A Werewolf Blog in Brooklyn
This skin
2 Comments
At the best of times during lunar week, werewolves are driven to fulfil their baser desires and needs.
The driving force behind the lunar tidal waves that shock our bodies again and again, are pheromones. Very powerful ones. So it’s not that surprising, when there are times, where we literally can’t keep our paws off one another, Paris and I.
Although to be honest, I’m the one who is worst out of us. He has more control than I think I can muster and the patience almost of a saint, I think sometimes.
But that can be worn down, if you’ve willing to see it through. And if you’re me, the one he desires, considers his.
After our previous night’s efforts, I decided being dragged out of a warm, happy place full of love, bed, was not on. So I trapped Paris to bed for the entire day. We ordered in for food and other than modest sheets covering us, we remain naked.
My teeth want to mark his beautifully smooth skin, I try to sink my teeth a little into the skin on his upper thigh and he chuckles.
“That kind of tickles.”
So I use my tongue to trace my teeth indentations around the marking. Which just makes him groan impatiently at me.
I sweep little moist kisses along his skin, to the sensitive skin between his thighs. My tongue traces a direct line along the side of him, to the top. I look back down at him, over his body as I sink my mouth around him, slowly devouring.
A loud sigh escapes him as his eyes widen, watching, just my mouth, he’s barely noticing anything else, as it moves over him. Hypnotically it repeats the movement.
The slow, languorous movement, of driving pressure through him, is maddening to both of us. But who wants this to stop so suddenly? Neither of us. Because it’s a benefit to both of us, to what we want.
We’ve both got a sole focus here. Mine is to drive him as insane as possible. His is the same, by watching what I’ll do for him, to him. Visual clues to a destination, that we both want to reach, but are in no hurry to get to.
You see, it’s the pheromones. They make me want to continue in some form or other, to touch his skin. It’s an Erotic ambrosia that the moon fuels our minds and that of the werewolves contained within with.
I could touch with my hands, let them skim over all that hard muscle, touch and flick his nipples. Trace the patterns, outlines of muscle, of shape. Or I could rub the curves of my softer body along his, pressing my breasts into his chest. Rub myself against him, without him being in me. Setting off erogenous zones that require as much attention as the rest of either of us. Straining my nipples onto his smooth skin.
Or I could use my mouth.
Taste him as well as touch him with my teeth and tongue. Of course, when I started down this path, it was about the time I wished I had the ability to do a partial shape shift so I could use my werewolf fangs on him. But alas, this beta wolf can not do that. But knows from experience, how turned on she gets, when the Alpha werewolf under her, does that to her.
So I offer my mouth, willing. A supplication to consume his body tenderly. Devouring him, in a moist heat. Paris’s hips jerk upwards slightly with one movement. But I’m not done yet, I want more.
Pheromone addiction or something. Well it’s not me that wants more, not just me. The wolf, his and mine, they’re so close and yet not connected enough. They need each other, I can sense not only his restraint to let me take him as far as he can with this slow ride of sensuality. But other feelings, near the surface, the scent of fur is becoming heavier to me. Mixing more with the amber and almonds I know that is his scent.
The werewolf is on the rise.
It’s pressing at him, to bring on the shape shift. To let it out to find the wolf it can sense within me. The pull of the moon, high in the sky is coursing through both beings. The sound of blood rushing through our ears, is just a small prelude. As the night wears on, our bodies become hotter. The blood driving through us, feeling more like a liquid heat of essential gratification.
It’s the deciding factor in who will win out here. Will it tip the power of the shape shift to the werewolf, so that Paris feels not just compelled to shape shift, but unable not to? This skin will out. It’s the testing ground for conceding all or holding just the slightest bit of him back.
Have I gone too far in straining his patience for so long? My mouth curves into a smile around him, as I plunge deeper.
When can a werewolf ever go too far?
Tags: baser needs, control, desire, fangs, lunar week, oral, paitence, pheromones, scent, teeth, werewolf
All Kinds of Trouble (Got that) Pt 2.
Leave a Comment
Blood, the air is tainted with the crisp scent of it and I lift my nose and inhale. Which of course, for a werewolf on a lunar night, is the wrong thing to do. It’s like tempting an addict or something. It makes my wolf senses want to really kick in to effect. Want me to shape shift to my tribal form so I could tear apart the prey before me that is down and bleeding.
