face that it matters to her. "I can't really be sure if it's going to work out. It might fail. And then I suppose I either try to find the means to turn it back into what it was before, and hope that works again–or I close the whole place and sell, and go to work for someone else again. Which, if I can't make it work–I guess that means I shouldn't have my own business."

Her lips press together then, that flush deepening, although she doesn't apologize. I can tell she's thinking once again that she's gone off on a tangent I don't care about, even though I asked the question. It makes me want to reassure her, another entirely unfamiliar feeling.

I clear my throat. "I haven't been here long," I admit, as we turn a corner around a stand of trees and start to head down the path towards the lake. "But it's my understandin' that what works around here is whatever will draw tourist business. They like things magical, quaint, and charmin'. A little rustic, sometimes. So I reckon a little tea shop with books for sale will satisfy the desire for the former just fine. I dunno about the latter."

"I don't picture it rustic," Wisteria says thoughtfully. "Victorian, maybe. A little gothic sprinkled in there, since Penelope wants to keep doing her divinations, like she does in the shop. So that should fulfill the ‘magical' quotient you mentioned," she adds, with a small laugh. "I have a vision board for it and everything."

She blushes again after saying that last, as if she expects me to find something silly about it, but I'm still thinking about her mention of Penelope. Divinations–which means her employee is a witch. I try to think of what I scented on her, that afternoon in the shop–I don't recall her smelling bad, the way I'd expect a witch to, but there was something that I didn't find all that pleasant. Burnt vanilla and amber, something smoky with a slight acrid tang to it. Not my taste, but I'd just passed it off as there not being the right pheromones there. Now, in this light, I find myself reassessing some things.

Maybe it's not that all witches smell toxic, but that they don't smell right to a shifter.That would make sense. It would also mean that Wisteria is undeniably not a witch–rarely has a woman ever smelled better to me. Just a whiff of her sweet herbal smell, mixed with that sugary scent–like sweetened tea–makes me half-hard and eager to rub myself against her like a rutting animal.

Not a shifter or a witch, then. Just a human. A human who has managed to turn me inside out in a matter of days.

I just have to hope that a good roll in the sheets will satisfy that, and clear out my senses again.

"Oh!" Wisteria gasps softly, and I see that we've nearly reached the lake. It's just to our right, the grassy space sprinkled with trees in front of it a hundred yards or so away, the water glittering in the afternoon sunlight. "It's so beautiful."

I was partial to the dark, glossy surface lit with moonlight a few nights ago, but I have to agree that it's breathtaking like this as well. "Follow me," I tell her, leading the way down the path to ensure there's nothing that will trip her up. "The path gets a little rocky here, until we get down into the grass."

Wisteria nods, and I'm glad I took the lead, because most of her attention is still focused on the vista in front of her. She follows me all the way down to the grass, where I lead her out to an open area a little ways away from the water, and set my backpack down.

"I even brought a blanket," I tell her, unzipping it and fishing out what I brought. I took it from my bedroom at the lodge–a thick wool blanket woven in an earth-toned pattern. Anything of my own that I had would have been too worn to suit an occasion like this–although looking back on it now, I'm not sure why it mattered to me so much. If she wants me, she'll want me either way, worn blanket or not. It's not as if this is some romantic picnic I've arranged.

Wisteria is smiling, though, watching me as I shake it out over the grass, and there's that odd feeling in my chest again. Like I'm happier now, seeing that she's pleased.

She sinks down onto the blanket as I smooth it out, tucking her feet underneath her. "I could sit out here all day," she says softly. "This would be such a pretty place to sit and read. Or draw–if I could draw." She laughs a little self-consciously. "That's one of those things I always wished I was good at, and never was."

"I've tried a hand at sketching." Once again, the words spill out without my really meaning for them to. I don't tell people things like that about myself. I never have. Even Adam knows very little about me that's personal, beyond my taste in women and my tendency to take illegal jobs–and my aversion to running with a pack. And even then, he doesn't know why I don't, only that I've been a lone wolf for all my adult life.

