A Werewolf Blog in Brooklyn

Heat wave | February 26, 2010

Paris. His hands. They drive me insane with pleasure.
Seriously. Insane.
The man is a master.
And his wolf, my mate.

Okay, sure it’s a lunar week and as the week goes on and the moon gets fuller, my needs too get higher. Wild urges, need sating and I guess you could say, I get weaker. I cave in far more easily to Paris’s effect over me.

So sitting around a table with his confidantes, isn’t sexy. Especially when I want him. I want him badly. And he damn well knows it. He’s been playing mister cool and collected all evening.

We sit. At the table, beside one another, Addison and two of his other confidantes on the other side of the table. They’re all talking about pack business, I think.

I barely hear their words. Because I’m listening to Paris’s heart beat. Tap out a cool, regular rhythm. The man is in cruise control with me. His hands are driving me to distraction. Okay, it’s his fingers.

The club atmosphere is thick and heavy, seeping into me. Really, not helping with self-control, but making Paris’s little game of making me come undone, so much easier for him.

At first, he just puts his hand on my thigh, rests it there. So there was is a little warm patch of heat transference from him to me.

Then he starts tapping a finger on my thigh, slowly, softly, matching the pace of his heart beat. Letting me know, he’s the one here, who’s running the show, he’s in control.

Then he starts drawing these lazy circles, over and over again, on the same part of my thigh. Kind of absently, while he keeps talking to Addison, and picking up his drink with his free hand. Like nothing is amiss, nothing is going on under the table out of view.

Yeah right.

Of course, the others can’t actually see what’s going on. And I’m feeling a little flushed, wondering, if it shows on my face. Wondering if they think It’s just from the heat of the club stifling us, or if they know.

So I try to ignore that finger drawing invisible circles on my thigh. Tracing it’s way around my skin, over and over again, like it’s all it knows to do.

I pick up my drink and damn near down the whole thing. Because it’s getting to me. That finger, moving softly, assuredly, around and around.

I see Paris’s mouth twitch at the corner, as if to smile at his handy work. Of course, that’s all the encouragement he needs, to make me suffer, even more.

So he get’s bolder.

He pushes aside the material of my dress, and slides his hand around my thigh, towards my heat wave and presses that finger, against the moistness there, seeping through the lace, that’s covering me.

My mouth drops open and I realise, in time, I’m about to gasp, so I pick up my drink and finish it. Paris instructs, Jules to order another round of drinks at just that moment.

He so knows what he’s doing to me.

I can’t believe they haven’t noticed us. I’m beginning to wonder if they can smell the sex that’s building around us. In the booth, around the table, because of what Paris is doing to me. probably not, because the whole club is emanating so much sexual presence.

He keeps pressing against that sensitive spot, and that finger, it starts doing those little circles again, rubbing the lace over me with the movement. I try to move, to move out of his grasp. Because I’m not going to be able to take it. Without losing my mind or you know, having a bit of a very loud moment at the table. So I kind of squirm, but his whole hand suddenly presses down on me.

The strength in that hand, pins me to my seat. I’m not going anywhere. He won’t let me get away. It’s Paris’s silent way of telling me to sit there and take it. He’s not going to let me move away from him.

Of course, to the guys on the other side of the table, it probably just looked like I was sitting a bit more upright. Nothing out of the ordinary going on here. Really.

Just my packmate driving me insane with a serious need. Serious. I’m beginning to wonder if I should just ask him to take me over the table then and there, in front of them all. It wouldn’t be so out of the ordinary, that’s very werewolf behaviour. Very Alpha werewolf behaviour.

Part of me wonders, what he’d do. Weather he’d take me up on the offer or just keep up the pleasant form of torture he’s got me trapped and taking in.

Just when I’m not sure I can take it any longer, because I need to cry out or howl, or touch him, or stop him or all of the above, he makes the other three guys leave us. Quickly.

No sooner are they out of the booth and out of sight when I gasp and that finger, presses me, just so and my eyes lock on him, my mind blanks, my body shudders and Paris smiles at me.

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