Savage Seduction

When life gives you lemons. Make lemonade!


Savage Seduction

11



There's nothing wrong

With the way we're carrying on

So enjoy and live



****


The witch was so attractive when she laughed. Her hazelnut eyes peered down at him, the moment hardly seemed awkward – though it should have been. A smile was etched on his face, a proper one. Not a smirk, not a grin but a smile. She gave another giggle and rolled to one side, the werewolf turned his head towards her.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly, his eye brow raised more than it should have been. The witch propped herself up on her elbow.

“Hey, hey...hey...Just because you know the meaning of the word now doesn’t mean you can overuse it.” The werewolf smirked.

The sun broke out from behind the clouds and he removed his coat to let it dry out in the sun. They lay in between the sand dunes resting for awhile, until Hermione decided it was time to move on.

****



The morning was coming to an end; it was almost midday the witch supposed, as she peered at the sun directly overhead. It was getting warmer now they had moved away from the coast. They were walking through a path between two fields separated by handmade stone walls. Hermione was directing again, and the werewolf stayed behind, still silent yet seemingly more cheerful as the day went on.

Hermione was humming to herself, batting away dizzy flies when she stopped aware now that she couldn’t hear the werewolf moving behind her. She turned to look at him, rather an eye-sore in the middle of the country. Not that he was an eyesore, just that a very tall menacing man dressed head to toe in black, with hobnail boots and a look that could actually murder somebody didn’t always look right against the green scenery.

It was what he was doing that worried her though. He had stopped a few paces back, across from a field of very wary sheep. It was if they could smell him, for they had all huddled together now with the Rams heading them up. It was that glint in his eye that made her nervous, she approached him carefully. He didn’t move but she could see his eyes scanning the creatures. She reached out for his hand and grasped a few fingers and led him away. He came quietly which scared her most, his thoughts were still on the field of sheep.

They plodded on, Hermione still clutching two of his fingers just in case. They were coming to the edge of the fields. In the distance she could see farm houses and more brick walls and lines of trees and further beyond that wheat fields.

“Look,” she exclaimed pointing ahead. “Fancy a bit of scrumping?” Hermione looked back at the werewolf and raised an eyebrow. She dropped his hand before running off. The werewolf had awoken from his reverie when she had started talking. What did she say? Scrumping? Sounds kinky.

He give a grin and walked after her having absolutely no idea what she was talking about, but that devilish smile of hers had to mean something good. When he caught up with her she was sitting on a stone wall enclosing an orchard.


“Look, these ones are bruised,” she shrugged holding up the apples in her hand, and waving a free hand at the other bruised apples on the ground. Fenrir sighed, Scrumping definitely wasn’t something sexual, was it?

“Can I get up on your shoulders? I could reach those ones then.” Hermione pointed towards the tree and its shiny red apples, the werewolf growled but submitted, climbing over the low wall so he was on the right side. Merlin, this woman was brutally murdering him from the inside out. Why on earth he was giving in to her was beyond him, perhaps because he was having too much of a good time with her to jeopardise the situation.

She stuffed the bruised apples in her pockets and stood up on the stone wall, the surface wasn’t quite flat and she had trouble balancing. Placing her hands on his shoulders she attempted to get a leg up. But she would surely fall, she bickered with him to bend down slightly; he was far too tall for her. He growled and crouched lower wondering how she could manage to degrade him anymore, and she managed to swing one leg over his shoulder. She cursed, now if she lifted the other leg she was bound to fall backwards, or else they would topple over.

“Give me your arms,” he hissed getting impatient. She threw her hands over his head, and struggled to keep upright, now balancing on one leg. But he gripped her hands tightly and pulled her forward and she managed to get the other leg around his shoulder.

Oh Merlin, bad idea. The witch teetered nervously on top of the werewolf. She was so high from the ground. She plucked the apples from the tree, passing them down to the werewolf one by one. She felt strange, with the werewolf holding on to her thighs. She could almost imagine him throwing her down on the ground and pouncing at her. She frowned slightly, as she plucked another apple from the tree.

