Wanting You

Derek Souza woke up in a cold sweat, cool air licking his feverish skin as the sheets pooled around his hips. He wasn’t quite sure what had woken him—the soft wind outside, a creak in the age-old floorboards maybe, the scrape of nude tree branches against the siding from billowing in the wind, or maybe it was his own disruption, a jerk from his dreams or he hit his hand on something while he tossed about—but, as he drank in the cool night air eagerly, his sluggish brain’s cogs turned fiercely, rust falling away. It normally wasn't so blisteringly hot in his room, especially not in New York, but it was nearly stifling, a heavy, wet humidity that pressed in on all sides and made his lungs work double-time.

He kicked away his sheets, intending to go back to sleep once he cooled down, but froze as the fabric caught on something hard between his thighs. Why hadn’t he noticed his erection, straining blatantly against his shorts, as though ready for a tight little blonde to sink onto it? At the errant thought of a familiar blonde, his cock spasmed, wavering through the air as it throbbed eagerly. Twisting his fingers into claws against the mattress, he tried to pick out the dream that had sent him sweaty and unbelievably hard.

Someone was kissing him, moaning into his mouth, he remembered, little hands running up and down his chest, into his hair, tugging painfully, swollen wet heat grinding down against his cock, so hot and undeniably soaked, slicking the fabric, soaking through it.

“Derek,” the girl had moaned so softly, and his cock throbbed, aching to slide into her tight cunt, to take her, to fuck her brains out and taste her pretty pink nipples, watch her half-lidded eyes prickle with pleasurable tears. He’d latched onto her mouth, swiping his tongue in, sucking away her moans as he tugged on her tongue, sucking the appendage between his teeth tenderly. Her hands drifted down, fumbling with his shorts and, finally, his cock was free. Veins rolled up the sides, swollen with blood, the head leaking precum  down the sides, a red-purple color. Then, carefully, she pulled away, rolled back onto her heels and wrapped her tiny, delicate fingers around the largest part of his shaft.

The tip of his cockhead brushed her cunt, once, twice, as she tried to slip it inside. Gently, so as not to frighten her, he held his cock up while she sank down. Her eyes went wide, her lips swollen and redder than rubies, her nipples flushed and peaked on her breasts, as she inched down a bit farther. Once the head was in with a little pop, she lifted her head and smiled shakily down at him, dewy-eyed and biting her lip in pain.

She sat on his cock for a very long, still time, her muscles clenching rhythmically around him, and he clenched his teeth together to keep from thrusting furiously into her. Moonlight spilled across her features, illuminating her familiar face. Strawberry-blonde curls, big baby blue eyes, rosy lips, a tiny nose, and freckles. Lots of freckles; in fact, they were everywhere on her body, not just her face.

“Derek,” she murmured and bent her head to kiss him, wincing at the pain.

His cock rubbed against her insides.

“Chloe,” he said.

In real life however, his cock was deflating, and he slumped, exhausted against his rumpled sheets, watching the sticky cum gleam on his stomach. He glared down, defeated, and then wiped the cum away with the edge of his sheets, off his fingers. When he rose, kicking off his shorts and wiping away the sweat on his thighs, he decided to sleep nude. Better than having another “incident”, he told himself firmly.

Once he was undressed, he curled up on the bed and fell back asleep, despite the humidity and the dry scratching of the branches against the siding of the house.

The next morning, Derek found himself sitting on the other side of the tiny island, eating his cereal one Cheerio at a time while he avoided Chloe’s innocent eyes. If he looked at her, he’d think of the dream, wet eyes glazed with pleasure, and things would surely go downhill from there. What would Lauren say if he attacked her precious, little niece and fucked her brains out? 

The turtleneck borrowed from Tori hung loose on Chloe’s delicate frame and her tights hugged her long, skinny legs. He never noticed how small she was, shadows on her wrists, her rain-basin collarbone, hipbones  protruding through the tight fabric of her tights; her tiny hands were skeletal almost, so far from his huge hands. He choked a bit as he realized how hard he was, filling his jeans painfully. He remembered, faintly, something Rae had told Chloe, about really tall guys liking tiny girls, and now, as he stared at her bowed head, the heart-shaped swell of her ass as she faced away from him, he realized that their size difference only further turned him on.

He bit his lips hard enough to draw blood and shakily contemplated standing but decided against it. The last thing he needed, as a teenage boy with the over-heightened sex drive of a werewolf, was the girl of his dreams seeing him with a hard on.

“It seems like it’ll be a nice day,” Chloe said offhandedly, breaking the silence as she spread butter on a piece of toast, licking away the butter that got on her fingers with the flat of her pink little tongue and he’d be damned if it didn't make him even harder, his cock pressing against the seam of the crotch of his jeans. He clenched his hand around the fork, fiercely, as she finally turned to him, licking a little piece of butter from the edge of her wrist bone.

“Derek, the fork,” she said, eyes locked on his hand in surprise, although a tinge of pink colored her cream cheeks.

They glanced down together and found the poor utensil hanging in two pieces, his hand slightly bloody from where the ragged ends had pinched the skin.

