By the time I got near the river, Clarke had already stripped off his shorts and was bathing in the fresh, cool running water. I knew that the right thing to do – the respectful thing to do – at that point, would have been to announce my presence with a gentle cough or polite ‘good morning’; either that, or I should have gone away and returned when he was not naked. But the right thing to do and I have never been more than nodding acquaintances, at best. Clarke had his back to me and I crept cautiously towards him, careful not to step on any twigs, moving from tree to tree.

Finding a good vantage point, I allowed myself the wicked thrill of watching him in secret. Bending over – an action that made my heart thump in double-time – he scooped up water in cupped hands and poured it over his head. My heart was in my mouth as my eyes travelled with the water down his body, down the sinews of his neck, over his broad shoulders, down the expanse of his muscular back to trickle in rivulets over the pert, tight spheres of his ass cheeks and into the crevice between them. Presumably, the water continued downwards but I wasn’t going any further just yet. I was aware that I was being a terrible voyeur, and that if our places had been reversed, I might have been furious. But then again, werewolves have different ideas about nudity, it’s not a sexual thing to us, so no harm done.

That was a pretty flimsy justification. The idea that there was nothing sexual about the way I was staring at Clarke’s ass was obviously ridiculous, and any tenuous grasp I had on that belief was lost when he turned around. From every angle, Clarke was a beautiful specimen of maleness, every inch of him was solid masculinity. But my eyes were drawn to several particular inches, not solid yet, but unquestionably masculine.

Clarke’s head started up, as if at some sound, and I realized that sound was me walking forward, my feet once again making a decision in which my brain had had no say.

“What are you doing out here?” asked Clarke, apparently less concerned by his own nakedness than he was about me wandering about Hobton without permission.

I said nothing, but pulled the loose top I was wearing over my head, revealing my braless breasts, firm and proud before Clarke’s surprised eyes.

For a moment, it seemed to me that he might not accept this invitation. But in the next instant, the look in his eyes had shifted from surprise to desire, and his body was answering the heat in his gaze. In a few short moments, he was out of the river and up on the bank, taking me in his arms and kissing me. I responded with equal passion, hugging his hard, still wet body to me, and feeling the long length of his cock stirring against me.

Clarke’s hands slid down my bare back to rest on my hips, finding the waistband of the sweat pants I picked up after my shower. I wasn’t sure either of us was thinking straight, but I was sure we both wanted this. With gentle hands, Clarke drew my pants and underwear down my legs together, descending with them to kneel in front of me, his face close enough to feel the throbbing heat of my core. His breath tickled and tantalized the sensitive skin of my inner thighs as he stared at me.

For a few moments, we remained in that tableau as I relished the sharp anticipation of what was to come. I looked down to Clarke, and felt a quiet pride at the look of animal desire on his handsome features, his eyes glued to my core as if he had never seen anything he wanted more in his life. My hands had been hanging loosely at my sides to this point, but now I placed them on Clarke’s strong shoulders and trailed my fingertips across the warm, damp skin, up his neck to rest on his head, stroking across his scalp. I applied the lightest of pressures – more a suggestion than a demand.

Clarke seemed to waken from his stupor, though his eyes never moved, still hypnotized by the soft, crinkled lips, dewy with arousal, around which his whole world now seemed to revolve. He leaned forward and I mewed with keen arousal as his lips nestled against me, not intrusive or aggressive – not yet – just flirting with my sensitive entrance, orally caressing the hot center of my desire. His tongue stole out, flicking lightly, darting from point to point, leaving a dot of white-hot pleasure wherever it landed.

Now, I felt his hands on me again, rising up the backs of my legs, starting at my ankles, stroking past my calves, tickling the back of my knees as they passed, on along the smooth length of my thighs to land on the firm cheeks of my ass, caressing, squeezing, exploring every part of my backside. Cupping the cheeks, he drew me forward to him, pulling me toward his giving mouth and holding me as I writhed against the intense pleasure that welled up as his tongue now slipped inside me.

I clutched at Clarke’s head, drawing my nails across his scalp in aching frustration at what he was doing to me, then tugging at him, as if I wanted his whole damn head inside me. What I wanted was more, more, more; more of him, more of his amazing tongue. I wanted all of him at once to satisfy the burning and sudden lust that consumed me, even if it killed me. But Clarke was careful and slow and considered, eking out the pleasure in manageable portions, drip-feeding ecstasy into my desperate body, keeping my desire whetted to a sharp edge as his tongue, questing ever deeper, discovered new worlds of ripe pleasure within me.

