Beyond Her Wolfy Knight (R18+)

Chapter 2-Just a dream

The roaring winds were chilly and awful in a rage against the winter blasts, the clear skies were silent and a quantity of snow which has been blown in his way was piled-up. Walter carried the woman on his shoulder, not caring an inch of her well-being, yet there were some primitive emotions and unknown feelings that came out from the deepest part of his mind, somehow making their way out. He runs toward his cottage on the far end of the woods. And far from then, he spotted his hearth.

The small cottage was settled on the flats near the woods, so stale and poor that it was surprising how it was still standing. And yet it seemed alive and welcoming, a warm ribbon of smoke rising from the old chimney. It crouched low into the grassy embankment, as though it were trying to hide, but the shapeless slate roof was too huge to go unseen. Through the darkness, he could see the coarse, unevenly sized, murky stones that made up the walls. As he got closer, the meager glow of color — some blues and green were now visible. The sides were the same gray slabs as the low walls in the dales and the roof was a darker slate.

The cottage was the only thing there, no other houses around it, and it would have looked abandoned if not for the smoke. Without a thought, he continued to stroll in and tucked his chins to his chests, and strode right to it against the wind and driving snow. He must hurry, the woman was shivering from the cold and her dainty little dress wasn't helping her either. He opened the door and lay the woman into the single ancient golden sofa he took from the garage sale last year. In the barely lit tiny room, a sooty satchel and his sword hang against the wall. He slid down and offer more woods into the chimney to offer more warmth. Now would he just take off her clothes and offer her a fresh shirt? or leave her shivering from the cold? With that thought, Walter began to undress the woman.

Vivian wasn't beautiful in a classical way, no flowing golden curls or ivory skin; no piercing eyes of green. But with her Latin looks and high cheekbones, it was all too simple. She was shorter than average and certainly larger than a catwalk model, but in her ordinariness she was striking. Her hair was curly black, eyes so brown that it was almost black, figure a perfect hourglass. Out of habit, his eyes fell to her hand to look for rings and so saw none.

Walter notices how smooth and silky her skin was. Even in the dark, he could see her, like a shining beacon. The white creamy tone of her skin reminding him of whisked milk as the moonlight shone through the window and on to her. He couldn't help but wonder if he reached out would she notice? Yet, he couldn't help himself, this woman was like a fire, even with its warmth a moth-like he couldn't just stay put, especially if he could feel his arousal.

His hands burned a trail down to her shoulder. He murmured a no sense obscenities against her flesh. Without warning, he lifted her legs and took the remaining little underwear she was wearing, all common sense lost when he took a whiff of her womanly scent. His eyes glittered dangerously. He gently caressed her legs gently and runs through the place where the scent of lust radiated, how could she smell like a fresh flower in the summer and so deliciously-wet at the same time? Lost on his insanity he stroked her bean softly, his touch becomes more firm as he stroked lower to her opening and then back up again to her bead, coating a bundle of nerves with the liquid from inside her.

He watched her sleep, her feature relaxed and peaceful, yet a little moan came out from her throat. His mind spun over the events of the day. He had planned to kill her only half an hour ago. Now she was asleep on her ancient sofa and moaning. Slowly she rolled her head and rocked her body with his hand, for a moment, he wondered if he had woken, but her breathing remained steady. She must be dreaming, he thought.

Her little moan made him confident enough to continue his little invasion. He let his other hand wind into her legs and his nose went even closer to her, smelling her scent. All rational justification went down to the drain, he was lost. Lost to her smell, and her gentle whimper. He stroked her hastily now, and it caused her to moan again, she suddenly wrapped her legs over his head and shoulder, shocked!

His mouth brushing the lower part of her abdomen, lust shot through him at the contact, he lowers his head a little and begun tasting her, licking and lapping her bead. He groaned softly and couldn't help himself as she moaned and the scent of her arousal filled the air intoxicating his senses. She was now writhing and sighing softly as his finger and tongue pleasuring her, rocking herself forwards offering him more, as she reaches her peak. Then she stopped and lay still.

She had to be awake. There was no way she couldn't know what she was doing. He listened intently again, Still nothing. She must be dreaming. f**k it! Woman! He thought.

He had to get out of there and fast, or he wasn't going to be able to stop himself from taking her. He then covered her with a blanket and quickly walked to the bathroom, barely shut the door before he fisted his throbbing friend. Image of the woman moaning and writhing flashed through his brain. He could still smell her scent on his fingers. It only took a minute before the tension in his body exploded, granting him profound relief. He cleaned himself and washed his hands, took a new pair of dark jeans before slipping out of the cottage.

"I might need to take off my mind from the woman," Walter murmured as he took his horse and galloped it towards the distant lake.

He could feel the cold frigid wind of the winter rain beating down on his face and his back. The leather reins rubbed soon-to-be blisters between his fingers. He realized he should have snatched his gloves. The stallion beneath him was just as done with this run as he was, his neck was lathered in a thick cold sweat, twirling the tight, rigid hairs of his winter coat.

Foam leaked from the corners of his mouth from working with the snaffle. 'One more time, old man' Walter thought to himself as he gave him a pat on the neck and picked up the reins - trotting off. His mane ricocheted with his stride, he had never even had enough to braid. He shifted his weight to his outside hip and dug his heel into his right side, he picked up the lead at an excellent pace, creasing his head in and spanning towards the low fence and Walter knitted his forehead as he smelt the scent of his beta and third in command. "What now!" he murmured.