"Really?" Wisteria looks delighted by the crumb of information. It sends off a warning alarm in the back of my mind–a hookup usually doesn't come with this much small talk. But I can't seem to pay attention to it. Instead, all I see is her smile, the curious sparkle in her eyes, the way she leans towards me a little. I get another whiff of her natural scent–that sugared tea smell of sweet herbs–and a lighter hint of something else…a citrusy soap, maybe. It makes me want to bury my face in the crook of her neck and inhale as deeply as I possibly can.

Instead I nod, opening my backpack and starting to rifle through it for what I brought along. "I've got a little journal I sketch in now and then. Nothing all that impressive. I'm not that good at it."

Wisteria opens her mouth as if to say something, and then closes it just as quickly, as if she thought better of it. It sparks a curiosity in me that I seem helpless to resist.

"Go on. What were you going to say?"

She blushes a little, her teeth grazing her lower lip again. It seems to be a tell of hers, something she does when she's embarrassed or nervous. "I was going to say I'd love to see them. But then I realized that's probably too personal for what–this is." Her teeth sink deeper into her lower lip, and I hear the soft hitch in her breathing. She's thinking ahead to what this is going to be, and I'm not inclined to change the direction of her thoughts.

"I brought us along some drinks." I lift two clear plastic cups and a leather-wrapped flask out of the pack, along with some sliced baguette and cheese I got from the lodge kitchen earlier this morning. "A little picnic lunch. I think there's some berries in there too–" I peer inside the pack, and see a glass container with mixed berries.

Wisteria presses her lips together, clearly trying not to smile too widely as she looks at the assortment I've spread across the blanket. "This feels very much like a date, Eli," she says softly, and something tightens in my chest. The problem is, I'm not entirely sure that it's all fear.

A little part of me likes the idea, and I don't know what the hell I'm supposed to do with that.

"I wouldn't know," I say offhandedly, as I set the food down between us and unscrew the top on the flask. "I've never been on a date."

"Now you're just lying." Wisteria laughs softly, taking a little of the sting out of it. "I know you're older than I am. What are you–thirty?"

"Thirty-two." I hand her one of the cups. "Thirty-three in the summer."

"I'm twenty-seven." She glances down at the cup, a small smile playing at the corners of her mouth. "Is this the same drink you keep making me at the bar?"

In hindsight, that too seems more romantic than I meant for it to be. I've never screwed up a hookup this badly, I think grimly to myself as I nod, glancing down at the food to school my expression before I look at her. There's olives with the bread and cheese, I notice. A nice touch.

"It is." I tilt my glass slightly towards her. "The Gold Rush. Pre-mixed in a flask before I left work last night, so not as good as it would be fresh at the bar, I imagine. But still tasty."

Wisteria gives another of those small, soft laughs, taking a tentative sip. "It's still good," she confirms, taking another and then reaching for a piece of cheese. "But let's go back to what you said before. You've never been on a date. I know you're not the type to settle down and all that–" Her eyes flash with a teasing mischief as she says it, and I know I'm being lightly made fun of. But from her, I don't mind it all that much.

"--but you must have been on a date at some point. Not even when you were a teenager? Or a girl you saw a few times when you stayed in one place more than a day or two?"

"Now you're just givin' me shit for the hell of it." I frown at her, reaching for a piece of bread and an olive. "I've stayed in a town for a few weeks before. Even a month, once or twice. But no, I haven't been on a date. Unless you count taking a girl to McDonalds and a dollar movie when I was sixteen a date."

"I do," Wisteria says firmly, her mouth twitching in a devious smirk. "Did you kiss her?"

"I did. I was charmin' with the ladies even then."

She rolls her eyes ever so slightly, taking another sip of the whiskey and following it with a piece of cheese. "You are lying now. You tried to kiss her and it didn't work."

I can't help it. That makes me chuckle, just a little–the closest I've come to a real laugh in a while. "Yeah, you've got me there. She ducked just in time and I got the cheek kiss. I wasn't particularly smooth back then."

