The Witch and the Werewolf

by Michele Hauf

  And when he looked up into her eyes, she got lost. Her hands slipped away from him. Such deep memories of earth and ancient things in his irises. His soul was old, steeped with ages, perhaps millennia, of experience. He may not realize it. And Mireio was not a soul reader, but she sensed that they may have walked into one another’s lives once or twice previously. It was possible. All things were possible.

  She traced both his eyebrows with her forefingers, drawing that touch out and along his cheeks to stop at his dimples. His smile warmed her belly and spun that rush of heat to her toes and back up to her ears. So she touched his mouth, framed by a thick mustache and beard that was so dark it was almost black. He parted his lips, and she tickled across his lower lip. His tongue tasted the whorls on her fingertips and curled an erotic vibe all the way to her belly, where it coiled in anticipation.

  Wetting her finger by allowing him to dash his tongue about the tip of it, Mireio then touched her own lips and tasted him. His eyes followed her motions intently. Outside this enchanted sanctuary’s windows, a crow cawed and the maple trees that spread their leaf-frothed limbs over her entire backyard rustled. Inside, her heartbeats were calm and steady, but desire warmly flooded her skin and opened her pores to every sensation.

  She leaned in and barely touched her mouth to his. Gliding her wet lips across his she didn’t so much tease as leave a promise to return. And then she kissed down his bearded chin and neck to the top of his shirt where so much more dark hair tufted out.

  “Take this off,” she said quietly, and he obeyed, pulling off the T-shirt and tossing it to the floor.

  His chest was a mastery of muscle and steel shaded with a manly brush of dark hair that grew sparser as it neared his belly. Mireio pushed her fingers through the silky hairs and shoved him backward to lie on the bed. She crawled up onto the bed, lying on a hip beside him and leaned over to brush her cheek over his chest hair. Following the hard line of a pectoral that pulsed under her touch, she made a slow journey to the tiny hard nipple that looked from her side vantage point a boulder standing in a clearing in the forest.

  He hissed as she toggled her fingernail over it and then teased around the areola that tightened and textured under her touch. Leaning over him, she cast a glance toward his face. His eyes were closed, one hand rested over his forehead. Under her palm, his chest rose and fell in anticipation. And as she touched her tongue to his nipple, he groaned. Like a quiet animal. Like a man in need of touch.

  The tiny bead she toggled in her mouth, dashing it, licking it, sucking it and then giving it a pinch between her fingers. Slickened with her saliva, it reacted to every lash, taste and hush of hot breath.

  Not to give the other short shrift, she glided over and did the same, while dancing her fingers through the wild dark hairs, down around his belly button, and lower to slip under the waistband of his jeans.

  “Mireio,” he whispered as if he were invoking a blessing. Or a goddess.

  “I need to touch you with all of me,” she announced and tugged off her shirt.

  Lars’s eyes opened and he watched as she unsnapped her bra in the back and tugged it away. When he reached to touch one of her breasts, she caught his hand with hers, fully intent on touching him everywhere, as he had requested. “Close your eyes again. I like knowing you can only feel, hear and taste me, but not see me.”

  “But you’re so beautiful.” His words came out as another worshipful prayer.

  “You can look and touch all you like soon enough.” She bowed to kiss his eyelid, then the other, and he kept them closed as she lowered her breasts against his chest and delighted in the tickle of his chest hair against her tightening nipples.

  The glide of her thick nipples across his tiny ones made him rock his hips. “Mine are bigger than yours,” she said.

  “Yeah, and they feel great.”

  She reveled in the tease of his hard maleness against her heavy breasts as she moved lower. The musky salty scent of his arousal lured her to unbutton his jeans. Oh, mercy, the man was commando again. The head of his erection loomed right there, begging for attention, so she took care in unzipping him, gliding in her other hand to protect his skin. He was so hot and hard she wanted to get him in hand, but she cautioned her eagerness. For a little while anyway.