A growl from Fenrir brought her from her disturbing thoughts. His hands tightened around her thighs and just for a second the daydream flashed across her eyes again. She had reached for another apple but then the werewolf gave another growl and she turned around so violently to see what he was looking at, that she lost her balance and had to clutch onto his head to straighten up.

The witch could hear a dog barking and the muffled cries of a man, her eyes scanned the tree line furiously, and she could feel the low growls of the werewolf reverberate against her legs. Was that a pitchfork?

“Run,” she hissed at Fenrir, as the shouts carried closer, the werewolf turned and Hermione decided it was better if he let her down first. But there wasn’t much time; the farmer and his dog were already approaching the Orchard from the far side. The werewolf jumped over the low wall, Hermione trying very hard not to fall. “Let me down,” she hissed, but the werewolf ignored her as he ran towards the wheat fields.

It was a truly hilarious sight, the witch was battering the werewolf over the head, demanding to be put down, and finally the werewolf obliged but not in the way she had hoped. He bent down suddenly, and Hermione slid right over his head and fell, but the werewolf’s grabbed her in his arms, without even coming to a standstill.

He set her down, and Hermione was just about to retort when the shouts of the farmer became clearer again. She ran after Fenrir, who hadn’t even stopped and soon regretted that she had demanded to be put down. He was much faster than she was.

The wheat was tough to travel through, it was tall and rough as it whipped against her bare arms and face, making a path through it was harder but she tried to follow the way Fenrir had came. She had lost sight of the werewolf and through the shouts of the farmer, several yards behind her and her own cries for the werewolf she hadn’t seen him when he burst out from her right, behind her.

He chuckled grabbing her hand and pulling her ahead, faster. If they didn’t hurry up the farmer would surely have them for dinner. Or rather Fenrir might have the farmer for dinner.

The distant cries of the farmer kept them on the edge, and the witch wasn’t even aware now that she was laughing erratically as they practically skipped through the tall wheat. They were far ahead, and feared little that he would actually catch up, but for whatever reason they kept on going.

The werewolf was still holding onto her wrist, he laughed gruffly as he pulled the witch further into the field. Hermione was in a daze, the thrill of doing something naughty like this always gave her an edge. She was after all, a very good girl. She never misbehaved and never broke rules at school. She ran complacently after the taller figure, still in his grasp, not knowing why they were still running – the shouts of the farmer had left completely, he had given up chase.

The werewolf kept looking over his shoulder to the small witch tagging along behind him, her cheeks were red from running, but she was still grinning ear to ear. The witch caught his gaze for a second, and she swore she saw something flicker in his eyes. He let go of her hand and picked up his pace. In seconds he was far ahead and almost out of sight.

Hermione tutted and followed suit, surpassing a giggle. She brushed through the long stalks of wheat as fast as she could, but the werewolf was nowhere to be seen or heard now. She let a laugh suppress the panic rising in her, and she skipped along through the wheat expecting him only a few paces ahead. After a minute of running, there was still so sign of him, the wheat was far too tall to see over either, she was completely engulfed by it. In a panic, she almost called out to him. But she knew once she did he would appear and mock her for being so fearful. She set her jaw as she looked nervously around now, her pace had fallen considerably – her sense of direction going completely.

And he was watching her. God, he loved watching her without her knowing. It was like stalking prey, delicious, delectable prey. It was the same when she slept. He’d watch her, restraining himself from doing anything – If only she knew how hard it was to just sit and wait. What a good boy he had been, telling himself not to touch her, to leave her alone - For the greater cause in his plan.

He swallowed hard as saliva formed pools under his tongue. It was times like this, when he wanted to break his own promise. He could see her through the wheat stalks, but she couldn’t see him. He could sense her apprehension; smell her fear – a bead of sweat trickled down his forehead. His cobalt eyes darted across her figure, his body practically groaned under his mental restraints. Her scent was so alluring, his muscles flexed, his mouth was open – his lips pulled back to show sickly pointed teeth.