"As opposed to now." Wisteria finishes her drink, a little of the color staying high in her cheekbones as she picks at the food. "I'm not sure I've ever met anyone as smooth as you. It's a little frightening, actually."

Something tightens in my chest at the thought of her being frightened by me. I haven't minded a woman being a little afraid of me in the past–a little fear, under the right circumstances, can spice things up. Usually it comes from knowing I'm a shifter, and they savor that bit of fear as much as I do. It satisfies something primal, the chase between predator and prey.

But as much as my wolf wants to hunt Wisteria, to chase her and topple her into the dirt and claim her as ours–I don't want her to fear me. The thought of her pretty hazel eyes going wide with terror, the thought of her stopping that stream of consciousness that spills out of her mouth and embarrasses her every so often, the thought of her flinching at my touch even as a game–all of it provokes an instant reaction in me that wants to resist the very idea.

"Do you want another drink?" I lift the flask, tipping it into my cup, and Wisteria nods, holding hers out. I refill it, setting the flask aside, and glance back at her.

"What about you? I'm guessin' based on your shock that you had plenty of relationships, back in the city. But none important enough to keep you there."

"Are you asking about my body count, Eli Evans?" Wisteria laughs, shaking her head as a little more of her dark hair falls loose from her ponytail. My fingers itch to run through it. "I'm afraid I'm going to keep that to myself, if this is going to be a one-time thing."

"Nah, I'm not askin' for that." God knows if she asked for mine, she'd probably be horrified. "I'm just curious as to what your datin' life looked like, since you asked about mine. If you want to keep it to yourself, though–"

"No, not particularly. I just–" Wisteria blows out a sharp breath through pursed lips, taking another sip of her drink. "Truthfully, I guess I just don't want you to think I'm all that innocent."

Fear does jolt through me at that. "You're not a virgin, are you?" I don't sleep with virgins. Beyond the number of emotional complications that comes with that territory, I can't imagine a woman who's never taken a cock would feel all that comfortable with mine. I've met experienced women who shied away from the size of it.

She shakes her head quickly, and I feel a flood of relief. "No, I'm not. I just haven't dated all that much. A few actual dates, here and there, unlike you–" That teasing glint is in her eyes again. "--but nothing that lasted very long. No real relationships. So I guess we're not all that different, you and I."

She's wrong about that. I can't think of many women more different from me. Wisteria is soft and sweet and playful, the kind of woman who lights up a room just by walking into it, and I darken every place I've ever been in. I'm hardened and a good bit bitter and the closest I come to playing is once a month when I run with the moon–or the occasions when I tumble a woman into my bed.

The latter is more and more on my mind as I watch Wisteria's cheeks pinken with the whiskey and the afternoon passes us by. We both set up this not-date for one purpose, and it wasn't to talk as much as we both have. As we finish the first flask and I produce a second, Wisteria laughs softly, raising one dark eyebrow.

"Are you trying to get me drunk, Eli?"

"Do I need to?" There's a rasp in my voice that wasn't there before, my cock twitching at the implication in her question. We're out here alone–not a soul has come by since I put the blanket down. It would be very easy to push the detritus of our picnic aside and lay her back on the blanket, kissing her until she lets me undress her piece by piece, and I finally have what I've been craving since the moment I laid eyes on her. "Because if I need to get you drunk to be inside you, Wisteria, then we should probably pack up and head out."

Her face flushes at my bluntness. But I'm not in the habit of coercing women, and I want Wisteria willing, or not at all. I'd rather keep imagining her while I wrap my hand around my cock than wake up tomorrow and find out she regrets going to bed with me.

I've never had a woman regret it yet, and I don't intend to start now.

She licks her lips, her tongue running over the curve of the lower, and I feel my cock throb. Slowly, she turns towards me, pushing the containers with the remains of our lunch out of the way as she closes the small distance between her and I.

"No," she whispers softly. "I don't think you need to get me drunk."