Aaron, once a sweet boy, now a regular bitter asshole who thinks he can talk shit to me because we’d never eventuated when there’d been a chance of dating. Not my fault. But he seems to harbor somewhat of grudge to me.
He’s slightly dazed by the punch I’ve thrown so quickly. His head snapped back like whiplash with the impact from my stellar right hook.
I jump down on top of him, landing above him, on my hands and toes, my shoes pointed sharply into the floor, balancing me precariously, so I don’t actually touch him. But lay, above him, effectively trapping him.
“Do you have any idea, how turned on I am right now?” I mutter in a low, husky voice. Watching Aaron’s eyes widen as they dart across my own face. “Why I’m so turned on?”
His eyes kept staring back at me amazed. I dip my face towards his and inhale the scent of his blood filling my nostrils again. Stronger this time. My stomach gurgles, like it’s hungry. My pulse races, I feel the temples in my head throb, like I’m dizzy with exertion from moving to fast. I dig my fingers into the floor, arching them into a claw like position. Gripping at nothing and feeling them cramp up with the strain I’m putting on them.
“Uh, everyone’s looking at us.” Aaron says in a low voice, sounding once again like the nervous guy of old, I knew.
I glance to the side of us. Of course the crowd are staring at us. Half of them, the werewolf half can smell the blood as good as if they are where I am. The other half, the nons, are looking at us because I look like a woman, primed to fuck the brains out of the gun underneath me.
“No, they’re looking at you Aaron.” I reply, still holding my position above him. Resisting the urge to lick the blood smeared on his face. “They’re looking at you because you’re bleeding and they’re hungry.”
His eyes slide to the right of us again, looking at the crowd there, before looking back at me.
“You’re making them, hungry and horny. Bleeding so invitingly in the open for them.”
“You hit me!” He whines in a hushed whisper. I can hear the approaching footsteps of three people and know one of them isParis, coming towards me.
“You had it coming.”
A pair of shoes stop beside me and I recognize Paris’s shoes immediately. He squats down beside us. Looking from Aaron to me.
“What do we have here?”
“A bleeding non.” I reply simply as my arms start to twitch a little with the strain of holding myself off him so cautiously.
Paris looks at me. “And what do you want to do to him?” He asks me playfully. Werewolves, we’re just like any other animal, that wants to play with their food.
My mouth drops open and I look at Paris as my arms shake harder. “I want to lick that blood off him, maybe tear him apart a little, so my teeth can sink into soft flesh. Feel the blood flow up to my gums.”
Werewolf Speak, it’s not about conceding desire, it’s allowing yourself to be honest about it. Paris appears to think about this for a moment and looks back at Aaron, still laying on his back, trapped underneath me. His eyes wide, his expression one of puzzlement.
“You can lick the blood of him, but that’s it.”
I tilt my head back to look at Aaron like he’s an appetizer. Goody.
“Do you understand me?” Paris asks me, somewhat patiently.
“Yes.”
“Good.” Paris stands up.
“What?” Aaron looks back at me, not understanding at thing that is going on. Except that maybe, he might be in a bad situation, I can litterally feel the sense of fear in him.
I lower my body onto his. My breasts crushing into his chest, my hips against his, separated by a couple of layers of clothing. Sex and Blood, a werewolf favorite thing in life. Specially on a lunar night. It’s like tenfold. Better and better than anything you’d think of.
“What’s a matter Aaron, don’t you want me?” I ask as his hands automatically reached for my ass, gripping my skirt. I can feel him getting harder underneath me. His eyes dart about me quickly. A Feeling like white noise is filling my head, I can feel the sweat dripping down the back of my shoulder blades.
My wolf wants her fill.
I blink, relax my hands and pushed off to one side suddenly. Aaron lets out a huge sigh of relief.
“It’s not your kind of place.” I say squatting before standing and offering him a hand up. He hesitates, briefly, looking around at the crowd that has gathered around us. “You need to leave.” I pull him upright to his feet and drop his hand as Paris slides his arm around my waist.
“Can I at least ask,”
“No.” I cut him off. “You don’t want trouble Aaron, that includes this place, me and him.” I say pointing to Paris. “Stay away.”
