Hungry Like the Wolf
Pairing: Werewolf!Nick Folio x OFC (Lyra)
Content Warnings: 18+, bit of an age gap (7 years), monsterfucking, knotting, oral (female receiving), alcohol consumption, brief mention/implication of underage drinking (nick was roughly a year younger than 21 when implied) protected & unprotected p in v sex, fingering, some body horror (werewolf transformation)
Word count: 8.4k
A/N: Remember when i said i wasnt gonna let this take me six months like Din Evigt,?????? Well— i am honestly so sick of looking at this, so please take it away. Its had minimal editing and tweaking— Also, the age gap isn’t ever really mentioned directly or much, but just know Lyra is older than Nick.
divider by @strangergraphics
Some time ago, she knew these trails and trees better than anyone. She explored them and ran around every time of day. From sunup to sundown, she could be found by the little stream catching frogs or climbing as high as she could in trees her great grandfather used to. Up until Lyra left for college, she was home in those woods.
She huffed, annoyed at recognizing a particularly oddly bent tree far more than she cared to admit.
Lost. In the very place she knew like the back of her hand.
As is with everything, they were different. The frogs abandoned the shrinking stream, her beloved tree began to decay and eventually toppled over, taking more than a handful with it. Birds weren’t as loud, and the canopies above weren’t as full. Lyra knew better than to run into the woods, especially the ones now home to packs of werewolves, but she’d rather try her luck with wild animals than whoever decided to follow her. It wasn’t home anymore—nothing about where she grew up was.
Frustrated, she scrubbed her hands over her face and turned back the way she came, retracing her steps for the millionth time. She passed the same peculiar gray stone, but instead of turning right, she went left.
The trail was less obvious. More than once Lyra stumbled over her feet or hidden debris. Quickly, she began to realize she took another wrong turn and was no longer on any clearly marked path. Deeper and deeper she traveled into the woods, clusters of low bushes and bramble scraped her legs, some just scratches, others enough for blood to trickle.
Lyra glanced around at the towering trees, noting large claw marks etched deeply in the thick trunks. Panic slowly built in her chest, creeping through her with every thud of her heart. Despite her bubbling fear, she stayed calm enough—until she heard the faint yet distinct sound of snapping branches.
She froze in place. Running was a bad idea, but so was staying put. Cautiously, Lyra lifted one foot and even more carefully took a quiet step. Startling whoever—or whatever—was the last thing she wanted to do. If she couldn’t hear the shuffle of her feet, maybe it couldn’t either.
She kept her movement as quiet, subtle, and inconspicuous as possible, even going as far to hold her breath. The creeping sensation of being watched—stalked—chilled her blood. Lyra frantically scanned the trees and shrubs for anywhere she could hide.
A small, barely visible gap caught her eye, and without thinking, she bolted. Her heart pounded in time with the heavy thud of her feet; The rush of blood and ringing in her ears was deafening, preventing her from hearing if she was still being followed. Closer and closer the gap crept. Her legs worked overtime to cover the distance, determined to reach safety.
Lyra twisted just enough to squeeze between a tree and overgrown bush. Relief washed over her—but it was short lived. The ground beneath her disappeared, screaming as her body collided harshly. Over and over and over and over she rolled, tumbling down an unsuspecting steep decline, limbs and branches feeling like whips on her skin.
She landed with a hard, painful thud, knocking the wind from her. Her lungs burned like fire as she desperately gasped for breath, only to erupt in suffocating coughs. A dull, throbbing ache bloomed between her shoulders, spreading down her spine and throughout her. Panicked, Lyra attempted to sit up, moving much too fast and causing the trees to spin. Nausea bubbled in her gut. She swiftly laid back down and closed her eyes, waiting for it to pass.
Slowly, her eyes blinked open, the world now still. She took in her surroundings, noting the large rock mere feet away from her head and making a mental note to buy a lottery ticket. Sun filtered through leaf canopy’s, speckling the cool damp ground in soft light. In the not so far distance, she heard a trickling of water but saw no stream.
Groaning, Lyra propped herself up, ignoring the pain in her shoulders. Her legs were littered with various cuts and scratches, caked in dirt and broken leaves; her shirt was equally dirty but mostly unscathed save for a few little tears.
She took a big, deep breath until her lungs couldn’t expand anymore, then slowly let it out, each and every one of her sore, aching muscles feeling the exhale.
SNAP!
Lyra whipped her head in the direction of the sound, discovering a large mass in the not so far distance shrouded in shadow. The figure stood on four legs, head hung low and shoulders hunched. An immaculate, pure gold stared back at her.
Maybe that’s what had been following her.
The creature slowly crept from its hiding place, revealing something similar to a wolf, only it was far too massive to be a normal wolf. His head alone was the size of her torso, but his frame wasn’t quite right. Both lanky and extremely muscular, Lyra couldn’t fathom how his front legs held up his upper body. She wondered how much of his size was actual muscle or his thick, dense coat of brindle colored fur.
The wolf stalked towards her, head hung low, his massive paws silently rustling the dead leaves. Her heart hammered against her ribs. She could feel the deafening thud in her ears. His golden gaze flicked between her own and the cuts and bruises littering her legs, the reds and purples contrasting against her pale, supple flesh.