There's the last brief moment between when I still haven't kissed her yet, and when her mouth touches mine for the first time. I've never been one to romanticize this kind of thing, but I have every intention of savoring Wisteria, and I pause, just for a moment, before I kiss her.

This might not mean anything in the long run, but she's a woman who was meant to be savored. And I want to remember tasting every inch of her.

I reach up, catching her chin with my fingers. I run my thumb along the side of her jaw, drawing her in, my other hand running along her hair to find the tie holding her ponytail. I pull it free, slowly, letting her hair fall heavily over my hand, and the sound of her soft, sharp intake of breath goes straight to my cock. I'm more than half-hard, thick and pressing against my fly, my burgeoning erection well on its way to being uncomfortable. But that's not the first thought on my mind in this particular moment.

I want to know what her lips taste like. And I'm a breath away from finding out.

Slowly, I tug her towards me, my hand curling around the back of her head. Her hands are still in her lap, but as my mouth brushes against hers, they come up to press against my chest, her fingers curling in the fabric as if to pull me closer.

She tastes like whiskey and honey, and I want to drown in her.

With a growl, I tumble her back onto the blanket, exactly as I imagined a few moments ago. Wisteria gasps as she lands on her back with me atop her, but her legs open for me, letting me nestle myself between her thighs, the hard ridge of my cock pressed between them as I deepen the kiss.

I sweep my tongue over her lower lip, urging her to open her mouth for me, and she does. Her soft moan jolts down my spine, urging me on as my tongue tangles with hers, and I feel her legs wind around mine, pulling me closer. My cock throbs, painfully hard now, my knot swollen, and I growl against her lips as I nip at the soft, full flesh of the lower curve of her mouth.

"Oh!" Wisteria cries out softly, and for a moment I think it's too much–that there will be no roughness that she'll enjoy. For that brief second, I wonder if we should stop–if I can stop–because there's always roughness when I take someone to bed. But then I feel her arch upwards, grinding against me as she gasps and tangles her tongue with mine, and I know she wants more.

The scent of her arousal fills the air, sweet and thick as honey, and I know she's slick and soaked between her thighs already. Her hands curl around my shoulders, nails digging into my skin through the thin fabric of my shirt, and my mouth waters at the idea of tasting her.

I kiss her again, harder, my fingers running through her loose hair as she moans against my mouth, and then I drag my lips to her jaw. She gasps as I nip along the edge of it, my tongue following the graze of my teeth, her body arching underneath mine. I'm torn between the urge to slow down, to find all the spots that make her moan and writhe, and the urge to devour her without stopping. She gasps and cries out again as I lick the spot at the corner of her jaw, and her nails dig in harder when I nip at her earlobe, another ragged moan tearing from her lips.

"Eli–"

She whispers my name, a soft, breathless moan, and I nearly come undone.

My cock feels swollen and heavy, aching with a near-pain that brings to mind the way I feel the night before and the night of a full moon. I've never felt like this at any other time. The aching throb seems to pound through every inch of my body, a second pulse that makes my hips grind into hers without conscious thought on my part. Wisteria meets the insistent motion, her body squirming beneath mine as she rubs herself against me, her moans a breathless stream now as I lick and nip my way down the column of her throat.

My hands slide down her ribs, cupping her breasts for a moment before I curl them around her waist, pulling her up and against me. She lets out a small cry, bucking against me, and it's all I can do not to rip her leggings down and thrust myself into her here and now. The urge to fuck her is almost unbearable, the need to come near-painful. But this is meant to be a one-time thing between us, and I don't want it to be over so quickly. I'll regret it if it is, I know that for sure.

"Eli–" She breathes my name again, and I don't know how I'm going to manage to stop.

My hands slide down her hips, my fingers curling in the waist of her leggings. She gasps softly when I tug them down, but she doesn't stop me–not when they slide over her thighs, or lower, past her knees so I can spread her legs apart. I slide down, nuzzling against the soft skin of her inner thigh, and Wisteria lets out a soft, surprised moan.

