Chapter 2: The Wolf's Claim
The words hung in the air, more intimate than the lick of a tongue. Bram lay pinned by them, by the amber eyes watching him. He could still feel the ghost of that coarse wolf-tongue, the stark reality of the man now kneeling between his legs. His own voice, when it came, was a rasp.
“What does loneliness taste like?”
Kael’s mouth, a serious, sculpted line, quirked at one corner. “Bitter. Like cold river stones and old blood.” He leaned forward again, his human hands—broad-palmed, scarred—coming to rest on Bram’s thighs. His touch was electric, a current that bypassed Bram’s skin and went straight to his core. “And sweet. Like rain on sapwood.”
He didn’t ask for permission. He simply lowered his head.
The difference was profound. The wolf’s tongue had been a broad, relentless stroke. Kael’s human tongue was precision. It was a pointed, searching heat that traced the intricate folds Bram had taped apart, delving with a shocking, intimate knowledge. He licked into him, slow and deep, then drew back to circle the aching, swollen nub of flesh at the top. Bram cried out, a short, punched sound. His back arched off the ferns.
“Fuck,” Bram gasped, his hands tangling in Kael’s wild hair, not to push him away, but to hold on.
Kael grunted, the vibration against Bram’s soaked cunt making his whole body jerk. He ate with a single-minded intensity, a starving man at a feast. The wet, filthy sounds were obscenely loud in the quiet clearing. Bram could feel every flick, every suck, every lap. The tape pulled at his skin, a stark counterpoint to the devastating softness of Kael’s mouth. He was being unraveled, consumed.
“You’re so fucking open,” Kael murmured against him, his breath scalding. “So wet for me. Just laid out here, waiting.” He thrust his tongue inside, fucking Bram with it, shallow and rapid. “Were you waiting for me?”
Bram could only moan, his hips lifting off the ground, chasing that mouth. His thoughts were smoke. The ritual of exposure had never felt like this. It had been hollow, a dialogue with the void. This was an answer. A brutal, glorious answer.
Kael pulled back, his chin gleaming. He sat up on his knees, looking down at Bram’s wrecked form. His own cock was erect, thick and heavy against his abdomen. But his eyes held a different hunger.
“I want to taste you while I’m inside you,” Kael said, his voice a low growl. “I want to feel you come around my tongue.”
Before Bram could process the words, Kael’s form began to shimmer. It was faster this time, a ripple of muscle and reforming shadow. The man blurred, compacted, and the wolf was back, larger and more present than ever, its heat radiating like a furnace.
It nudged Bram’s thigh with its massive head. Understanding, Bram turned over, his movements clumsy with need. The damp earth chilled his chest. He rose onto his hands and knees, the position feeling ancient, submissive. The tape strained.
The wolf mounted him.
Its weight was immense, pressing him down. Bram grunted, bracing himself. He felt the broad, hot press of the beast’s cock against his ass, then lower, searching. The blunt head nudged against his dripping opening.
It pushed in.
The stretch was brutal, breathtaking. Bram shouted, his fingers clawing into the moss. It was too much, a searing, solid intrusion that burned its way deep into his core. The wolf did not wait for him to adjust. It withdrew, a dragging, shocking friction, and slammed back in.
“Ah! God—!” Bram’s voice broke.
The wolf set a relentless, pounding rhythm. Each thrust was a claim, driving the air from Bram’s lungs. The wet slap of its body against his ass, the guttural, panting breaths from above, the creak of the forest floor beneath them—it was a symphony of raw fuck. Bram’s vision blurred. He was being split open, filled beyond capacity.
He felt the knot then, a swelling, insistent pressure at his entrance with every inward drive. It bumped against him, promising an even deeper, more impossible join.
“Knot me,” Bram heard himself beg, his voice ragged and unfamiliar. “Do it. Fucking knot me.”
As if understanding, the wolf’s thrusts became harder, more focused. On the next deep drive, the swollen knot pressed, stretched, and then, with a painful, glorious pop, it shoved past the tight ring of muscle and seated itself fully inside.
Bram screamed. It was a raw, animal sound. He was locked, impaled, utterly full. The wolf, now tied to him, gave shallow, desperate pumps, its seed pumping hot and endless into Bram’s depths. The feeling of being flooded, of being plugged and owned, tipped Bram over the edge. His orgasm ripped through him, a silent, convulsing wave that left him trembling and weak, held up only by the beast knotted inside him.
They stayed like that, joined, panting. The wolf lowered its head, its teeth gently grazing the back of Bram’s neck in a possessive hold. Then, its tongue emerged, rasping over the sweat-slicked skin of Bram’s shoulder blade.
It was licking him. Soothing him. Even as it kept him pinned and filled.