Lyra held her breath when she felt his warm breath just above her boot. Audibly, he sniffed his way up to her knee, each huff of air tickling and spreading goosebumps across her skin.
The wet, slightly rough feel of its tongue made her gasp, quiet and soft. Lyra knew allowing the wolf this close to her was dangerous, especially allowing him to lap at the bloody cuts and scrapes littering her thighs. A taste of blood was almost as bad as getting bit.
She tried to steady her breaths, but the longer and higher the wolf licked left her body responding in a way that it shouldn’t. Heat swelled in her abdomen, spreading down between her thighs and slowly creeping its way to her chest until it eventually ran through her veins.
Instinctively, Lyra spread her legs as the wolf began licking her other thigh. Her involuntary whimper gave him pause. His ears perked. Striking eyes of gold looked curiously at her, almost like he was trying to ask her what’s wrong. He lifted his massive head, hovering just above her hot center. His nose twitched and Lyra’s heart leapt into her throat. He could smell her.
The wolf sniffed the air a little more intensely before lowering his head and brushing his nose along the front of her shorts. He pressed against her, heavily and directly inhaling her scent.
Lyra pulled her lip between her teeth and held her breath.
This was beyond wrong, but she couldn’t will herself to move or push him away. Instead, she only grew more curious about what it would be like—his tongue lapping at her arousal, how much of it he could fit inside her, if it were even possible. Her mind spiraled with possibilities of being ravaged by a beast.
A deep exhale breezed past her lips as she felt the unmistakable warmth of his breath and tongue through her shorts. Her legs opened wider and she arched into him. She watched with hooded eyes as his need grew more incessant, drool dripping from his jowls.
Each lick was more forceful than the last, more desperate, as if he were trying to completely lick through the jean fabric. Wetter and wetter Lyra became, until the mix of her drenching arousal and the wolf’s saliva had ultimately soaked through her shorts and panties.
Unable to bear it any longer, Lyra hastily reached for the button on her shorts. There was a tremble in her hand as she fumbled to unfasten and unzip. With a low moan, Lyra leisurely fingered through her wetness, truly amazed by the absolute mess. She was the wettest she’d ever been in her entire life.
For a moment, she forgot all about the wolf until she heard a pitched whimper. Another intense wave of arousal rushed between her thighs as she watched him—panting heavily with a trickle of drool dripping from his tongue the side of his mouth. Despite being inhuman, she could see the desire in his eyes. She didn’t need to see his thick, throbbing and red wolf cock to know he was just as horny as her.
Lyra removed her hand from her shorts and quickly shoved them down, tossing them in front of the wolf. He sniffed the soiled panties before lapping at them, no doubt searching for a taste of her slick.
“Hey,” she called softly, not recognizing the sound of her own voice.
The wolf looked up at her. She bent her knees then spread her legs wide, allowing him a fully unobstructed view of her drenched cunt. He stared at her for a beat before returning to her panties. Lyra whistled sharply and held out the hand she used to play with herself. The wolf sniffed her hand and followed with a lick.
As he continued to clean her fingers, Lyra slowly moved her hand closer and closer to her center until she could feel his breath. The wild beast paused and Lyra removed her hand form between them. His nose pressed against her pussy. She gasped and squirmed, the cold wetness sending a shiver through her.
The first brush of his tongue was cautious, almost as if the wolf was gauging her reaction. Lyra arched into the second, eager and desperate to feel more. By the fourth, she had fistfuls of his thick, coarse fur between her fingers and was in bliss.
She spread her legs as far as she comfortably could, letting them hang freely in air and allowing the wolf complete and total access to her. His nose was pressed firmly against her clit, and each pass of his wide tongue made her clench.
Greedily, the wolf lapped at her hole, collecting every little drop of her essence. Even if Lyra wanted, she could do nothing but lay there and be his meal.
“That’s a good boy,” she breathlessly praised.
There was such an overwhelming buzz underneath her skin, making her feel like a live wire, raw and exposed. She needed more but didn’t dare stop him, especially when he attempted to squeeze his tongue inside her.
The closer she crept to climax, the louder her breathless panting became. Each new sound Lyra made drove the wolf to work quicker, as if he knew. She gripped his fur tighter, tighter, tighter until her knuckles were bone white with ache. An electric fire ignited in her loins, rapidly spreading through her until the white hot heat consumed her.
Hips arching off the bed of dead leaves, Lyra gasped for air as her body trembled with pleasure. It surprised her how quickly and intensely she fell apart–and almost embarrassing. The wolf continued his meticulous work, greedily lapping everything that she gave and licking her clean until the roughness of his tongue was too much to bear on her sensitive clit.
Lyra weakly pushed at his massive head, meekly begging for mercy. He kept licking for a short while longer, until she whimpered. The wolf stepped back and sat. Her legs dropped ungracefully, feet landing heavily. Sharp tingling prickled from her ankles up as blood flow slowly returned to her legs. She threw an arm over her eyes and sighed heavily.
What just happened?
Over the rush in her ears, Lyra heard the wolf licking his lips and his still rapid yet steady panting. Without looking, she knew he was watching her, his hungry, animalistic stare making her shudder in delight. A prominent itch still lingered under her skin, begging to be scratched. His cock flashed in her mind over and over again—thicker than any human’s, smooth and bright cherry red adorned with deep purple veins, and definitely larger than anything she’d ever taken.