“Oh, oh, oh…” I gasped as little bubbles of orgasm seemed to pop in my loins as Clarke located and attacked a particularly sensitive spot. My toes curled in the lush grass of the riverbank and I clutched at my own breasts, squeezing the firm mounds between my fingers, trying to heighten my own seething arousal.

“Ah!” Without warning, Clarke had pulled back to rub the rough side of his tongue across my clit.

My legs gave out beneath me but Clarke caught me as I crumbled to the ground, easily supporting my tumbling weight in his strong arms. He laid me out on the soft grass, silhouetted above me like a god. He stared down at me, his eyes burning with need as if I was a banquet laid out before him. My eyes traced down the muscular lines of his superb body to where his hard cock jutted out from his hips, the longest I had ever seen, waiting its turn. I rubbed the ball of my foot along its straining length and watched it leap up with urgent desire. But that desire was to be denied for at least a little longer yet as Clarke’s head descended once more and he buried his face in my burning flesh.

I groaned as his tongue went back to work, swirling in my liquid tunnel, scouring out my insides, while his lips were mashed right up against me. Sometimes he pulled back to kiss, lap and nibble at me, or tweak my clit into sharp arousal with his tongue.

His hands had now slid up my body as I undulated on the ground, discovering every curve, every crease, every contour, every dimple, every scar; wanting to know every inch of me like a blind man. His touch was gentle but firm, teasing but masculine, and a light flush sprang up across my skin wherever he went, his fingers pinching, probing, delving and stroking, lighting me up like a Christmas tree till I seemed to glow pink with arousal. Perhaps inevitably, it was on my breasts that he finally settled, his strong fingers weighing and stroking me, tweaking the nipples, then growing rougher.

The combination of this manual stimulation above and the unending tongue-lashing down below soon had me writhing helplessly against him.

I dug my nails into the ground, clawed at Clarke’s head and shoulders, and finally wrapped my legs about his head, holding him to me as his mouth took me to the pinnacle of ecstasy.

I cried out as the dam burst and a searing wave of orgasm burst through me. I threw my hips up and down, rubbing myself against his face, while he did his best to hold me steady – fighting a losing battle.

It was one of those wonderful, all-encompassing orgasms, where it feels as if your whole body is coming, erupting or flowering into a rainbow explosion of sensation. I rolled my hips in time with the spasms of my climax, finally letting my legs drop, freeing Clarke, though he continued to lap at me, stringing out my orgasm as long as he could, tending to my sated body. I just lay there, soaking up the last aftershocks and bathing in the light of an early morning, and the lightness of my heady orgasm.

As I lay there, enjoying the feel of a light breeze on my naked body, I felt Clarke begin to move up my body. His kisses had now moved from my core and were trespassing higher, up my belly, lingering on my breasts, up my neck to find my mouth. I sucked at his tongue, enjoying the wicked tang of my own juices on him, and our eyes met. To look at Clarke’s face was to see sheer perfection of male beauty, to look into his eyes was to see something else. Something that made me flutter inside my tummy and wonder at what life might have in store in the future.

It was also something that pushed aside all thoughts of exhaustion. I wanted more. Reaching between our bodies, I found the hard, long length of Clarke’s cock bouncing stiffly with arousal. There was no need for words, I simply kissed Clarke on the lips as I guided his towering erection between my legs.

We sighed together as he pushed in, thrusting into my slick wetness as easily as a hot knife through warm butter.

“Oh, Clarke…” I murmured as his hips settled against mine. I could feel him right up inside me, deeper than any man had ever gone.

“Bailey.” There was an almost surprise in his whispered response – was this really happening to him? And with a werewolf?

We kissed again, and again, neither of us feeling the need for anything more, neither of us feeling the need to move just yet. Even in this static state, I felt a breathless rush of sensation steal through me. Just the feel of him inside me, hard and so very long, was enough to set me off.

“Are you okay?” he asked. “Your face went all funny for a minute there.”

I laughed. “I think I just came again.”

“Wow,” he kissed me, “I must be good.”

I kissed him back. “Can we take it slowly. I want to feel every moment.”