The witch was listening, trying to hear where the werewolf was. She called out to him then, and the werewolf closed his mouth shaking himself from his thoughts. He stalked off in the other direction as the witch took off again through the wheat.

Hermione was trying to keep calm. The werewolf was just messing with her, he wouldn’t hurt her anyway – she knew that. But she couldn’t help but feel that other things might find her first. Being alone in the field – not even knowing where she really was, was frightening enough. It was building within her so fiercely that she broke into a frantic run. The stalks whipped at her arms and face until she was sure the noise they were creating was something running behind her.

The witch looked back wide-eyed; nothing. It was nothing. Her head was still turned behind her when she stumbled and fell on the ground, the earthen floor was different now, and she looked up. She had fallen into an area of flattened wheat. Frowning, she got to her feet. It was awfully like a crop circle, but far too small to be one. Perhaps Mooncalves had created it, but at this time of the month? Surely not. As she stood in the centre of the flattened circle she turned around surveying the area. The breeze moved the wheat slightly, comforting her even less.

There was a noise from behind her and a bird shot up from the stalks and into the air. The witch reeled around to face it on her heels, “Fenrir?” It was practically a whisper. Her eyes scanned the sandy coloured stalks, she couldn’t see anything, but the noise had definitely been louder than just a bird.

Then there was a noise from behind her, and Hermione had to stifle a squeak as she turned around on her heels. Her heart was pounding, where was the god damn werewolf when she needed him? The stalks shuddered, she was sure there was something behind them.

“Fenrir,” she said quietly as if hoping it was just him.

The werewolf’s body lurched at the witch’s fear; he had to use everything in his power to stop himself from jumping out and ripping her limb from limb. He didn’t want to hurt her, he didn’t want to infect her, or eat her. He knew it was just his lycanthropy acting on him because he was stalking her like prey.

But Fenrir could restrain it, he had done so before. He was born a werewolf, which made him a foot above the others. They were weak, and he was not. He had an affinity with his ‘condition’; he could control it better than them. Usually he never had a need to stop himself from hurting others, but he could do it if he so wished.

His breathing was silent, his lips curled back into a perverted grin. The sweat trickled down his neck, and his hands flexed at his sides. The witch was staring right at him, but she could not see. Her kind were so useless at using their senses. He bet she couldn’t even smell him from there, even though he was upwind of her.

The witch shivered, the echo of her whisper still on her lips. Granted this situation could have been a lot worse, it could be dark. The sun was nearly setting as the witch focused on the edge of the clearing, and then noiselessly the werewolf appeared from in between the wheat stalks. He looked so foreboding that she couldn’t bring herself to speak. For a second she almost felt frightened of him.

He stood, chin raised, looking down at her, the perverted trademark grin made the hairs on her neck stand up. He was watching her, and she shivered again but he made no move to attack her. She frowned slightly, and then suddenly she ran towards him throwing a fist at his chest.

“Don’t do that you bloody great buffoon,” she hissed, about half a foot away from him. “I thought I’d lost you.” The werewolf still did not say anything, he was still watching her, she noticed his hands relax at his sides and knew he was listening to her now.

His grin widened, and she gave him a sceptical look. He was inches away from her, his mouth opened again, and she shivered at his grotesque teeth. His eyes were avidly staring at her neck; she saw muscles twitch on his throat and she took a step back, what was he doing?

The werewolf blinked as if awoken from a trance, he turned his head towards hers, and the witch looked up to meet his gaze. She jumped as his fingers ensnared around her own, pulling her closer into his chest. She let his scent wash over her as he held her hands down by their sides. There was a smell she couldn’t quite describe, although she knew it was ‘his,’ she had smelt it before; very masculine and overbearing, but at the same time very calming. She couldn’t help but relax as she let her forehead rest against his chest. She also smelt sweat, but it wasn’t nauseating, she liked the way it made her feel. It was almost as if she could moan in approval of it, and it confused her. The last thing she smelt was the sea on his jacket which was still damp; it made her smile.