Her face flushed the more she thought about it, how it would feel stretching her out—how big his knot would be and how long they’d be locked together if she was lucky enough to get it.
Lyra chanced a glance at him. Drool still trickled from the tip of his tongue and jowls. His golden eyes were already on her, studying and awaiting her next move. It gave her a false sense of control.
Against better judgment, she hoisted herself up and turned over, presenting for him. She glanced over her shoulder, catching a brief sight of how dirty and marked up her thighs were—dusty with dirt and mud, bits of dead leaves sticking to sweaty skin, and not to mention the dried bloody scratches and cuts from her tumble. Truly, it looked like she had been mauled. By the end of this, maybe she would be.
Lyra wiggled her hips, teasing the wolf, trying to coax him closer. She looked away and waited with bated breath, fingers twitching with anxious energy. A familiar cold and wet nose brushed along the crease where her ass met her thigh. Slowly, as not to startle him, she spread her legs that much wider, allowing a full view and total, complete access to her still drenching, still aching, craving cunt.
Fur tickled the skin of her thighs. A gasping shudder rippled through her, from the tips of her ears to the tips of her toes as heavy weight settled over her. His massive, eerily hand-like paws delicately landed on either side of Lyra’s head. This close, she could see each of his claws were as thick as two human fingers, maybe thicker.
Hot and sticky, the wolf’s cock slid along her pussy, adding to the already slick mess between her shaky thighs. Like sun kissed skin, it was warm against her; a pleasant heat that slowly seeped into her, circulating with her blood and kindling the steady fire in her loins. His pointed tip brushed her clit as he desperately tried to find his way inside her.
All at once, Lyra felt him, stretching her wide open and making her worry she’d be ripped apart, buried so deeply she swore he was tangled in her intestines. The sting was overwhelming and unpleasant, but she couldn’t hold back the depraved moan that erupted from her chest. One hand clutched the ground, dirt and grime collecting under her nails; the other outstretched with fingers splayed, reaching out for nothing as the pain slowly subsided and melted otherworldly pleasure.
Above her, the beast panted wildly; drool pooled on the ground in front of her, a long sting of saliva connecting. His thrusts were steady and powerful, ensuring she felt every smooth, slick inch of him. His cock was even warmer inside of her, almost hot, but oh so divine. Like sun-kissed skin after the beach; like cradling a cup of hot chocolate in front of a warm crackling fire in a winter cabin. She wanted to beg for more, unable to help the constant clenching of her pussy and desperate for even more of him—as if he wasn’t already buried to the hilt—but was unable to speak.
Each intentional and accidental flutter of her walls enticed him, luring him to drive into her with more force. All Lyra could do was lie there, breath and lungs riddled with grunting moans, while the wolf happily took what he was given. The tip of his cock kissed a particularly, deliciously sensitive spot, and she mewled–loudly and unashamed. Over and over.
An unmistakable pressure swirled low in her abdomen, intensifying with every thrust. The salacious caress sent a burning electric buzz from the base of her spine to the tips of her ears.
“Good boy,” Lyra managed to hiccup. “Good boy. Goodboygoodboygoodboy.”
The words spilled from her like a broken sink, flowing endlessly and turning into a flood. It seemed to have stirred something in the wolf. He began grunting, deep and heavy, sometimes trailing off into a whine. His already merciless pace somehow grew more intense, leaving Lyra no time for a proper breath. She felt his cock throb, felt it pulsing with promise.
His once meticulous pace faltered, and something large and bulbous pressed against her—twice as thick as his cock, and just as hard. Half out of her mind, Lyra wondered what it could possibly be. He was already so deep in her guts, so it couldn’t have been his dick—unless he slipped out and she didn’t notice. For a horrifying second, she panicked thinking his cock had turned her inside out—but the more it slammed against her, the harder and sloppier he fucked her, eventually led her to the correct answer.
His knot.
A wave of arousal washed over her. Her mind spiraled, erotic and depraved images flickering incoherently. The mere thought of being tied together, locked while he spilled inside her was almost enough for her to come undone. She couldn’t fathom how both his cock and the softball sized swelling would fit.
The wolf’s grunting shifted to whimpers as he grew desperate to get the knot inside, as if his entire life depended on it. And Lyra wanted it. God, did she fucking want it. She wanted it more than fucking anything. She tried to lift an arm with the intention to guide him, but all her strength was being used to keep herself from collapsing. Her only other option was to pray he could do it himself.
She managed to move enough to spread her legs just that much wider. White flashed behind her eyes and an immense pressure tore through her core. All the air was knocked from her lungs. With a shrill, obscene wail, Lyra’s body trembled in ecstasy as the knot sank inside of her, locking them together and nearly splitting her in two. Not a moment later, the beast stilled; a deep, almost human-like grunt escaped him, rumbling like thunder above her.
He flooded her cunt with his seed. It was far warmer than human semen and twice as thick, easily coating every millimeter of her in sticky white. If not for the knot, Lyra was certain it would ooze from her quicker than the wolf could fill her.
Time passed at a snail's pace. Lyra drifted in and out of consciousness, exhaustion from her exploration and sex finally catching up to her. Birds sang cheerfully overhead, totally oblivious to the crude scene that transpired.