"Eli–we've been hiking, I–"

"I don't care," I rasp, pressing my face against her thigh. I can breathe in the scent of her from here, thick and syrupy, and I want her on my tongue. When I glance up, I see that her soft blue panties are soaked through.

"You want me." It's not a question. I look up at her, at her flushed face and her hands now curled in the picnic blanket. "And I want to taste you."

"Here? I–" She swallows hard as I lean up, running my tongue over the wet fabric of her panties as I press my nose against her, just where her clit is beneath the fabric. I suck in a breath, breathing in her sweet, musky scent, and I feel my knot swell to an almost impossible stretch, the pressure nearly unbearable.

Something isn't right. It's less than a week after the moon. I should barely be able to knot a woman right now, let alone feel like this.My lust is out of control, my physical response to her strange–but I can't seem to hold onto the thought for very long. Her hips arch against my mouth despite her protests, and I need her. I need something of her, right now, before I lose my mind or my control–or both.

"Right here." I reach for her panties, tugging the fabric down her hips as I lick the soaked gusset once more. Even through the fabric, she tastes divine.

"What if someone comes down the trail–" Her protest is weak, whispered as I tug her panties down. I barely hear her, I'm so entranced with the sight in front of me.

Her pussy is perfect. Smooth, bare skin–so smooth that I know she must have shaved for me, anticipating this, last night or this morning. My cock throbs at the thought, at the idea of her preparing to fuck me, pre-cum leaking from my swollen tip and soaking my boxers. And she's aroused. So fucking aroused.

I can't stop staring at her. Soft and pink, her folds puffy and parted open for me already, her clit swollen and peeking out, anxious for my tongue. She's glistening with slick arousal, so wet that I can see it dripping from her, and my hands tighten around her thighs as I push her wider, as wide as her legs trapped in her clothing will allow.

"If someone comes," I breathe, nearly trembling with the desire to taste her, "it won't be the first time they've seen someone fuckin' out here. And they'll keep goin', because we're out in the woods, and in these woods, we can do what we want."

Wisteria lets out a breathless moan, and the sound, coupled with the sweet scent of her filling my nose, drives me wild.

I growl, gripping her thighs, and lunge towards her.

Somewhere deep within me, my wolf arches up, as hungry for her as I am. I can feel the pressure under my skin, against my bones, a feeling like the urge to shift. She makes me feel unhinged, animal, and with the first drag of my tongue over her hot, wet flesh, I want to howl with desire at the taste of her.

Wisteria cries out at the touch of my tongue, bucking against my mouth, and I wonder how long it's been since someone has done this for her. I slide the flat of my tongue from her entrance to her clit, sucking the swollen flesh into my mouth, and the keening wail that she lets out is enough to alert anyone for a mile around as to what's happening by the lake.

I can't tease her, can't go slowly. I suck and nip at her swollen folds, lapping up her freely-flowing arousal, the taste and scent of her battering my senses until all I want is more of her. She cries out for me again and I groan, grinding my hips into the blanket for a moment's relief as I lick her repeatedly, feeling her soak my chin and beard as I nuzzle my nose against her clit and thrust my tongue inside of her.

"Eli!" She screams my name, her fingers wrapping in my hair, her hips bucking against my mouth. She hasn't come, not yet, but her thigh muscles are tense under my hand, her breath quick and gasping above me, her entire body wound tight. I fuck her with my tongue for a moment, quick, sharp thrusts as my teeth graze over her folds, and then I pull it free, swiping upwards over her clit again before I suck her flesh into my mouth. My tongue flutters over her, driving her towards her orgasm, and for a moment I wonder if I'm going to make it through her climax without losing control. My cock is pinned uncomfortably in my jeans, my boxers clinging to me with damp from my dripping pre-cum, and my knot feels as if it's about to burst.

"Eli, Eli–" She moans my name like a prayer, and it's never sounded sweeter. I grind my hips against the blanket once more, unable to stop myself, clinging to my own orgasm by a thread as I feel her entire body tense, her thighs narrowing in around me, and her back arches as she lets out a high-pitched cry of pleasure that sends the birds above us flying out of their branches in a cloud.

