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Shivering slightly, I sit on the edge of my bed, my hands shaking as I run them up and down my sheath. I can't do this. The hard-on he gave me has vanished, and I'm terrified of what he's going to say or do when he finds me in here, not ready. He's still in the bathroom, using my blow dryer to finish drying his fur, and as the high, whining roar falls silent, my stomach clenches up into a tight knot. He's going to kill me.

He steps into the room, a wide, hungry grin on his face, his big dick a dark red against his creamy gold belly fur. I stand up and back away from him as he walks toward the bed. A slight frown casts his golden eyes into shadow.

"Are you ready to do this?" he asks. Hastily, I nod. I will be, or I'll wind up dead. Talk about performance anxiety. He seems to hesitate, then climbs up onto my bed on his hands and knees. He raises his tail in the air and I feel my dick stir slightly. It's a nice view. His balls are full and round, pale gold between his darker thighs, and his dick hangs down almost to my quilt. Heart pounding, I step toward him, his cold eyes following my every move. I lick dry lips, and then lean down and run my tongue across his asshole. He draws a short breath and tenses, and I suddenly wonder if he's ever done this before. With one hand stroking myself, I take my time, slowly licking that rosy skin, trying to get him to relax, to loosen up, but he's tight as hell when I finally press my tongue into him. He whimpers and groans as I force my tongue deeper, the sound bringing my dick back to life, but he's so damn tight, there's no way I could fuck him without causing pain, and I have a feeling that if I hurt him, he's going to hurt me. I straighten up and look over his wing at him.

"Is this your first time ... like this?" I ask. He draws back his black lips, fangs glinting at me.

"Maybe. So what?"

"So, you're clenched so tight I would rip you up if I tried to fuck you now. You need to relax."

"I am relaxed," he snarls, and I roll my eyes. I go back to tonguing his asshole and he whines. "Get on with it already," he says between his teeth. "I can't hold back forever, you know." I glance between his legs at his dick, weeping pre-cum on my quilt. Is that why he's so tight, because he's trying not to come? I step away from him.

"Lie down," I tell him. "On your back." He glares over his shoulder at me.

"Don't tell me what to do." I'm tempted to politely suggest he go fuck himself, then, but I don't.

"Please lie down, Lord Wolf," I say, though I can't keep a hint of sarcasm out of my voice. He hesitates, then stretches out on his back, his dark wings spread across my bed. I climb onto the end of the bed, kneeling between his spread thighs, his tail hanging off the end of the bed between my legs. I reach out and stroke his sheath, and he arches his hips up toward my hand. Over-sexed kid, no control at all. I slide my hand up along his dick and he whines. "Relax," I tell him.

"What are you doing?" he gasps as I begin to stroke him. I don't answer, instead bowing my head and flicking my tongue across the shiny tip of his dick. Great gods, he tastes ... strong. Not a bad taste, I suppose, just a lot of it, almost too much. He squirms, his eyes squeezed shut, as I run my hands over his sheath and balls. "Not yet," he pants, "I don't - Not yet ..." I wrap my lips around the head of his meat and he growls, thrusting up into my mouth. Most males that I've been with think that because I have such a long neck, I must be real good at deep-throating them. Not so. It makes me gag. I pull away and glance down at him, at the knot beginning to swell just above his fur. It looks like a damn growth. I shudder, but lean down and lick at it, his breath quickening. I grab the knot in one hands and jerk him off with the other, just a few quick strokes all it takes before he arches his back and shoots several thick jets of cream up onto his own chest and stomach. His heavy, Wolf-ish scent fills the room and makes the fur on the back of my neck prickle. Instinct. You just can't shake it. I guess we'll never be able to truly escape the predator/prey dynamic, regardless of how many laws are passed.

"Feeling a bit more relaxed now?" I ask as he sinks back against the quilt, his chest heaving.

"As soon as I catch my breath," he says, a growl in his voice, "I'm going to rip your legs off and beat you with them. I told you I didn't want to come yet." I open my mouth to ask him why the fuck I should care what he wants, but shake my head instead.

"Look, Lord Wolf, you're what? Twenty? Maybe?" He doesn't respond. "Forgive me, but you don't have a fucking clue as to what you're doing. Holding back wasn't doing anything but making you tense. Now just shut up and let me do this." Before he can sit up and bite my throat out, I slide off the bed and kneel on the floor, then slide my tongue into him, that tight ring of muscle softening as I lick deeper. He groans, drawing his legs up and spreading them wider as he pushes toward me.

I stand and climb back up on the bed with him, giving my own dick a couple good pumps before placing the tip at his opening. I take a steadying breath and push forward, stopping the instant I hear him draw air in through his teeth. I raise my eyes to his, a little surprised to see fear in them. He's afraid it will hurt, but I don't think it does. The knowledge that I am his first is both exhilarating and sobering. I bite my lower lip and ease a little deeper. I go slow, giving him time to adjust to the intrusion, and I don't go very deep. While it's been way too long since I was hilted inside a warm, furry body, this has nothing to do with what I want. If it did, I'd be half-way to passed-out on the sofa, with several beers in me, and I'd know who was winning the damn game. Like I have to wonder about that. What had he said, twenty-seven to three? Something like that.