Blissfully dazed, she barely noticed the wolf stirring or the knot beginning to subside. The tug was uncomfortable, teetering on painful. He tried to be gentle, but was still too swollen to dislodge. Each attempt left Lyra whimpering and unintentionally clenching around him, making it more difficult. Minutes dragged by and she began drifting off once more—until one more good tug, and the wolf managed to pull all the way out swiftly.
Lyra gasped then collapsed, her exhausted limbs finally giving out. Aftershocks rippled under her skin, goosebumps breaking the surface of her shoulders and lower back. She breathed heavily, mimicking the wolf’s panting. Her muscles were gelatin and she hardly had the energy to even blink. He took every ounce of heat with him when he stepped away, leaving her with a penetrating chill. The emptiness and ache between her legs was unlike anything she’d experienced. She could feel his seed beginning to leak out of her. She tried to hold it in, not let all his hard work go to waste, but it continued to make a mess of her.
How long Lyra laid there, exposed, vulnerable, half naked was anyone’s guess, but by the time she came to, the sky had changed color and the sun hung somewhere west. She glanced around, seeing no sign of the wolf still lingering. A sharp pang twisted in her chest.
What did she expect, really? Why did she expect a wild animal to be more compassionate than a man?
She didn’t know what it said about her—or just about every man she’d ever been with—that a… beast brought her such immeasurable and euphoric pleasure. Weeks elapsed, probably closer to a month and a half, and Lyra could still feel him, craved him. Nothing she did cured the deep rooted ache in her chest and bones. The quickly amassed collection of silicone replicas were more a hindrance than anything—lacking warmth and pulsing life, leaving her more unfulfilled than if she'd slept with a human man.
In the back of her mind, Lyra wondered if she had been claimed. Save for the cuts and scratches from her fall, her skin remained unblemished. No bites to speak of.
Lost in thought, she lined up her shot at the pool table then shot, balls dispersing with a satisfying crack!. A heavy sigh escaped her. Lyra stared, frowning and discontent with the spread of billiards on the table. She grabbed her lukewarm beer from the near by table and took a swig. Her tongue ran across her front teeth as she contemplated her next move.
Warmth swirled in her gut that slowly spread through her until it settled in the center of her ribs. She paid it no mind, simply chalking it up to the mediocre beer. Behind her, a small chorus of pleasantries sounded followed by hearty laughs. She walked around to the long side of the table, taking a quick glimpse towards the cheers to find an intimate circle of men all excitedly surrounding someone.
Lining up her shot, Lyra hit the cue ball dead center. It collided with a stripped ball, sending it towards a corner pocket, only to just miss. She watched with a frown as the ball came back to knock the cue in the opposite pocket.
"A scratch," a man said behind her. "That's unlike you."
Lyra rolled her eyes.
"Have you lost your touch?"
She turned, ready to lay into him, but stopped. A familiar face and big, mischievous grin greeted her.
"Nick…!" She breathed in disbelief. His smile softened.
Little about him changed over the years. His face was much the same, still clean shaven and youthful, but with minuscule lines she could hardly call wrinkles. Ear still pierced, and eyes still twinkling and full of life. He had new ink—a Jesus piece on his neck and his arm held little blank space. Her eyes wandered to the reaper on his hand, taking note of just how much larger it looked—and the rest of him.
She blinked, face heating in embarrassment by her blatant gawking.
Lyra awkwardly went in for a one armed hug. She stood on her tip toes and hooked her arm around his neck. Nick chuckled, the sound light and airy. He wrapped his arms around her, squeezing her close. He even smelled the same.
That same warmth from earlier returned, flowing freely through her. Nick tightened his hold, as if he felt the same heat.
"What're you doing here?" Lyra asked, reluctantly stepping back.
"Me?" Nick scoffed playfully. "I should ask you that."
"A… partial vacation."
He blinked incredulously. "You, vacationing here, of all places?"
She nodded. Nick crossed his arms are shook his head.
"No way. I'm not buying it."
Lyra sighed, unable to hide the little smile creeping onto her face.
"Parents are out of the country with Lucia, they didn't want to rent out the cabin, and I needed a break from work so…"
"So they're—" Nick started but Lyra finished for him.
"Charging me instead of some college kids or family."
"Now that I believe." He smiled.
An awkward silence settled between them, they're gazes lingering on one another. Neither knew how to continue while simultaneously not wanting the conversation to end. Years elapsed, there was no shortage of stories to share, but Lyra didn't know where to begin. It was odd for her to be the nervous one. That had always been him—perpetual shy giggling, bright, wide eyes and blush stained cheeks with a smile too big for his face, like he couldn't believe she was actually giving him the time of day.
"Can I get you another drink?" Nick gestured towards her half empty bottle.
Lyra smiled. "I'm not gonna turn down a free drink. I'd say you owe me a few anyway."
Conversation flowed easily after that. Harmless banter, catch ups, heartfelt congratulations, and shameless flirting in between pool shots. It was like no time at all had passed; Nick was much the same, still brimming with that same charm that enticed Lyra all those years ago, only now she didn't have to sneak him drinks. Essentially, they picked up right where they left off from her college graduation—minus the rest of the band and their playful yet incessant teasing.
"I always tell them you're doing good, I always assume you are."