“Got that.” Aaron mutters in a low voice, gingerly touching the blood underneath his nose again. Momentairly reminding me of the old Aaron.
“Jules, make sure he gets cleaned up and out of here safely.” Paris instructes the other Alpha male wolf. “Put him a cab.” Jules nods his head silently and steps forward towards Aaron. Who looks back over at me.
“You’re a weird one.” He says softly, glancing from me to Paris and back at me, shaking his head.
“Better than being a bitch whore.” I reply, as he starts to move towards Jules.
“About that, I shouldn’t have said that I’m sorry. I had no right.”
I nod my head at him.
“Got that.”
Tags: Aaron, Blood, control, desire, Jules, lunar night, midnight blue, restraint, werewolves
Want
Leave a Comment
The atmosphere in the werewolf friendly Manhattan club, Crescent, is building as the night goes on in New York. Taking us higher to our calling with the moon’s radiance.
Temperature is on the rise and skin, coated in films of sweat, like droplets of hunger are on display for all to see.
Some werewolves enjoy more than just the electric current in the air, of a pack playing together in the clubs during lunar week. They need more than a sexually charged atmosphere, that doses them in unbridled lust and wanton pleasure. It’s hedonistic to say the least and yes it is one of those things I enjoy in my life.
Being part of a collective feeling of burning fire and raw passion.
We do not hesitate.
We do not back down form acknowledging the werewolf in us, needs an out.
Needs to feel the love of pack and consummation of it’s energy matched by another kind of energy.
So when Paris’s hand slides up my naked leg, and cups the curve of my bottom, pulling me in tighter against him, I move eagerly with him. Press towards his solid body of heat. My want is his want and he wants exactly the same thing I want.
Our passion is on the rise, and is threatening to come undone in a ravenous wave that threatens to take us over and loose all sense of control.
But hey? Isn’t that the best part of it all?
I get pressed into the cool glass wall behind me, that I hadn’t known was there, until the solid reality of it reminds me, that I will be able to stand, if need be. My throaty laugh at this thought and the image of Paris’s solid arms, already encasing my legs, raising my hips, gets a special little treat from him.
The glass is frosted, but when it’s touched, it goes clear, so when my back hits it, the glass goes transparent and we become a live screen viewing for all to see.
He attacks my lips, causing my smile to falter, as his tongue takes control of my dirty little mouth. How dare I laugh his power tells me, I’m supposed to groan, and moan and sigh with every movement between us. Dry humping or not. Insert evil grin of pleasure here please.
But now I’m too focused on matching his magnificent mouth and letting it plunder mine to realize, I’m already making those small, pathetic, noises. The throbbing base of the music in the club is vibrating through the glass wall at my back and it’s shockingly just adding, to the sensation of my, already tender state.
I’m feeling targeted by Paris’s dominance over my body. I’m feeling loved.
And I want.
And I need. My Alpha werewolf.
But he’s not going to rush my haze of my pleasure. He’s going to take his time, because he wants to enjoy this rise of emotion in us, as much as me. Having held on to our control in the daytime, even as the moon appeared to approach the nightfall, we let it out so we can breathe together.
Everything’s ten times better during lunar week. Heightened till it seeps out your pores. Heightened so much you just don’t think you can take it.
My poor mouth, lipstick is smeared and my lips are tenderized within an inch of life. Paris bends his head, to continue his sensual assault on my state of half undress.
We stager slightly away from the glass wall again. It frosts up. Blocking us from view of the patrons of Crescent. A mixture of Manhattan Maen werewolves and a handful of humans.
The shoulder strap of my top has fallen, beyond low on my arm. Giving him the perfect opportunity to push the top further down. Paris’s eagerness pushes me back up against the glass wall causing us to be on display again.
Not that either of us minds, we’re so into each other that nothing could phase us.
As we join together, there seemingly is a sigh, lightly wavering through the air, from those around us, who see our union is only building. Heightened hearing during lunar week, means we can hear the sighs like whispers in the air.
More and more, as we touch, suck, kiss and grope continuously for one another, it brings pleasure to those in the club, sensing the Alpha’s fulfillment, my rapture as we ride together.
Now I gasp for air.