“You okay?” She reached across the smooth stone island and touched his forearm; his cock strained against the confines of his jeans, truly painful now, and precum oozed out, leaking through his underwear, making a wet spot on his jeans.

“Sorry,” he muttered as he opened his fist and noticed the veins bulging out of his skin. He felt feverish and sweaty, his already shower-wet hair getting even wetter and sticking to his skin, dripping down his spine.

“You don't look okay,” she told him quietly, ripping off a hunk of her toast and picking at the flakes of crust.

Opening his mouth, Derek debated his response. Could he lie and say it was just really hot? No, she wasn't even slightly pink with heat. That time for Change? No, that had been last week, he remembered because Chloe had been on her period and looked so embarrassed when he smelt the blood and offered his sweatshirt when she leaked in her favorite pajama pants to wear when he Changed. “I'm—” he began but the breath was knocked out of him when he smelt it. Musky, tangy, and wet, so wet. He glanced into her eyes and her cheeks turned a darker shade of pink. The musky scent strengthened. When he looked down, his fingers nearly had gauged four huge cracks with the pressure of his hand grabbing the island, and he took a breathe to calm himself down.

“Is it that time?” Chloe asked lightly, setting down the uneaten toast.

Derek shook his head, unable to help the way his nostrils flared to inhale more that smell. Christ, it was divine, mouthwatering, so hot and wet, sticky. The thought froze in his brain, locked like a deer in the headlights as he realized he  was, in fact, familiar with it. It was the same smell his room reeked of after last night’s dream, with Chloe bouncing on his cock and gasping, shivering, her little mouth open in short moans, choked off by every thrust into her tight pussy.

It was the smell of sex. Or, more precisely, arousal. He couldn't hear anything over the roar of blood in his ears, couldn't even begin to make out the words Chloe’s mouth was forming, a panicked look all over her face. It wasn't until a sharp pain wove through the haze of lust that he noticed she was scrambling out of her chair, frantically calling his name. Normally, he would've been annoyed, maybe angry at anyone breaking his train of thought,  but her saying his name, caressing every inch of his mind like a silky tongue, only added fuel to his raging fire, or, in this case, erection.

“Oh my god, Derek!” Chloe shrieked as she struggled to slide his chair back.

“What happened?” Lauren’s voice sounded far too close and that shook Derek awake.

“I-I…he just…it broke off!”

Broke off what? He squinted down at his left hand. Nothing. Then he looked at his right hand and something in his brain went wild with surprise and panic. How could he have not felt the huge chunk of stone now sitting, crumbled, in his hand? His hand was bright red, skin flushed with blood zooming beneath the surface like the site of a slap; his fingers throbbed as he took in the torn skin on his fingertips, like little callouses after working outside for so long. In fact, it looked like popped callouses, pieces of transparent white skin hanging around the wounds.

“Damn,” he said once he found his voice, albeit raspier and huskier than he would have liked and he saw Chloe’s cheeks turn cherry-red, setting off the creamy color of her heaving chest, her eyes glittering sapphires. The smell of her arousal was overpowering and he took a huge whiff, disguising it as a breath, and fought back the shudder that threatened to tiptoe down his spine.

He met Chloe’s wide eyes and gave her a little smile. Her face went even redder. ‘Yeah,’ he thought, managing that little crooked smile that Chloe loved behind Lauren’s back, ‘I know.’

Kit told him he was lucky. Derek couldn't disagree, if he had to be completely honest because 1) he didn't break any bones in his hand, 2) he found out Chloe was, at the least, lusting for him and 3) he was finally left alone. Lauren had decided to go grocery shopping and dragged Chloe along, which left him alone in the big, lonely house. Since Lauren didn't like driving, Kit had to take them. Tori and Simon were off with their significant others on dates in town, so it was just Derek in the house.

Alone.

He decided to do some laundry and started for his room. Laundry had him thinking about Chloe, and reminded him of the smell of her arousal. His dick sprang to life and, quickly stealing a glance around, saw no one around. No Tori to mock him about getting a hard on,  no Lauren breathing down his neck, and, most importantly, no Chloe to make his situation even worse. He began to tiptoe upstairs before he remembered that everyone was gone and jogged up the stairs, cock huge and swollen and sensitive in his jeans. He’d never been inside Chloe’s room, and now he was sneaking inside…to steal a pair of panties. Pathetic, he knew, but he couldn’t get the image of her cunt dripping in them, soaking them, maybe she even rubbed her clit in them, thrumming with energy as she mewled and gasped.

Scowling at his hard cock, he opened the door to her room, assaulted with her sweet, sweet smell. Her room was a chaotic mess of strewn clothes—bras, t-shirts, skirts, pajama pants—and he crouched down, scooping up a bra. She was a sweet, succulent handful at 32 B. He growled softly to himself and stepped around the mounds of crumpled clothing, drawing closer and closer to the thickest smell of her arousal: the closet. He licked his dry lips, parched, and pulled open the doors. Her smell assaulted him, thick and over powering. The white laundry hamper stood next to her shoes and right on top of the mounds of dirty clothes, jeans and t-shirts and sweatshirts and socks and panties, was a pair of still wet panties, with little hearts all over them. He had to admit, it was cute, the innocent designs all over her bikini-cut underwear but he thought of her cunt all over and suddenly, it wasn’t innocent anymore.