His words stung a little. She disappeared shortly after graduating, moving to the middle of nowhere in the middle of the country. For as up front as she'd been with Nick from the beginning, it didn't stop her—or him—from catching some feelings—but not enough to keep her here.
"A boy isn't reason enough to stay in misery," as Lyra so aptly told him.
"I have been." She reassured. "I am."
"Glad to know I'm not a liar." Nick joked, and Lyra chuckled.
Silence crept in again, but it lacked the awkwardness from earlier. Now it was comfortable, enjoyable.
"For all the flack they gave you, they do ask about you a lot." He lined up his shot and watched the solid ball hit the table edge before going in a middle pocket. "Especially Noah."
Lyra snickered. "Of course."
Nick set up for another shot, but missed, muttering a swear.
"Ouch." She hissed. "That was almost as bad as Noah's flirting."
"He'll be devastated to hear that."
Lyra stared at the table, contemplating her next move. All she had left was the eight ball. He unintentionally set her up for a clean shot, but she was tempted to go for flourish. She felt Nick's eyes more than she saw it—curious, heated, lingering, not at all subtle and drinking her in as if this would be the last time he would ever see her again.
Instead of walking around him, she chose to squeeze between him and the table, purposefully pressing her ass against him, and slowly slipping by. Nick tensed at the sudden contact, but quickly brought a hand to her hip to help guide her. She threw him an innocent smile over her shoulder.
"Noah's a big boy," Lyra spoke nonchalantly. "He'll be fine."
Nick watched her like a hawk, like a predator sizing up it's prey as she exaggeratedly bent down and lined up her final shot.
"Besides, he was never my type anyway." Lyra peered up at him through her lashes.
Nick's gaze was locked on her chest pressed against the edge of the table. He blinked then fixed his eyes on hers; she gave him a coy smirk.
"Yeah?" He raised his brows and took a swig of his beer, making a slow show of licking his lips. "Then what is your type, Lyra?"
Lyra didn't bother replying. Nick knew.
She dragged her eyes back to the billiards and called her pocket. She could feel Nick's burning gaze as she pulled back then shot. The cue ball rolled effortlessly, colliding head first with the eight ball and sending it directly into its designated pocket. A smug smile tugged at her lips.
"I win."
Nick remained silent, choosing to take another drink and continuing to stare intensely. The warmth she'd felt all evening surged, spreading through her like wildfire. Lyra moved her hands down the pool cue—his gaze flicking to the movement—and gripped it a little tighter.
"You always did have a touch of a staring problem, hm?" She teased.
He turned quickly, chuckling softly as he returned his pool cue to the rack—but Lyra saw the pink tinge that spread to the tips of his ears. She fixed him with an amused look when he rounded the table towards her.
Nick smiled rather bashfully when she offered her pool cue. However, before he could walk off, Lyra grabbed his chain and yanked him close enough that she could feel his warm and poorly masked surprised breath. She could almost taste the beer.
“And where do you think you’re going, drummer boy?” Her eyes intentionally fell to his lips before slowly returning to Nick’s flustered gaze.
“Well, seeing as you have my chain,” he spoke lowly, stepping closer and purposefully encroaching on her personal space, “I may just have to follow you home.”
She hummed and lifted her head. “Just like a stray dog.”
Nick’s deep, throaty chuckle made her heart flip and cheeks heat.
“I would happily be your obedient little dog.”
And obedient Nick was, responding eagerly to every whim and command, even going as far to bark when Lyra asked, just to see if he would. He was ravenous, lapping at her like a dehydrated dog and leaving no inch of intimate skin unlocked. His kisses were desperate, wet and sloppy and full of tongue. Hungry. It was like Nick was trying to devour her, eat her from the outside in.
Lyra didn’t mind his rough handfuls of her flesh, or the harsh sting of his teeth sinking into her. She knew her skin was littered with blemishes, some that would fade by the time she woke tomorrow morning, others that would last close to a week. She only hoped the reds and purples would be easy to cover.
“Jesus Christ,” Nick breathed, one hand on her thigh, the other slowly following the trail of bites he left behind on her torso. “It looks like I fucking mauled you.”
Instead of biting back, Lyra reserved what little energy she left. Exhaustion began creeping into her bones what felt like hours ago. She’d lost count of how many rounds they’d gone after four.
Hands planted on his chest and eyes closed, Lyra continued her leisurely pace, rolling her hips without rhyme or reason and taking full advantage of how satisfied she was becoming after months of lackluster encounters—but despite how thoroughly Nick had been pleasuring her, there was still an itch going unscratched, a lingering craving going unfulfilled.
When she opened her eyes, she was immediately greeted by Nick’s tender gaze already on her. His equally soft, barely there smile made Lyra’s head spin. Once more her eyes fluttered shut, only long enough to miss his rolling back as she ground down.
“You gotta stop lookin’ at me like that.” Lyra spoke, voice hoarse and rough.
“What for?” Nick moved both hands to her hips, gently guiding her with a little more speed. Her retort caught in her throat. “You’re far too pretty for me to not stare at.”
A small gasp breezed past her lips when he softly thrusted up, sinking just that much deeper.
“Especially when you make that face.”
She picked up her pace, using all her strength to lift up until it felt like his cock was about to slip out then sat back down heavily. Nick groaned, his hands sliding around to grab her ass and offered support. There was no point in trying to mask how tired she was; she knew Nick could feel the tremble in her arms and thighs.