Air that is hot and infused with a sense of awareness, that we are not the only ones enjoying our time in the club, or each other.
My skin tightens as eyes watch us. I can sense them all around, looking towards our fascinating little glass cubicle room.
But I dare not take my eyes of the Alpha male in front of me. Paris has no intention of stopping, or making apologies and I find I don’t want him to either.
We’re not leaving this thing, alive, until we got what we came for.
Tags: Alpha, crescent, desire, love, lunar week, lust, Manhattan, Manhattan Pack, Passion, Sex, voyuer
Crescent
Leave a Comment
Crescent is a werewolf owned and run nightclub in the meat packing district in Manhattan.
Actually it doesn’t officially have a name, but the Manhattan pack have dubbed it Crescent and so that’s what it’s come to be known as.
Even the staff answer the house phones with “Crescent night club”. I think the owners, have decided to go with it.
It’s a got a sunken dance floor, and lots of blue lighting along the walls and darker areas. The dark corners are never black, they’d all manner of hues of deep blue. The area towards the dance floor is more light blue lighting.
It’s got sleek modern lines and two full bars at either end of the club. But the big feature of this club is two walls of glass cubicle rooms on either side opposite the dance floor.
Private rooms.
Paris wanted to take me here, cause he wanted to try something out.
The glass cubicles, are all frosted glass, but when you touch them, they go clear and you can see straight through them. But if you’re not touching them, they remain frosted over and unable to see in.
Bit of a novelty, but a fun one!
I walked in to the glass room and looked around, it had two black, soft leather couches on either side of the small room, and a small glass table in the middle of it. I looked at the wall that would be facing the dance floor and put a hand to it. It went clear and we could see everything happening outside our room.
Paris moved up behind me and pinned my front to the wall, with his body. Moving my hair away from my neck he started kissing me and unzipping the back of my dress, decidedly, slow.
I could feel his hardness press into the small of my back. Uh oh. I had a pretty clear idea what he wanted to try out.
“Should I have not worn underwear?” I ask with a smile on my lips.
He’s an Alpha male who gets rather, hmmm, possessive leading up to and even during lunar week shall we say. No, he just likes to indulge in the build up, like all us werewolves. He’s no different in that respect.
I was literally pinned to the glass wall, watching the dancers on the floor and people walking past, glancing towards us and the other rooms.
He unzipped the back of the dress, the whole way down. Till it hung loosely, on my body. Still covering me, at least for a moment or two longer.
He slipped his hands in around my sides, and cupped my breasts under the light material.
I tried to turn my head to the side, to look back at him.
“What do you think?” He asked me softly, his breath floating and tickling my skin. Like a warm summer breeze of happiness. His tongue ran up and down behind my ear and I fought the urge not to shiver in response.
“I could just do you here, and we’d have an instant audience.”
Tags: crescent, desire, lunar week, lust, Manhattan Pack, Meat Packing district, Paris, werewolf
A Howling good time
2 Comments
I feel the heat radiating from his skin, feel the burn in his touch as we press together panting, like there is little oxygen to feed our hunger for one another.
Lust and passion are driving the primal forces of our werewolf nature and we’re riding the waves of moon heat, as the new moon, the new years full moon, a blue moon apparently, crests our very being.
We’ve snuck off to be alone, together and alone with one another, because I can only fight a shape shift for so long before I have to yield to the power it has over me.
I won’t get to see midnight though. But Paris is helping me, Paris is distracting me and overpowering my beta werewolf with his own Alpha werewolf. He can do that, help keep my werewolf at bay or bring it rushing out, faster than I can blink.
So we try to tempt time and keep together as long as allowed before the shift breaks me and I have to do it.
His mouth on my skin, kissing trails over me, licking the beads of sweat that are forming. Nipping at sensitive flesh, make me buck up with want and need for him. Desperate to make him cave in to me in time. Paris can’t help it, he chuckles with laughter that rumbles against my skin and makes me gasp with the vibration.
I’m sure it’s evil to taunt someone this much when they’re all but begging for release. He raises his head and looks at me, eyes burning with desire and more, all for me, aimed at me, because of me.
That is what it is to see love and feel love.