The werewolf’s head had drifted to one side of hers, his stubble brushed against her cheekbones and his nose touched the top of her ear. Her lips twitched, as the werewolf traced his lips on her ear. Soon his teeth were trailing along it; the witch shivered burying her head into the crook of his neck. Suddenly a sharp pain erupted in her right ear and she pulled back from the werewolf in alarm.

“Oww!” she exclaimed, he had bitten her a little too playfully. She looked up at him and he stared back at her with an I-don’t-know-any-better look. She smirked, as his eyes moved back to look at her, glistening blue in the fading daylight. He hadn’t meant it so hard, obviously.

“You’re a rascal,” she pointed a finger at his chest.

“You make it sound like I’m 15,” Fenrir replied, moving closer to her again, sweeping in to kiss her so she could not reply. Hermione blushed as he pressed his mouth against hers suddenly. Since when was Fenrir so good at being charismatic?

They hadn’t kissed for so long, it seemed. What? Was she actually counting the hours gone by since they had last kissed? No, well not quite. It had been a long time. But it wasn’t as if she had been looking out for it, or thinking about it or...Damn! It was so good!

During Hermione’s revelations she hadn’t even realised his arms had snaked their way around her, his hands splayed out holding her protectively at the small of her back. Or that her arms were draped around his neck already and that their kisses had already slowed down to tender pecks, so that they could spend more time rubbing noses together or looking into each other’s eyes.

Oh please, she was going to vomit if it got any soppier. The witch pressed her lips against his harder this time, and he returned it. She parted her lips slightly letting his tongue snake its way in, and they kissed passionately, battling for dominant position for awhile. The werewolf had backed down, after all Hermione was the most experienced in this activity. She smirked, and felt him smile against her lips.

A hand trailed down from his neck over his shirt, the witch let her fingertips run over his chest and felt his six pack underneath his shirt. It made her stop kissing for a moment, just to savour the feeling. Hermione looked up at the werewolf, who was watching her every move. His eyes glistened in the failing light, his gaze was so alluring.

Surely, she had no choice. What was about to happen was inevitable. She could feel herself throwing caution to the winds. The werewolf broke her out of her reverie by engaging the witch in a kiss again, her eyes closed with delight as she felt his warm, wet lips touch hers. She parted her lips, letting the werewolf enter with ease. Damn, kissing him was so...exciting. She shivered at his touch, and wondered why on earth his tongue felt so good against hers.

The witch trailed her hand down over his taut stomach and clasped onto his belt buckle. She felt the werewolf tense against her hand but they didn’t stop kissing. Her fingertips slipped gently behind the belt buckle getting a firm grasp before she pulled back still engaged with him.

The werewolf followed quite easily. She only had to tug lightly for him to be staggering toward her as she backed away pulling him forward by his belt. But he was approaching too fast, Hermione backtracked still holding onto him, and still trying to lock lips. Suddenly a broken stalk caught her heel and she bit down on his tongue as she fell back, the werewolf toppled after her but flung his arms out to brace himself so that he would not squish her.

“Sorry,” she grimaced; she hadn’t meant to bite him. The werewolf seemed unfazed; he was bent over the witch, his eyes running over her features. Impulsively she raised a hand to his chest, letting it run up and down his smooth shirt. She let it rest between his belly button and belt, and noticed his breathing had got deeper. He smirked and a question seemed to be playing on his lips. Hermione raised an eyebrow, her hand left his stomach, but it was still out of view from Fenrir.

“What is s-” He began but then broke off suddenly, his mouth still open. The witch smirked cunningly underneath him; her hand had drifted ever so slightly over his crotch.

“Pardon?” she inquired impishly. The werewolf growled quietly before continuing;

“What is scr-” he broke off again, unable to finish the word. The witch cackled, her hand now settled against his crotch. She could feel the warmth emanating from it; feel his hard member groan underneath the fabric. She loved power. Yes - she - did.