  Tugging at his jeans, she bent and placed kisses at the ridges of muscles that arrowed down toward his groin. And while his penis bobbed against her chest and chin she paid discerning attention to those cut muscles because that was where the man’s magic lay. Those muscles, on any man, were capable of drawing women’s eyes. Of stopping them dead and making their jaws drop. Of inciting fantasies. Of making ovaries sing. Of inviting and luring to the real treasure.

  He swore on another hiss and his fingers twisted into her hair, not pulling but instead holding on. Anchoring himself. He lifted his hips and she was able to shove down the jeans and forget about them as the heavy material slid over the edge of the bed and below his knees. Brushing her breasts over his cock stirred his hips to rock subtly, so she pressed the ample girls together and around his hardness. A boob hug.

  “Mireio...” Another roughly whispered prayer.

  Nestling beside him on an elbow and leaning in closer for better study, she drew her fingers lightly up his bobbing cock, mapping out the thickness, the pulsing veins that bulged and made him even harder. She’d not taken such time to linger on the night when it had seemed a second best option in the absence of condoms.

  Up she moved, along the heat that must surely drive him to some kind of edge, and tucked her fingernail under the ridge of the plum-firm crown. Circumcised. And the head of him fit against her palm as if she were cupping a juicy fruit that filled her grasp. Down the backside, she lightly journeyed into the nest of his curls where she wandered lower to trace the tender yet tightly tucked testicles.

  Every bit of him was a masterpiece. Designed for pleasure. For study. For creating and sensual adventure. And much as she wanted to straddle him right now, knowing he would fill her completely, she knew putting off that pleasure would prove a sweeter reward.

  So she slid off the bed and tugged down his jeans. He’d left his shoes at the front door, so the pants dropped to the floor. His socks she discarded, left and right with a flip. His legs were taut with muscle and thick with dark hairs.

  A wolf under her command. She imagined what it must be like to stand before him in fully shifted werewolf shape. And then she remembered that she had. And she had been fascinated. What an awesome creature, both man and wolf. Wild and tame. Aggressive when need be, yet so gentle he could quiet a baby’s tears with but a touch of his lips to the child’s forehead.

  Mireio bowed before him, palms to his knees, gauging the race of her heartbeats and knowing beyond doubt that she had fallen. Plummeted into his arms and so happy to be there. No matter the darkness. Because he, the big strong werewolf, faced so many struggles. She wanted to be a soft place for him. A comfort when he needed it. And a lover when he required the world to slip away.

  Licking up his length roused a deep and throaty moan from him. His penis bobbed in approval so she gripped it firmly to keep it at her mouth. The taste of him made her sigh, and with a secret inner giggle she thought that if she had the inclination to use a wand for magic, she’d very much like it to resemble this exquisite rod.

  She looked up and found he’d propped himself up onto his elbows and was looking at her. Waiting? No, just...being. There. Sharing. Knowing.

  Hastily, she slipped off her skirt and panties. She crawled up over him and pressed her breasts against his hard chest, her stomach to his rigid abs, and her mons placed firmly against his erection.

  “Kiss me,” she pleaded. “Take what you want from me, wolf. I’m yours.”

  He bracketed her face and before he kissed her asked, “What is it you witches say about things coming around threefold?”
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br />   “For everything we put out into the universe it comes back threefold.”

  “Then everything I take from you, I will also give to you threefold.”

  He rolled her onto her back and hovered over her. The man’s hair slipped from behind his shoulder and spilled across her breasts. Mireio took the ends of it and tickled it over her nipple. And he bowed to brush his beard gently over the other.

  With a glance up to her, he winked, then kissed the top of her breast. “I’ve never had sex with a mermaid before.”

  “It could get slippery,” she warned on a tease.

  The man’s hot kisses explored her breasts with licks and gentle nibbles and when he took a nipple in a suckling squeeze, she moaned and dug the fingers of one hand into the bedspread while tangling the other in his hair. His fingers clasped her other breast, containing her abundance with his sure touch.