I feel a building sensation in my chest, rising from my diaphragm, racing through my rib cage, like an unstoppable force as it pushes through my lungs, and reverbs in my chest.
Gasping as my mouth opens and I throw back my head, my mouth formed in a wide smile as I howl loudly into the night of the new year.
Best part of Lunar Week
1 Comment
Burning Ground is an interesting club. It gets quite a mixed audience during Lunar Week. Where as The Reflex is for the younger crowd, and Disco and Rhyme is more my sister and her friends crowd and their nostalgia over the 1980’s music scene, Burning Ground is neither. Or rather, it could be both.
Everyone goes there, there’s no specific age group or music type or look to it. Which I’ve always found quite fascinating. It’s kind of like, anything goes is the golden rule there.
So second night of Lunar Week and that’s where Conall and I decide to be. You see, we don’t necessarily lock ourselves in our houses when Lunar Week starts up each month.
What would the point to that be?
We’d probably destroy everything in the house, in the process of shifting or coming to, in werewolf form.
The clubs are like foreplay for werewolves.
We’re all riding a wave of sexual wants, needs, desires and fantasies during Lunar Week. So we start our evenings off at the clubs, not so much to get us in the mood for sorting out those sexual needs. Rather for heightening all that sexual tension that we carry around with us, in the daylight hours of Lunar Week.
A pack atmosphere filled with heightened werewolf pheromones, it’s like we all use one another in there. Of course, all the dancing, sweating, grinding, rubbing against one another, adds to that desire, till you can feel it dripping down your skin. The sweat of sex, seeping further into you until you really can’t take no more, at least, publicly.
Although this is not always the case.
Sometimes you need to go with just how you feel.
A darkened corner in the club, and everyone is too busy doing their own thing to notice you and yours.
Eyes close briefly as a tongue licks up the side of my neck. His teeth sink into the back of my neck. He’s in no mood to wait and be restrained. He’s been patient enough all day. Going about normal life, working, doing the daily routine until he could be himself at night, with me, in Burning Ground. Till he could get me here to do just this. What he wants.
He wants me.
Hands run up the side of my body, holding me tightly, controlled with need to soak in the feel of my body in his hands. His thumbs brush the underside of my breasts and his teeth get harder, sinking into the skin across my back shoulder blades.
Serves me right for wearing a halter neck top.
Normally about this time, when his hard body is pressing into me, making sure I can feel what he isn’t verbalising to me, and he’s touching me so much, we would leave and head back to Conall’s place.
Normally I’m the instigator of this routine behaviour. After all, the boy has to shape shift for every night of the lunar week, I don’t. Especially not on the second night.
Sex helps shape shifting.
Well more precisely being with another wolf, helps shape shifting. There’s a feeling of safety and recognition and protection, which makes the werewolf calm down and so it doesn’t necessarily feel like you’re body’s being torn and ripped apart from the inside out. It tends to go a lot smoother if you are with another werewolf.
Add sex to that mix and it’s even better, smoother for those that need to shape shift around their partner.
It’s almost seamless and effortless and for the best part of all, fast.
A normal shift for a beta werewolf can take fifteen minutes to an hour, depending on the werewolf and circumstances. When you partner up and introduce sexual release into the mix, a shift is more like two to five minutes, max.
Conall and I know, exactly how long we have to tease out the sexual foreplay before he has to shape shift.
So he rides it out, because he can, because he wants to get me as worked up as him about what we’re both thinking of doing in the dark, at Burning Ground.
I don’t need to tell myself that this just for his benefit, as the back of my skirt slides up out of his way. Because it’s for my needs as much as his.
I may not need to shape shift, but I need to be with my werewolf.
Insanity would be what it feels like to be soaked in the air filled lust of the clubs during Lunar Week and then be alone and do nothing about it. I mean, the atmosphere the pack of werewolves creates in heat, is maddeningly delicious and touching it, tasting it, just once, would never be enough to be satisfying.
It’s like a powerful aphrodisiac, the body craves and responds to. It’s something I’d rather not, go without out.
After all, that’s the best part of Lunar Week.
Tags: Burning Ground, conall, desire, lunar week, lust, need, Sex, Shape-shifting, werewolf
The way he moves me
Leave a Comment
You know there is something to be said for the way a man’s body moves.