She nodded for him to go on, but as soon as his lips moved she let her fingertips twitch against him and he paused again, suppressing a slight groan. She raised an eyebrow, oh this was fun. She used more pressure against him; his arms were trembling under the strain of bending over her, and the twinges of pleasure he was receiving from the witch didn’t help either.

“Mmm what were you saying Fenrir?”

“Uh,” he mumbled, her hand caressed him further. “What – um,” he groaned as the witch worked her magic. She stifled a laugh, and suddenly he growled at her, “Damnit Hermione stop that!”

The witch pouted for a second, withdrawing her hand. But her lips curled into a smile, “Fine,” she said. “I’ll stop,” and she pushed him aside and turned away from him. She heard the werewolf growl faintly behind her. Oh, was that not what he meant? She sniggered.

Damn that witch was crafty. But Fenrir loved to play. She had had a taste of him before; he knew he could get away with anything now, because she would always crave him in the end. He crept up behind her noiselessly; the witch was off in a reverie again; perfect. He placed his head beside hers, and she jumped in fright as he wrapped his arms around her. He shushed her and licked her neck, but she hadn’t struggled as much as he had hoped. He plunged both hands down under the oversized jeans and the witch stiffened against him instantly. He crooned in her ear, “What?” he asked inquisitively.

Hermione said nothing but took a deep breath. She leant her head back against his chest to look up at him, but she couldn’t do it so well. The plaits of his beard hung down and tickled her forehead and nose. He moved his head aside to stop the annoyance, and his nose brushed against her cheek and she let the smallest of moans escape, it sounded as if he was purring. The growl that resonated in his chest was low, and barely escaped his lips, he rubbed his head along hers, watching the witch writhe in his grasp as his hands stroked her leisurely.

Hermione whimpered mentally. Damn it was good, so good, but it made her itch to have more. She had no doubt he knew what he was doing, teasing her. The soft strokes were barely touching her, yet she could feel herself getting wet with every second. She arched her back so that her clit was directly beside his fingers, but even that didn’t make him speed up. She let out a frustrated moan, and felt Fenrir move in to kiss her neck.

Both his hands were under her jeans, one rested on her thigh and the other which had been stroking her stopped. She let out a whine, his fingers rested against her but they did not move. She arched her back again urging him towards her clit but he did nothing, growing more and more frustrating the witch moved herself against his hand which was laid flat, as if feeding a pony. The werewolf laughed gruffly at her frustration before lifting his middle finger up from the rest so that it stroked her as she moved against it. She bit her lip as she brushed over it, craving more. Damn why wouldn’t he do more? Why wouldn’t he fuck her brains out like he said he would? Why wouldn’t he throw her down and have her right now? Merlin why did she want him so bad!?

Fenrir laughed again, as if he had heard her silent pleas, he licked her neck and watched her shiver under his touch. He began to stroke her again, more forcibly and watched the witch writhe around with pleasure. He crooned; she was such a good plaything. He pushed a finger into her and the witch gasped, he licked her cheek as the witch frantically tried to undo her belt buckle.

Fenrir withdrew his hands from under her jeans and let them rest on her hips. The witch turned to look at him, but couldn’t. The werewolf kissed her neck, and she closed her eyes at his touch. Why had he stopped? She looked down at her unbuckled jeans. Was she going to have to do everything?

Fenrir ran his fingertips down her back and the witch writhed with excitement. He curled his fingers around the seams of her shirt and pulled it slowly up to her breasts until she put her hands up in the air and let him tug the rest off. She heard him breathe out a sigh from behind her, as he threw the shirt down. Her eyes were closed, and she waited for him to be around her again, a few seconds passed and then she felt his warm chest against her back. He had taken his shirt off too.

Hermione crooned with delight, it felt so good to have his muscular arms around her, she felt so protected and aroused at the same time. The werewolf simply nuzzled into her neck, leaving a few kisses along it. Hermione sighed lustfully, but she was irked too. He had hardly touched her yet and she was half naked. She knew she wasn’t experienced in this field, but even she felt as if things were going too slow.