And I did. As Clarke began to move inside me, it seemed to send out ripples from my center to every part of my body. These ripples of pleasure made my toes curl and my fingers tingle, I felt the bliss in the roots of my hair and at the backs of my eyes. My whole body was dappled with the sweetness of sex.

Continuing to kiss me at regular intervals, as if he could not get enough of my lips, Clarke pulled back, his cock slowly leaving me, inch by inch, till only the throbbing head remained. Then, without a breath of pause, as if it were all one continuous movement, he slid back into me at the same leisurely pace, feeding that impressive length back into my greedy hole till his hips crushed against mine, at which point, again without a beat, he began to pull out once more. I held his hips in my hands as they executed these slow, unctuous circles, moving like the pistons of some lost machine of the Industrial Revolution. In his face, I could see the strength and self-control necessary, to hold back the way he was, and yet I could see the pleasure, too, the pleasure of making it last, of relishing every caress of my clinging pussy on his hardened organ, of eking out a moment’s pleasure into long, delicious minutes.

For myself, the pleasure was exquisite. I loved being pounded to a bed, but this was something else, something sharp in its beauty, a pleasure that penetrated like a needle and yet seemed everlasting. And to have all that while looking into Clarke’s eyes made it still more special. I did not know where the sexual thrill ended and the intimacy of man and woman – a whole other kind of pleasure – began. The two mingled and created their own intensity. The fact that it was Clarke, lovely, beautiful, brave Clarke who was stirring up this wild excitement in my pleasure-wracked body, made that pleasure all the more perfect.

I don’t know if I came during that long period of achingly slow love-making. I suppose I must have, but my body was in such a state of constant pleasure that it was hard to measure it in degrees. Perhaps it was all one long, slow orgasm, drawn out to an impossible extent by Clarke’s slow, loving movements. I lost all sense of time and place as we made love there beneath the clear blue sky – there was nothing in the world but the soft grass beneath me, the gorgeous man above, and the acres of unstoppable pleasure that radiated out from me, voiding my mind so I felt like I was hearing color and seeing sensation.

As we went on, even Clarke’s iron-cast self-control began to falter. I could hear the stress in his breathing, see it in his face and the slight trembling of his limbs as he fought against the needs of his own body in his desire to pleasure me. I could not be selfish to the man who had already given me so much. I folded my arms about his neck and looped a leg over his hips, drawing him hard against me and ending that unending cycle of in and out.

“Darling, now,” I breathed as I drew him to me.

The knowledge that he was on the home straight and would soon have the reward he had long been promised and long denied, seemed to fuel Clarke with fresh strength. I felt his muscles tighten against me, and inside I felt his cock grow to still greater dimensions with a fresh rush of blood for the final push. Clarke ground his hips against me and I bit at the dark skin of his face, the pleasure inside me that had been slow and drip-fed, now seemed fiercer, like a stream widening to a torrent. Clarke’s muscles bulged as he took his weight to pull out and thrust in sharply, hard enough to smack his hips into mine.

“Yes,” I growled at the new shock of sensation, shifting up a gear. “Yes.”

Clarke began ramming into me, not aggressive but firm, knocking the wind from my lungs with each stroke, his muscular body gauging and matching my needs. I grabbed his churning hips, digging in my nails and urging him on. Wrapping my legs about his torso, I clung to him, riding him from beneath, reveling in each deep penetration of his hard cock. All those ripples of pleasure that had seemed to radiate from my core during our long love-making now seemed to return, converging on that same spot, pouring wave after wave of undulating pleasure into my frustrated pussy up to and beyond the point of endurance. My impending orgasm seemed to me like a balloon, blown up beyond its capacity, desperate to pop, yet still swelling. I lurched my body against Clarke as he fucked me harder and harder, my teeth clamped against my screaming but muffled squeals, forcing their way out as I frantically fought to claim my final climax.

Clarke cried out as, unable to hold back any longer, he exploded inside me, his long cock jetting its payload deep inside my body.

That was all I needed. The balloon burst.

I cried out violently, and Clarke continued to ride his cock in and out of me as I thrashed on the ground, caught in the throes of an unbelievable come. I suppose I must have blacked out for a moment, as I have no coherent memories. Except for pleasure. I felt every stab of ecstasy that Clarke wrought from my body.

I clung to him, wanting every last shred that he had to give, but also just wanting to touch him, to know he was there, and wanting him to share in the moment with me.