I got hypnotized watching Conall’s. He was on an exercise bike, not that he needs the exercise. Another “health benefit” of being a werewolf, you do tend to have a nice burn up rate on the metabolism scale. His chest was glistening with a light sheen over it and his arms, defined by silhouette. I couldn’t make out on his face, wether he was hot, concentrating, lost in thought or angry.
Yes the man does angry nude, semi nude sometimes. I think he does it to try and disarm me or diffuse a situation. It works. Why wouldn’t it? I’m easily distracted by his bod.
I think he uses physical exercise as a way to let out aggression in a “healthy” way. He also has a punching bag set up in his garage which he can be found kickboxing on at times. He might have been stressed, or just working off extra energy. But hey, he could’ve come to me for that, also. Which again makes me wonder why the exercise bike.
I didn’t know if he knew I was there. Conall was so quiet and focused on working out. I was wondering what was going through that brain of his, to cause such introspection, by the look on his face.
The room was dark and I was sitting, very quietly and still, in a armchair in the dark just watching him work out.
The only light coming in was from the night outside and it was all half shadows and nocturnal moon light. His grey sweat pants were hung low, exposing his hip bones.
I watched the movement of his legs peddle the bike’s wheels, I got engrossed in the definition of the lines around his hip bones. Add the smooth sheen of a light sweat on that and I was biting my lip from moaning. It was highly erotic and he wasn’t doing a thing to me, physically. He was just working out and I was just checking him out.
Playing voyeur on my own boyfriend.
Those hips and the way they kept moving, had me in a trance and at one point, I was holding my breath, watching his lower abdominal muscles move and tweak against his skin as he rode. Small darkened stains of sweat soaked through the waist band of his sweat pants and my eyes slowly, took their leisurely time, travelling up over the rest of his muscled body.
Conall’s got a great medium build. It’s not too muscularly and big and it’s not whimpy and undefined.
I felt my face flush and get hot and just as my eyes made their way to his face he looked over in my direction, at the darkened corner in the unlit room. I was biting my lip between my teeth, staring hungrily at him. I hadn’t made a sound.
And I hadn’t moved and I was beginning to want to.
He smiled back at me, slid off the bike and strode over, like he knew exactly what I wanted.
His body was taunt, and confident, he gazed upon me with heat in his eyes.
“How long have you been there?”
Clearly something had been on his mind, his focus on that, rather than his surrounds if he hadn’t heard, scented or seen me until now. Werewolves have excellent night vision, heightened hearing and we can scent almost anything. But of course if you’re not using them, focused on using them…then…I guess uh, he wouldn’t have seen me.
I tilted my head to the side and shrugged my shoulders loosely. Suddenly the heat in my face was burning and my voice was gone, dried up in my throat.
He nodded his head in return, like he understood my lack of communication. It was more likely he could see the affect he was having on me, just by the way I was acting, holding my body so tight and still. Like it needed to be let loose, to unwind with him, on him.
“Do you like what you see?”
Conall’s voice was low and full of warmth.
Talk about feeling like having a run in for the first time with his male hotness! I gulped down a vat of syliva that felt hard in my throat. I just nodded my head again. He let out a low laugh and put his hands on those hips and I think I may have gasped a little.
How pathetic.
“Would you like to see more?” He asked me, hooking his thumbs under the waist band of his sweat pants.
It was a taunt, like he knew exactly what he was doing and what was turning me on about him. The pants stayed exactly where they were, hiding half of him from me. Allowing me to watch the rest.
Tease.
I nodded my head again silently.
He smirked down at me and said “Then follow me.” He walked out of the room, leading the way, with me following.
Tags: conall, desire, heat, lust, need, tease, voyuer, werewolf, werewolf mate
Doing Laundry
Leave a Comment
I was doing laundry.
I can be somewhat of a slob sometimes. I tend to end up throwing my clothes aside quite often, and letting them pile up until I have no fresh, clean or whatever I would deem wearable clothes in my wardrobe to wear.
I found one of my tops was torn. A red one.
It always looks great on me. Usually an eye popper, show stopper.
But now I find it’s torn. Well shredded would be more accurate. Not just torn. Two whole sides of it, it looks like claw marks, have torn it from back to just around the front. It’s utterly ruined. It’s not even a top you could pass off as having deliberately meant to be like that. Like a deliberate look of fashion.