A smile crept up on her lips. She knew how to make the werewolf go faster. Breaking away from his grip she turned to him, her jeans had slid down her thighs now. She smirked but secretly she was worried; she hoped this worked. The witch knew how stubborn and strong he was, so she threw all her weight into pushing him over.

The werewolf fell onto his back, his eyes lingering on Hermione. She crawled towards him, her jeans catching her from every angle. She growled and kicked them off a little less than seductively, before continuing to approach him. She moved up his body, and settled on his chest above his belt.

She leant over him, planting a kiss on his lips. He reached in to kiss her but she had already straightened up again. She raised an eyebrow at him, and his eyes ran over her figure. She was perfect, so tiny to him but curvy too. And she just looked so good sitting on top of him, she would have to do that more often.

Hermione lips twitched, she could see the smile on Fenrir’s face as he looked over her. Not perversely, but romantically. It made her feel more comfortable being naked around him; she began to think it wouldn’t be so bad. After all it’s not like this was the first time, although it sort of felt like it. The other night seemed like a dream, perhaps it would be that every time felt like the first time with him.

The werewolf grabbed her by the wrists and pulled her gently forward so that they could kiss again. She obliged, sliding down into a comfortable position, she could melt away in his kisses. She could kiss him forever. One hand stroked her cheek and the other traced her collarbone and fell down to cup her breasts. She gasped into the kiss as the werewolf ran his thumbs over her nipples.

Hermione’s hands were settled on his chest, and she was now aware she was grinding faintly against him. She gasped in shock, but the feeling was actually quite arousing, and she could feel the werewolf writhe underneath her and decided not to stop. As the minutes rolled by their kisses got more fervent. Hermione suppressed a groan as he cupped both her breasts now, kneaded them rapidly. She had picked up the pace of grinding into him; she smirked every time the werewolf stifled a groan, or moved his hips along with hers.

She drew back from the kiss, Fenrir was watching her, and she shivered. He had the ability to keep his eyes open while they were kissing, and she had not yet mastered that. She traced her lips over his, teasing him. His hands were sliding down her sides to her hips now; she was still grinding against him. Fenrir smirked.

“I thought you didn’t like dry-humping?” He raised an eyebrow at the witch, who hadn’t stopped the motion. Her wet centre was rubbing against his stomach, and he groaned and didn’t complain when she didn’t answer him. The witch leant forward to kiss him again, her soft tongue licking against his bottom lip, until he trapped it with his own. Hermione gasped, dissolving in a frenzied kiss, not noticing that the werewolf was frantically trying to undo his belt buckle and slide his trousers down to his knees.

When she surfaced, she straightened up dragging her fingers down his chest. She commenced grinding again, and jumped as something hard hit against her butt cheeks, she swivelled her head around and gasped.

The witch shivered, seeing his hard member press in between her butt cheeks. She was so aroused she couldn’t help herself but lean forward to grind against him again. The werewolf groaned as his cock brushed against her. He pulled the witch forward until she was kneeling over him, so that he could kiss her. The tip of his member rubbed against her clit and both parties went rigid. Hermione bit her lip, it felt so good. Fenrir groaned; she was so wet and warm.

Hermione moved her hips so that they would meet again, and they did. She held her breath as the tip rolled over her wet folds. She straightened up as it pushed against her opening and found herself leaning down on it ever so slightly. The werewolf groaned as he entered the witch, if only by the tip. His hands drifted over her sides and up her stomach, and he looked up at her beseechingly. Hermione glanced at him, her hands firmly on his chest. He was watching her, waiting for her to do something. His lips were slightly parted, and he was breathing deeply, but calmly. She so wanted to lean forward and kiss him, but the heat stirring within her urged her to do something else - Something to sate her hunger.