  “So much,” he breathed against her skin. “Your tits are big and round. Makes me mad for you, Mireio.”

  He sucked in her nipple and at her other breast pinched gently, then none-too-gently, causing her to arch her back as she sought the intensity of him. The tickle of his beard heightened every touch, coursing exquisite shivers through her system. Mmm, beard. Behold the power.

  Shoulders pressing into the bed, she sucked in her lower lip. Nuzzling her mons up against his stomach she rubbed her clitoris against his hard abdomen, heightening the coiling tightness that promised a luscious release in her belly and loins.

  “You’re so hard.” She clutched his head, keeping him there at her breast, silently telling him that what he was doing was perfect. It teased her closer, made her pant, stirred in the clove scenting the room with his wanton musk and salt, and it dizzied her.

  “Come for me, Mireio,” he whispered. “I can feel you so close.”

  She was. Just. There. Waiting to spill over. The texture of his hot tongue easing and prodding and suckling drove her giddy mad. His lips closing over her nipples. The erection thrusting against her thigh...

  Breaths gasped and caught in her throat. She moaned, twisting her fingers in his long hair. Drawing up a leg, she squeezed her inner muscles, tempting her to jump, to make the leap.

  And when he slid a hand down her stomach, over her panting belly, and glided through the dark strands that didn’t match those on her head, his finger slicked across her swollen clit and that set off a chain of explosions inside her.

  Mireio shouted and jerked upright as the orgasm overwhelmed and commanded her limbs, shaking her, extending her moan into a luscious pleading. And when she felt the lash of Lars’s tongue move across her clit she bellowed with joy and spread her arms out wide as her shoulders and head landed on the bed.

  The wolf had truly given back threefold.

  Chapter 11

  Mireio’s body quaked beneath his hands. At once Lars wanted to contain her, to hug her close and tend to her shivers. And then, he wanted to open her wide and allow her to soar. So he hovered over her, kneeling on the bed, knees to either side of her thighs, head above her breasts, and watched her expression. It moved from gasping glee to a wincing but satisfied ache and then to panting relaxation as he felt her limbs settle beneath him and the flush that colored her cheeks and neck softened.

  “Oh, my goddess,” she said on gasps, “you...you really know how to do me right...whew!”

  He chuckled and kissed her breasts. Her nipples were so sensitive and he could suckle at them all night. Lose himself in her lush, bountiful breasts. He nuzzled his cheek between them, rubbing his beard softly against the underside. It wasn’t so much a sexual move as one of possession. The wolf in him was marking his scent on her, but she didn’t need to know that.

  He pressed his hard cock against her thigh, working it to a rigidity that tempted him to get to the really good part where he lost himself inside her, but he knew all parts of this were good. And taking his time, as she had when she’d stroked him, was important to him.

  The curls inviting him lower were darker, almost black. Not that he’d considered her bright red hair color natural, but one never knew with witches. He nuzzled his nose and beard into them, meshing their tresses and seeking her alluring perfume. It was a lush aroma that enticed him to drag his tongue over her heated skin.

  “Oh, Lars, you made me come, it’s...”

  He reached up to tweak her nipple and that quieted her protest. “Let me do this my way, witch. I have to taste you. And if that makes you come again, then so be it.”

  “You are a wicked wolf.” Her toes curled at his hip. “Oh, sweet mercy, when your beard brushes my skin...”

  Smiling, he swished his beard softly over her. Heh. Instant pantie dropper, his beard. But he wasn’t cocky about it. He only wanted one particular witch’s panties to drop. And...they had.

  He slid an arm under her leg and, gripping forward over her hip, pulled her closer as he nuzzled the lush folds of her and parted them with his tongue. She tasted like earth and woman and wild and salt. And magic.

  He wondered briefly if she’d bewitched him, and then he knew that she had. But it hadn’t required a spell or a snap of her fingers. He’d been bewitched since the night his werewolf had stood staring at her bathed by the porch light, naked and unashamed.

