How did this guy have so much stamina? Sure, werewolves are like super healing, super hearing, super everything, but no one had ever said anything about super recuperating dicks (and I'm not just talking about his penis). I mean, I'm a teenage boy in the prime of his life, it's totally expected for me to get hard at something as simple as an extra cheese pizza.
Mr. Smash-the-Little-Guy didn't really care about the laws of dick physics though. Just my goddamn luck.
Before I could say, "Back the fuck away or I'll bite your nose off," his hands were pulling my shirt off. Ugh. My wolf should not be happy about this!
"Di-" His tongue entered my mouth. And it swirled and twirled and when it went back in his mouth, there were things biting of my lips, better be teeth. Fucking ouch. Douchebag. So I did the mature thing and bit him. On the nose. Hunter Anderson – 1. Alpha Cole – well let's not keep score.
Apparently M.C. liked the nip though. He was doing a rumbly growl that sent goosebumps up every inch of my spine. His hands were roaming the planes of my musculature and squeezing in places that I didn't know could be squeezed. There would be bruises later. In fact, I'll probably just look like a maul victim tomorrow.
OH FUCKIN' HOLY MOTHER OF MOON GODDESSES! His fingers were freakin' pinching my right nipple. And instead of telling him to back the fuck off, I decided that a soft mewl and pushing into his stupidly talented hands were good ideas. No one said I was the smartest wolf in the pack.
"You smell so fucking good." Oh goddess, he was saying that word again. Why do wicked words make my cock turn from wood to stone? "I'm going to shove you down and get you on your hands and knees. Have you submit yourself for me. And then, I'm gonna thrust my dick into you so hard that you're not gonna be able to sit for weeks."
He really liked that idea. I could tell. Why? Because somewhere in the middle of that spiel he'd decided to put his words into action. Instead of being on my hands and knees though, my face was pushed into the hall's carpet, and my ass was pushing back into the alpha's monster length.
Why the hell wasn't I stopping this?
Oh, because I couldn't use my words at the moment. They were located somewhere in the region of my brain with unimportant things like breathing and how rug burns are painful. In Hunter terms, they were simply forgotten.
His hands had found their way to the waistband of my – or his – pants. While he was getting ready to push them down, his mouth was totally all over my neck, more specifically, it was all over the stupid-ass bite.
Holy crap! Did I say that? Did I actually manage to make words in the face of such an over stimulating situation?
Apparently, Waldo was just as shocked as I was by my random outburst because he actually stopped his get-Hunter's-pants-off-so-that-there-can-be-mutual -orgasms mission.
My body knew what to do before my mind did because I was up and throwing on my T-shirt that I'd grabbed from the floor. Of course, not to look like he was submitting, Mr. Jackass had to make sure to stand up and crowd my bubble. I need to get a Keep Out sign for that thing. And maybe some barbed wire.
I was totally trembling from post-non-coming time. While I was freaking out, I succeeded in gathering together my reasons for stopping this naughty debacle.
"You c-can't-" Use your words, Hunter.. "You just fucking humped me in the freakin' parking lot of my school! Then you said-" that I'm worthless, pointless, "what you said." No! Tears and lip wobbling are not allowed in civilized conversation! Stop it! Don't you dare cry again in front of this beast!
I wasn't even looking at him at this point. My eyes were firmly on my hands, which were fiddling with the hem of my shirt.
"Hey," a hand grabbed my chin, in what I guessed for him was a gentle manner (I had mentioned that the dude was like, freaky strong, right?), forcing me to make eye contact with him.
"I told you before, I shouldn't have said any of that shit. None of this is your fault and I shouldn't take it out on you." Thanks for not making me feel better. I know it's not my fault, moron. Doesn't change the fact that two seeds without a garden cannot make a tree. (It's something my mom said once. Don't you dare fucking judge me!)
"I want to go home." I was staring straight into his eyes, so I knew exactly how he felt about that statement. He was disappointed.
Well too bad, I want to go home and shoot imaginary, 2D people with imaginary, 2D guns. Lots of people.
"Shit! Don't you get it! I'm done talking to you! Can't you just leave me alone until the full moon and then you can do your duty to my asshole and be done!?"
I wonder if he ever gets sick of pushing me into walls.
I really don't think he does.
I'll have to ask sometime when I'm not a foot off of the ground.
Or maybe not, because asking will probably mean getting pushed into a wall.
"I'm trying to answer you nicely." Yeah, because him growling at me like a rambunctious pup was so totally kind and caring. You need to watch some more Full House, buddy.
I was going to open my mouth to spout out something elegant like, "Fuck you," but he decided to stop that.
"Quit talking." His face was way too close to mine.
"You don't have to go home. You already are."
Oh. Okay. Wait. Back up a little. Como say what?