As she took a deep breath her mouth opened in shock as she impaled herself upon him. It wasn’t painful, but he sure seemed bigger from this angle. She could feel his member rubbing against her insides, all the way up to what she at least thought would be her belly button. Her lips twitched into a smile, as she banished the thought.

The werewolf on the other hand had gone completely rigid. His face was fixed in a strange expression she couldn’t decipher from pain or pleasure. She expected the latter, and she ran her fingertips over his chest and he seemed to awake and look at her.

Damn, now what was she to do. This definitely was not going to plan. She had never done this before. Sure, it looked easy on television but now...

Fenrir ran his hands down her sides and rested them on her thighs as he began to move the little witch forward and back in a motion. Hermione gasped as she felt her insides convulse, feeling his member rub against her. She thrust with the rhythm he had placed, but soon his hands had fallen away and ended up behind his head as he stretched out enjoying the ride.

Hermione dug her fingernails into his chest and suppressed a groan with each thrust, she was going faster now. She leant forward, sliding her legs behind her, so that she was lying down on top of him. He opened his eyes as she started to grind against him again, Hermione moaned freely, not bothering to restrain herself. Why should she? It was her that was doing all the work not him, although she was on his cock. His huge throbbing member wh- Damnit, This wasn’t helping at all!

As another minute rolled by Hermione could feel something build up inside her, waves of pleasure hit her every time she reached the end of each thrust. The werewolf reached up to cup her breasts and the witch moaned, but it was no good. She couldn’t bring herself to orgasm, she just wasn’t fast enough.

“Take over,” she whispered, the werewolf grinned and nodded silently. She rolled off to his right, and he stood up on his knees, one hand holding the base of his twitching member. Hermione was facing away from him, and turned to see him watching her.

She felt very odd all of a sudden, everything was in slow motion as she looked at him. She breathed in and out, deep and slow, and the werewolf was still just watching her back. He looked so enticing standing there – she wanted to scream, and her body wanted to contract and do something she couldn’t explain. She could feel her wetness seeping down around her thighs. She swallowed as she looked over her shoulder, eyes drifting over the werewolf.

Everything seemed so surreal, as if hypnotised she barely realised she had turned over and got on her hands and knees. She looked back at him again, wanting him to notice her, notice what she was doing. It was confusing her, why on earth was she doing this? Why was she seemingly presenting herself to him so willingly?

Fenrir grinned. He watched the witch as she sat a mere two feet away from him, his throbbing cock eager to get to her again. It surprised him even more when she got on her hands and knees, but it wasn’t just some position. To him it was a gesture of submission, dominance and ownership. He growled attentively, rubbing a thumb over the top side of his cock. The witch looked back at him, and arched her back ever so slightly and the werewolf trembled with excitement. This is what he had wanted all along.

He approached her carefully, she responded to his touch as he dragged his hands down her back. He bent over her, his member rubbing between her legs. His hands drifted across her stomach and up to cup her breasts. The witch exhaled, as if she had been holding her breath. His lips reached her ear and he licked it slowly. The witch’s body arched beneath him, and she was about to say something but then didn’t.

She didn’t really need to say anything at all. Her body was already doing it for her. Her back arched again as he licked down her neck and across her back, it urged her ass into his groin, and the werewolf moaned. Hermione grinned, she felt so empowered being able to make someone feel such things. She looked back over her shoulder at him with big caramel eyes. She saw his own cobalt eyes glitter in return, and saw the smile creep onto his face and knew what was coming next.


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A/N:

Yay for double entendres!! Did you like this chapter? Also, I hope you don’t mind where I stopped it! I don’t plan on writing the rest of this lemon scene; your imagination can do the rest! There will be far too much lemons to write in the future, and I just don’t think it was necessary to write this one. Although to me this is like the ‘big’ one. Since Hermione was even more hungry for Fenrir than last time.

Stockholm Syndrome my ass Hermione, my ass.

Anywho, I can’t wait to hear your reviews, it’s what keeps me writing!!! ~moony

*Lyrics - Simply Red, It's Only Love