Lyra extended her arms to either of his head and closed her eyes, letting him do most of the work. When she looked down, she caught Nick staring at her breasts. He reached for one, his touch calloused and warm, kneading the soft flesh with the expertise of a pastry chef—enough roughness to get the desired outcome but delicate enough to not ruin the dough.
Nick locked eyes with her, then leaned up, enclosing her nipple in the wet warmth of his mouth. A breathless little swear and his name fluttered past her lips. He hummed against her, gently catching the sensitive bud between his teeth. Her pussy throbbed in response as a shiver crawled up her back, skin blossoming with goosebumps.
He moved to the opposite breast, ensuring it got the same attention—an exploratory tongue eager to please with a delicate, biting caress of teeth.
“Nick…” Lyra moaned, tightness and tension growing low in her abdomen. Something… felt different, but she couldn’t place what.
He mirrored the sound, low and deep, almost like he felt it too, and let his head head fall back to the pillow.
“Lyra,” Nick placed a hand in the space between her breasts. “Waitwait. Stop.”
She placed her hands on his chest and sat up.
“Wh-what’s wrong?”
Beneath her, Nick laid with his eyes closed, breathing ragged. His hand fell disgracefully to her hip and squeezed tightly.
“Condom broke.” He managed to breathe out.
Oh.
“Oh.”
Lyra stared down at him—face and chest flushed prettily, sweat glistening on his warm, tanned skin. She eyed the faint little marks blossoming along his jaw that trickled sporadically down his neck. Lost in admiration, she trailed her fingers up, up until she felt the cool metal of his silver chain, tracing along the bottom, her touch feather light. He looked… peaceful. Good—good enough to take a risk.
It’s… certainly a reason to stop, but the buzz under her skin was hard to ignore or brush off.
Slowly, she slipped her hand under his chain and grasped it. Nick’s eyes fluttered open. He swallowed thickly, breathing still labored and heavy.
"I don't know about you," Lyra began, her voice low and sultry, "but I'm right there."
She kept her eyes firm on him, lifting her hips until she felt him slip out of her. Relinquishing her grasp, she delicately dragged her fingers down his chest and stomach, taking great delight in the way his muscles twitched as she went past his navel, straight towards his cock. Lyra briefly tore her gaze from his face to look down between them. She made a show of exaggeratedly wrapping her hand around him, each finger fluid, curling one after the other. His cock twitched as she gripped the base and rolled the condom up until it was completely off.
"There's no point wearing that if its broken, right?"
Haphazardly, Lyra tossed the condom in the general direction of the bedside bin, both hoping and not caring if she made it in.
"Lyra…"
There's no doubt Nick meant it as warning, but his breathy, quivering inhale as she slotted herself over his bare cock betrayed him. Dare she say watching Nick try his damnedest to not break was her greatest pleasure of the evening.
"C'mon Nicky," she wore a wry smirk as she spoke, subtly sliding along his length. "Live a little."
Nick tried to hide the hitch in his breath by setting his jaw.
"That's dirty, and you know it."
Perhaps it was, but it had always been extremely effective, always a sure fire way to get that pathetically lost little puppy that followed her around, desperate for a sliver of her attention, to loosen up—live a little. Let her rile him up with a heavy hand between his thighs under the table while his band mates sat on the opposite side. Kiss a boy—or three—for her entertainment, or because saw caught him admiring the tall curly headed one across the way and needed a little nudge. Though Lyra never could get it to work when it came to inviting that boy to join their fun. Despite how plainly the desire was written on his face, Nick remained much too reserved.
She could see conflictions dancing in his warm eyes, feel them in the grip on her hips—but lust saturated that same gaze, radiated a burning heat capable of searing skin. His hands migrated to her waist, squeezing, kneading with a rough possession.
Once more, Lyra grasped his chain then leaned down until their lips brushed.
"You used to beg me for 'just one time', and here I am offering myself, and you're not going to take it—" She tugged his chain and pressed her forehead to his. "—Take me?"
That seemed to be all Nick needed.
His lips collided with Lyra's, all fire and unbridled carnality. She struggled to keep with his fervency, resulting in a messy, sloppy mashing of lips and tongue, but Nick was undeterred—embolden, even. He lifted her hips just enough to get a hand between them and grab his cock. The hurried, desperate drag of his tip through her labia caused her to moan softly, Nick happily capturing it with his tongue.
Nick bit down hard on Lyra's lip, a deep and low growl sounding from him as he slipped inside her with ease. She immediately clenched around him, pussy throbbing in attempt to commit every vein and ridge to memory.
Lyra was breathless—and slightly disappointed he didn't give either of them a chance to really feel each other. Hard and fast, almost animalistic, Nick took what was offered while she laid on top of him—mouth slightly open, eyes half lidded, and head on his chest. His body was blazing hot against hers, and slick with sweat. Crescents formed in the soft parts of her flesh just above her hips. He couldn't keep a tight enough grip, resulting in sharp, stinging scratches.
Completely at his mercy, it didn't take long for that all too familiar pressure low in her gut, the involuntary quiver in her thighs to return. Lyra closed her eyes, letting pleasure course through her, feel it swirling in her blood. Low, drawn out moans deep from her chest slipped between her lips. Her face scrunched as she desperately tried to hold off just a bit longer, but all at once ecstasy tore though her, loud and depraved.