Fucking werewolf foreplay.
Doesn’t always have to be rough or rash, but more and more tends to be with me and Conall.
Granted, I like winding him up, pushing him to hold out till he can’t and then that’s when the fun starts. Right before the fur fly’s. Everything he’s feeling just rushes out of him desperately as he tries to consume me in his passion.
It’s like a form of devotion.
Being swept up in his sexual desire for me.
It works, how can I not get swept up in his heat? When his body feels like it’s on fire and his eyes tell me he’s drowning in built up desire. Just by looking at me.
The world drops away and I feel like falling to my knees and clinging to his body. Our breathing syncs and we’re gone. There isn’t anything else but us. That’s when we tend to forget that one off designer tops are hard to come by. Clothing gets torn, forgotten in a momentary bliss of blinded emotion.
It’s all body memory when we reach that place. Common sense and inhibitors go out the window. Werewolves, even locked up inside us, take over the carnal side of control. Fully. They want us to be together, maximum consumption anyway, anyhow.
You could call it a loss of control.
I prefer to call it surrender.
Times like this I feel like he says so much to me without saying a word. The sounds of his breathing, his moans, groans and little sighs of air. They make me aware of his sensuality, as much as where his lips are on me. Or how his hands grip me, where his teeth nip at me.
I liked that top. Really liked it.
Conall liked it too. That’s why it got shredded. He’d been eyeing me all the time in that red top. As if distracted by it’s coloring on me. Hard to not notice and look at.
That top was a favorite of mine.
But then so is Conall and carnal pleasure.
Happy thoughts as my heartbeat picks up.
I think that’s the only time I’ve ever enjoyed doing laundry. Hmmm.
Last night
Leave a Comment
Last night, I was desperate to feel his body with mine.
We’d gotten out of the club and we couldn’t wait, didn’t stay as long as we normally would.
Because as the moon gets fuller during the lunar week, we get more affected.
Our sense of control gets inched out further and further. Till you’re barely holding self control together. Well, those of us that fight it, test the limits, it’s like that. Till you can barely stand to function, without just caving in to whatever it is your wolf desires, early release, insatiable hunger, lust. Take your pick.
It prickles at your skin and itches your scalp and makes you sweat profusely as you try to fight your hold on having some time, in this world. Keeping the hours at bay until you have no choice but to shift.
“Need to breath the same air as me.”
His voice was husky and getting gravellier.
We were racing the clock down.
Something we do, sometimes, as it gets deeper into the week of wickedness.
Not much longer till the obvious changes would start kicking in and we would have no control and choice but to shift shape.
Let the were-wolves out.
Hands on each other, roughly pulling. Clothing got torn as he lifted my legs up around his waist. I felt his hips dig in. My back against the cool wall. My skin felt relieved, against it, my chest, feverish against his.
It’s all about touch for were-wolves, we need to feel each other.
Skin to skin, heat and heartbeat, we pulse.
It’s like white noise, you hear nothing but it when you’re in sync with one another.
When it’s so deeply intense, as it with Conall.
When it’s all you can focus on.
When it’s all that you know, will sate your wolf and make the shift far more bearable.
We moved quickly, eagerly and I clung to him, entangling our bodies and racing, as hard and fast as we could. Surrendering to the sensation.
His face hovered above mine.
His breath panted, danced, heatedly across my mouth as he said
“is leath díom tú”
Before consuming me in a kiss that I got lost in, bathed in the light of the Brooklyn moon.
Tags: Brooklyn, conall, desire, gaelic, lunar week, lust, moon heat, moonlight, New York, Sex, Shape-shifting, were-wolf, wolf
Comments
 | Breukelen Girl on The Books |
 | Indigo moon on The Books |
| Breukelen Girl on It bears worth hearing more th… |
Copyright
A Werewolf Blog in Brooklyn by Breukelen Girl is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.
Based on a work at altijdbreukelen.wordpress.com.
Permissions beyond the scope of this license may be available at http://altijdbreukelen.wordpress.com.
Altijd Breukelen- I’m a Breukelen. Altijd.
Subscribe to A Werewolf Blog in Brooklyn feeds