  Skating his tongue upward, he circled it about her swollen clit. This was where all the magic happened, and perhaps it was the source of her true magic. A woman’s strength lay in her core and in the womb. He sucked the tender bud and the moan that spilled from her pleased him immensely. Her hips rocked and her fingers clawed at the bedcover. He liked that he could make her squirm.

  Tasting her deeply with his tongue, he pushed in a finger to curl up and forward. There, she felt rigid and slick and his gentle strokes increased her moans to fervent yeses and panting pleas.

  He reached down and cupped his balls, which were so tight against the base of his cock he knew he could explode any moment. And then he remembered...

  “I have a condom out in the truck.”

  “No! You stay right here. After our last attempt, I worked a birth control spell. We’re good, lover. Promise. Oh, do that more. Like that, please, Lars.”

  She rocked her hips and squiggled down on the bed to embed his finger deeper within her, so he took that as a good sign, and pushed another finger into her squeezing sweetness.

  She swore, and such a word had never sounded more like a prayer, yet also demanding. He pumped his fingers as if they were his cock and licked her clit, teasing her to a shiver. Her thighs squeezed beside his cheeks and her heels slid and slipped over his tense delt muscles as she sought to steady herself. He wouldn’t allow her to fall into anything but his arms.

  Pulling out his fingers, he gripped his cock, wetting it with her lush heat and marking himself with her scent. Mercy, he wanted all of her.

  “Come inside me,” she begged. “Put that big, thick cock inside me, Lars. You want to. I’m right there, and so are you. Oh, come on!”

  Edged as it was with a touch of annoyance, he would not ignore that insistent command. Pushing up her legs so her knees bent, he lowered himself onto her. He groaned deep in his throat, bowing his head to hers at the heady meeting of skin and skin. Heat melded the soft and hard of their anatomies.

  She groped for a hold of his cock, but his torso was long and her arms wouldn’t quite give her the reach she required. It was a tease he’d prolong.

  Gripping his shaft, he nudged the head against her, slicking it upward over her clit. Now she panted, gasping out oaths that he hoped weren’t actual witchy curses. Maybe he should get to it or risk getting hexed?

  Gliding into her was like entering a new world. Jaws tight and eyelids shut, Lars moaned forcefully as she enveloped him in a tight hug. He rocked slowly at first, testing and feeling every inch of her on every hard inch of his cock.

&n
bsp; “So thick,” she murmured. “Goddess, give me more.”

  Words a man loved to hear. He hilted himself, which shoved her up against the pillows, hands reaching behind and above her to clutch one of the frilly concoctions. He thrust deeply, slowly, gliding in and out of her. Learning her. Memorizing her. He could do this forever...

  How much longer do you have?

  He chased away that nasty, intrusive thought with a growl and a fist to the bed beside her shoulder. Pumping faster, he fed the beast that demanded satisfaction. He answered her cries to go faster and harder. To give her everything. She could have all of him. He needed to expose himself, open himself up and let it flow out.

  And with a flick of his finger over her clitoris, he set her off, her hips ramming upward against his, and that squeezed her tightly about him and stole his last moment of control. The surrender rocketed through him, shaking him above her and dancing in his veins.

  This night the witch had given him magic.

  * * *

  Lars woke to sunlight prodding at his eyelids. He winced at the brightness, then felt his body waver and lean to the right. He slapped out a hand to the right and caught it against a pinewood nightstand. Then he glanced down at his position on the bed. He was stretched lengthwise from pillow to the end, but only had about eight inches of mattress for his big wide body.

  And the reason for his lacking space was the diminutive red-haired witch who lay on her back, arms outstretched and legs spread, to take up the entire bed.

  He chuckled softly, then let his body answer gravity and slid off the bed without disturbing the queen of the mattress. Wandering out of the room, he glanced down the hallway to the only other door on the upper floor. No, he remembered she’d said the bathroom was on the main level. He took the stairs carefully because he’d heard them creak when coming up before and managed a nearly silent descent until the last step groaned loudly.