"O-oh fu-uhk," Nick groaned.
A shudder rolled through her when she felt Nick’s cock twitch then fill her with his warm seed, something akin to a grunting growl rumbling deep in his chest. She listened to the erratic pounding of his heart as she blissfully laid there, finally satiated, all the while Nick fucked himself into a daze, until he was completely spent and empty.
He sighed heavily, his body sinking comfortably into the mattress. With a gentle touch, Nick ran his hands across Lyra's ass then slowly trailed them over her hips before they slipped around to her back. He softly dragged his nails up and down in long strokes, a display of delicate and tender affection that had Lyra melting against him.
“Feel good?” He asked, soft and quiet. Lyra hummed approvingly, earning a chuckle from him.
One of his hands settled at her waist while the other slipped down to where he was still nestled inside her. He shifted, thrusting unintentionally and causing Lyra to clench and whimper softly in response. Nick hissed. She pressed her forehead to his chest, gasping quietly as he pulled out.
Immediately, Lyra missed the stretch of him, missed the fullness. She squirmed; the emptiness was uncomfortable—as was the slow leak of sperm out of her pussy.
Nick fingered through the sticky white mess, tightening his hold on her waist. Lyra pressed her teeth into his peck, not intending to bite, but to ground herself. She exhaled a shaky breath when he slipped his fingers inside, ensuring she got the seed she so desperately wanted. The obscene squelch of him leisurely working her cunt again turned her skin hot.
“Think you give me one more for the road, sweetheart?” Nick rasped.
The flutter of butterflies in her chest was short lived.
“Road?” Lyra lifted her head enough to look at Nick. “You’re not staying?”
“Uh… I’m not sure that’s a good idea, Lyra.”
Lyra stared at him. “Why?”
Nick opened his mouth, but no words came out. She could sense there was something he didn’t want to tell her. Gears were turning in his head, desperate to produce a viable excuse.
“I–” His eyes, wild and wide like a deer caught in headlights, flicked between hers. “It’s… I’m…”
Her brows raised. He started multiple sentences, stuttering over incomplete words. To an extent, Lyra found it endearing, but she held worry. Perhaps this was a mistake, maybe Nick failed to mention a girlfriend somewhere between the bar and broken condom—though that seemed uncharacteristic. Even back when, he turned down many a person despite the two of them only ever being mostly casual hookups.
Lyra leaned down and captured his lips in a soft kiss, silencing him. A small, quiet noise caught in his throat. Her taste still lingered, heavy on his tongue. It was a far cry from the colliding, lustful passion from the evening, but it radiated the same heat, sent the same tickling tingle up her spine that dispersed at the tips of her ears, and left her breathless all the same.
"Stay." She whispered softly against his lips.
In real time, she witnessed Nick's resolve crack—his gaze softening and expression relaxing. He didn't speak a word, choosing to answer with a much more tender, intimate kiss, leaving her the most lightheaded and breathless she'd been all night.
Lyra woke a few hours later, the need to pee waking her from a dead sleep. Grumbling quietly, she carefully reached for the arms around her, only to realize Nick was no longer holding her. She turned over to discover he was missing completely, his spot neatly made. A disappointed frown etched itself into her face as her heart sank to her stomach. It didn’t surprise her, but she was hopeful, perhaps naively so.
The wooden floor was cold beneath her feet, and the tile in bathroom was even colder. She grabbed her robe before leaving the bathroom, shrugging it on while blindly searching the dark bedroom for a pair of slippers.
Yawning, Lyra trudged downstairs, intent to crank the heat and grab a glass of water. A small part of her hoped Nick had wandered to the living room or kitchen, but both rooms were empty save for the bright, blue silver moonlight spilling through the windows. In her half conscious state, she missed a pair of large, clunky boots still by the front door.
Lyra watched the microwave clock pass minutes as she listened to the hum of appliances, spaced out and lost in thoughts of nothing. Eventually, the dull sound became too much and too loud, roaring over emptiness in her mind. Her feet slid across the floor, carrying her to the floor to ceiling glass door. As she went to unlock it, she discovered it already was.
That's… odd, she thought. Maybe she forgot to lock it this morning after having her coffee on the back porch.
Crisp, fresh air swarmed her, the gentle breeze sneaking inside her robe and prickling her skin with a chilled caress. A choir of crickets greeted her followed by an occasional owl. It wasn't unusual to hear a coyote or two, or even a wolf on the rarest occasion, especially this time of year, but the cries always startled her.
Lyra breathed deeply, then her breath hitched.
Out in the distance stood a figure, illuminated in bright moonlight. The silhouette was similar to that of a man. Lyra stepped closer to the edge of the steps and squinted. It was difficult to see, but the figure was in fact a man—stark naked and oblivious to her presence. His head hung back, limbs loose and relaxed, soaking in the chilled air and moon. He seemed at peace, like there was nowhere else in the world he'd rather be. The longer she stared, the stronger the pull in her chest became.
It wasn't until a profound and ferocious, almost inhuman growl pierced the night, doubling him over with the sheer force that she realized—
"Nick?"
A violent tremble rippled through his body as the trees absorbed another feral cry.