Once I'm seated inside him, I place my hands behind his knees and lift his hips off the bed a little, giving me the right angle to hit his prostate. I shudder as I remember what he did to me. I swear, if your partner hits it just right, nothing in the world feels as good, but if they hit it wrong, the pain is enough to make you want to swear off sex forever. He hit it wrong, that one time. Tentatively, I rock my hips forward, pushing into the wall of his rectum. I hit it right.

His claws dig into my quilt as he arches his back, a high, breathless whine escaping between slightly parted lips. I grind a little harder, forcing a shout out of him, and he spreads his wings against the bed, slowly opening and closing them, because it's impossible to hold still. I back off, teasing that bundle of nerves until he's writhing and whimpering.

"Please," he gasps. "Irra, please." The sight of this Wolf, the same beast that has raped me twice - three times? - the sight of him helpless and begging fills me with a dark pleasure. If he's pleading now, what is he going to do after I keep him on the edge of orgasm all night long? Kill me, probably. I rub hard across his prostate and then grind into him, letting go of one leg to reach up and pump his dick. He comes with a scream this time, not a howl, and I can feel his muscles squeezing me. I clench my teeth and sink deep into him, reveling in his heat, if only for a moment. Vrash pounds on the wall again.

"I'll call the fuckin' manager, Irra!" he shouts. "Knock it off." I ache, from tip to balls, needing to come, but he has what he wanted, and I don't want to piss him off by continuing to fuck him. I pull out and step away, the air cold against my damp, throbbing dick. I watch the Wolf, wishing he would just leave now, but he continues to lie on my bed, his creamy gold stomach and chest fur beaded by strings of pearly semen. After a moment, he looks over at me.

"You ever tell anyone about this," he says quietly, "and I will make sure you are still screaming when I start to eat you. Got it?"

"As if I would want anyone to know," I reply. His cold gold eyes slide from my face down to my crotch and I realize that I'm absently stroking my aching balls. I drop my hands to my sides. He grins, and the only word I can think of to describe that predatory smile is wolfish, which could mean anything, since he is actually a Wolf. He rolls off my bed and onto his feet, his dick softening and slipping back into its sheath. I wish mine would do the same, but it's still hard, jutting up and almost pressing back against my stomach. He walks toward me and I back away until I feel the door of my closet behind me. He grabs the door frame on either side of me and I turn my head away as he leans toward me. I feel his hot breath on the side of my face and I close my eyes.

"I guess I'm lucky you weren't bigger," he growls softly. "I couldn't believe how big you felt, sliding inside me. I never imagined it would feel so good." I swallow hard. "Now that I know, you can bet next year's antler's that I'll be back." I choke on something between a moan and a sob. His hand leaves the door frame and slides through my hair, his claws tickling as he runs his hand down my neck. "You did good, Irra," he whispers, his muzzle grazing the hollow behind my jaw, his voice rolling across my skin as he speaks, "and I'm going to show you how much I appreciate it." He licks the edge of my jaw, then lowers his head, licking at the hollow of my throat, his tongue caressing first one nipple, then the other, before he licks down my stomach and drags his tongue across the head of my dick. I stiffen and press myself back against the closet door.

"Don't," I whisper, but as his long tongue snakes around my aching flesh, hot, wet, stroking me from base to tip, I give up arguing and just close my eyes. I feel lips close around the head and I try not to picture those horrible fangs, so close to my dick, but he's careful and I don't feel a single tooth touch me. He sucks gently, his tongue lapping at the head, and I groan, my hands sliding thought his hair before I realize what I'm doing. He wraps a hand around me and begins to stroke my shaft. I cry out and come hard, but he doesn't pull away, he doesn't spit it out. He swallows fast, and continues to lick the tip, as if wanting more, even as I start to grow soft and slip back into my sheath.

"You taste good," he says with a rumbling chuckle. I keep my eyes shut, listening as he walks away, his feathers whispering across each other as he heads out into the hall. I hear him in the bathroom, the creak of leather, the rustle of paper, and then he comes back, grabbing my hand and pressing a wad of cash into it. "Pay your rent," he tells me. "I don't want to have to come looking for you if you get evicted." Then he leaves. I hear the door shut behind him, and after a moment I head out and lock it. I walk to the TV and shove the money into the flower pot, then take a seat on the edge of the sofa, staring blankly at the screen, until a sudden roar of noise draws my attention. The Rams have intercepted a pass. I watch as the time ticks down to zero, game over, but for the tight end, ball held to his chest, racing up the field, dodging blocks and leaping over Panthers, finally flopping down in the end zone. The score changes, twenty-seven to thirty-one, Rams win. I snort and turn it off, then toss the remote on the cushion beside me before standing up and heading in to take another shower. I stink like Wolf.