Her arousal spills over my tongue, my lips, my chin, until I'm drenched in her. I feel her clit throb under my tongue, the rhythmic buck of her hips against my mouth, her fingers clawing at the blanket as she comes apart underneath me. I've never tasted or felt anything sweeter, anything more arousing, and I need to fuck her more than I need to breathe.

I need to come so badly it's all I can think about. And if I thrust into her now, it will be over in seconds.

Panting, I pull back from her, looking down at her flushed and dripping pussy with no small amount of pride. When my gaze flicks upwards to her face, her eyes are still closed and her lips parted, her chest heaving.

"I've–" She sucks in a breath, trying again. "I've never come like that before." She swallows hard. "Please don't tell me that's not the first time you've heard that, even though I'm sure it's not."

I like her sense of humor.The thought flits, unbidden, into my head, caught up in the tangled web of arousal that my thoughts are currently mired in. I run my hands over her still-trembling thighs, pushing myself up, and her eyes flutter open. The moment they do, her gaze flicks down to my groin, and I see her eyes widen.

"Oh, god," she whispers, mingled desire and apprehension in her voice, and I reach down to unsuccessfully try to adjust my swollen erection.

"I can't think of anythin' I want more than to fuck you right here," I murmur hoarsely. "But if I do, I'm gonna barely be inside you before I'm done. So instead of finishin' this off making you think I'm much worse at fuckin' than I want you to, what do you say we pack up and head back up to the lodge, and finish this in a bed?"

My body is screaming at me to shut the fuck up and take her right here, the way every raw nerve in my body is demanding for me to. But I want this to last. If I fuck her here, we'll be done, and we'll hike back up to the lodge and she'll say her goodbyes. I want to feel her body underneath mine in a bed, to pull her atop me, to fuck her as many times in one night as I can manage before we go our separate ways. One taste of her told me that fucking her once won't be enough. I need to feel her come around my cock, again and again. And if I don't knot her, it will take more than one orgasm to deflate the pressure in my groin.

Ignoring how completely wrong it is that my body is reacting this way to her–I know what it's going to take to satisfy this kind of arousal. And it's more than one quick fuck on a blanket in the woods.

Underneath me, Wisteria's eyes are still wide, her breathing still quick and fast. "Okay," she whispers softly. "But can you–walk like that?" Her gaze lands on my unwieldy erection again, her teeth sinking into her lower lip, and a small voice in my head whispers that I could ask her to suck me off before we go back up the trail. The idea of my thick cock stretching her dainty, plush mouth, the immense amount of cum I'd release coating her tongue and dripping over her lips, makes me throb dangerously.

But again, I don't want to risk not getting her in bed. I think she liked that too much not to want me inside of her, but it's not a chance I want to take. As good as it would feel to come in her mouth, I want to fuck her more.

"I'll manage." I sit back on my heels, giving her room to tug her clothes back on. Her cheeks flush more deeply when she sees me glance at her pussy again, the sight of her drenched and swollen from her orgasm driving me nearly over the edge again. I reach down to adjust myself once more, almost afraid to touch myself even through my jeans. The slightest friction feels like a hair-trigger.

Unsteadily, Wisteria pushes herself to her feet, reaching for her hair tie to pull her hair back into a ponytail. I start to reach for the containers and flask automatically, packing up with half my mind already up the trail and back at the lodge, imagining getting her behind a closed door.

"Is there still some water?" Her voice sounds faintly hoarse. "I'm a little thirsty."

"After that, I would hope so." I give her a lopsided grin, one she returns as I hand her the bottle. She drinks it greedily as I pack up, a little of the water beading on her lower lip, and I feel another aching throb as I grab my backpack and nod at the trail. "If we start walkin' now, we'll be back before twilight."

"Let's go, then." Wisteria flashes a smile at me, a look of nervous anticipation crossing her face, and I bite back a groan.

It's a good thing I have tomorrow off, and I hope she does too. Because I don't intend for either one of us to get a wink of sleep tonight.