Without hesitation, Lyra bolted, her glass of water shattering on the deck and heart hammering against her chest. She ran as quickly as her legs could take her towards him. Each pained shout filled her over and over with panicked dread. He seemed light years away.
One of her feet caught the bottom of her robe and she tripped, only making it about half way to him. She managed to get her arms out in time to keep from face planting into the ground. As she scrambled to get back to her feet, another rumble erupted from Nick, freezing her in place.
His shouts devolved into animalistic snarling. Lyra watched in horror as his body contorted—cracking and snapping joints, limbs growing longer than humanly possible, and muscles bulging like balloons before stretching seamlessly over said limbs. The sound alone was enough to make her nauseous, never mind the sight.
Hair—fur?—began to sprout across every inch of Nick's skin, and pointed ears stood prominent on either side of his head. She couldn't see his face, but she could see the shape changing as the fur grew in thicker. It was impossible to tell the color, even in the bright moonlight.
A chilling, somber howl sliced through the night, sending a cold shiver up her spine. The sound tapered off into a strained whimper. Eerie silence crept in and settled like dense fog, making every breath feel labored and weighted.
The… man?—Wolf? Nick?—shook out, sending small tufts of fur in the air. He sighed heavily.
Lyra was too stunned and scared to move. What had she just witnessed? This had to be a dream. It absolutely was a dream. There's no way she saw a man, presumably Nick, turn into a beast. A werewolf.
She watched as he stood still, nose in the air, seemingly unaware of her presence. One ear twitched and slowly, he turned. Her heart leapt to her throat.
Gold reflected back at her. His movements were cautious, like stalking prey. Lyra held her breath, not wanting to move a muscle. Closer and closer he crept; it was impressive how absolutely silent his steps were.
All the terror and fear coursing through her slowly began to dissolve when she recognized the brindle colored fur. The warmth she felt at the bar, the surge when they hugged, how pleasantly overwhelming it'd been when they were tangled together—human and otherwise—came rushing back.
Tentatively, Lyra held out her hand for him to smell. He brushed her fingertips with his nose—cool and moist. A small smile crept across her lips. She caught a glimpse of recognition in his glowing golden eyes and was promptly met with little licks on her fingertips plus the world's faintest tail wag.
"It's nice to see you too, boy," Lyra chuckled softly, reaching out to pet the top of his head. "Or should I say Nick?"
His tail wagged a little more and he nudged her hand, silently asking for more pets. Lyra was happy to oblige.
The next morning, Lyra woke with strong arms wrapped snugly around her, a warm chest flush against her back, and even warmer breath tickling the nape of her neck. While she was happy he ended up staying, she'd forgotten just how hot Nick runs. Her back was slick and sticky with sweat.
His hold on her was rather tight, proving to be difficult to wiggle free. Each attempt garnered a sleepy, grumbling breath and squeeze of protest. Nick nuzzled even closer, throwing one of his legs over hers.
Eventually, she squirmed enough that Nick relented and allowed her to slip from his grip. Lyra turned over so she was facing him, eyes still closed but awake. One of his hands settled on her hip, gently and affectionately running his thumb over the stretch marks. She mimicked the attention, cupping his jaw and running her thumb across the top of his cheek.
"Good morning." She spoke softly.
"Hm, morning." Nick hummed with a rumble, the sound thick with sleep.
She tossed her leg over his and scooted closer to him. Nick slid his hand to her ass, tugging her closer still. He turned his head just enough to press a soft kiss to her palm, sighing contently as he finally opened his eyes. The small smile that graced his face sent her heart fluttering.
"I don't remember you being so squirrelly in your sleep." He teased.
"I'm not, you're just so fucking hot."
Nick's smile grew. "Well, thank you. You're pretty hot yourself—Ow! Hey!"
Lyra pinched his cheek.
"Smart ass."
"Better than a dumb ass."
He chuckled at her eye roll and half hearted shove. Lyra opened her mouth ready to retort, but Nick interrupted with a kiss—teasing, slow, brimming with leftover passion from the night before. He shifted, moving his hand from her ass to the back of her thigh and hiked her leg up as he gently maneuvered her on her back. Lyra slipped her arms around his neck, happy to let him take the lead—for once.
His touch wandered, pressing his thumb in every soft bit of skin, tracing every curving dip, gripping delicate handfuls anywhere he could. The temptation to grab his hand and slip it between her thighs poked at her, the rapidly growing ache and wetness becoming hard to ignore, but Lyra kept her hands—for the most part—to herself, instead threading her fingers into his sleep tousled hair.
She gave the locks a gentle tug, greedily swallowing the low groan Nick let out. Lyra signed contently, deeply, as his hand trailed down her stomach towards her center and fingered through her arousal. The grip she had on his hair tightened. There was no rhyme or reason to his caress; Nick simply just ran his fingers through her slick, coating them, teasing and playing with her pussy.
"You always this wet in the morning," he breathed against her lips. "Or is this special for me?"
Lyra huffed a shaky scoff. "You're mighty cocky, aren't you?"
He pressed a finger pad to her clit, letting it rest there while she tried not to squirm.
"How much longer are you in town?"
Momentarily, she forgot, too focused on the the slow, teasing drag of Nick's fingers.
"Couple weeks.." She sighed.
He circled her hole, a small little smirk on his lips.
"That's plenty of time to catch up and show you how cocky I can be."
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