His hand was shaking as he picked it up, his thumb on the crotch of the panties. Slick, wet juices gleamed.

He turned tail and snuck out, his heart pounding loud in his ears. So sure he’d be caught, he stuffed the panties into his pocket, and high-tailed it to his room. The soft purr of the van’s engine sent his heart pounding double time, making a cold sweat break out across his back. The car doors slammed; footsteps puttered; and then there was conversation.

“I’ll call Simon,” Kit told them, already whipping out his flipphone.

The smell of pizza assault Derek’s sensitive nose. He opened the door to his bedroom, withdrew the panties, and held them to his nose. After a huge whiff, he stuck them into the gap between the wall and his bed and then headed downstairs, head swimming with Chloe’s scent, his jeans almost painfully tight.

“Hey, come help us,” Chloe said, and the sound of her voice made his cock even harder.

Shit, he thought dimly as he walked closer, barefoot. Belatedly, he realized smelling her panties before heading out probably wasn't the best idea, but he shrugged it off. His sweatshirt covered his bulging cock, so he was good until he could cum all over his hand, smelling Chloe’s wet panties. 

He gritted his teeth against the new surge of heat in his crotch and gave the little dewy-eyed blonde a little smile (her favorite, she’d told him), the crooked one. She relaxed against the car door and held it open while he squeezed into the backseat and maneuvered the hot cardboard boxes into his arms. The heat reminded him of last night, and the dream, and he nearly dropped the boxes all over his bare feet and the gravel.

“I’ll get the door,” she said, light as a breeze, and darted down the walkway, flip flops clapping with every step; he followed closely behind.

From this distance, he could see the swing of her hips and the pantyline on her yoga pants as he walked along briskly, his arms full of cardboard. Concentrate, he told himself, grinding his teeth against the sight of her backside, concentrate on the pizza. Jesus, could they have cooled it down a little? It feels like my arms around being burnt extra crispy.

Chloe leaned against the door, holding it open with her hip and the screen door with her elbow. The angle was delicious but he forced himself to keep his eyes in front, so his cock wouldn’t explode through his jeans, and marched straight to the kitchen, the little blonde on his heels. The door banged shut behind them. Grateful to be unloaded from the pizzas, he inspected his arms for burns but only saw a slight red tinge. Nothing major. He sighed and unclenched his jaw, relaxing. 

“So,” she said, touching his shoulder blade gently, shyly, as though she were afraid he’d break. Maybe his dick would. 

He shifted, his cock aching now, rubbing against the seam of his jeans. His pulse drummed in his ears as she bumped him with her hip on the way to grab some paper plates.

“We have cheese, pepperoni, and supreme. Which one do you want?” She was too short so she stood on her tiptoes and peered at the boxes.

He slid in behind her and, holding his breath, tentatively placed his hands on her hips. In an instant, she froze, an Chloe-sized block of ice, but her cheeks flushed and the smell of arousal rushed at him.

Derek gritted his teeth against the urge to rut against her like an animal. “What do I want?” he murmured, pressing his chin against the top of her head; she rocked slightly, shifting her weight, and he hissed in surprise when she rubbed up against his hard on. For a long minute, neither of them breathed.

“D-Der—”she mewled, pressing her ass against him and he squeezed her breasts through her shirt; her nipples poked out against the flimsy material of her bra.

Christ, he was so hard.  

Abruptly, the front door crashed open and he shuffled away. Shame washed over him at taking advantage of such an innocent girl and he leaned against the counter for support.

“Shit,” he gasped out, his voice strained, “I’m so…fucking hell, Chlo. I’m so—sorry. I know—I’ just gonna go. Fuck.”

She had this wide-eyed look as he backed away.  

You stupid piece of shit. How could you do that to her? Force yourself on her like that? I thought you were a-a gentleman, at least in that sense! Managing to scramble up the stairs without falling, he nearly sprinted to his room. He eased into it and closed the door firmly behind him. Satisfied with his isolation, he made a beeline to the bathroom, his cock straining; his fingers shook as he struggled to get the zipper down, his cock huge and hot. Once he managed to get his jeans off, he found he was tense, coiled tight. 

The water ran, making the bathroom muggy, while he fished out the panties. A wet spot soiled the front of his shorts, and his stomach clenched as he lifted the panties to his nose and inhaled, wrapping his fingers around his erection. The low groan that bubbled out of his throat was low, but loud enough that it reverberated around the room. His cock spasmed. Her smell was musky and hot, making his cock ache and throb. Experimentally, he licked the crotch. His hand was fast, jerking his cock off at a pace so fast it was a blur, clenching his teeth to keep quiet, but as he got closer and closer, he found himself grunting her name. “Fuck,” he moaned, dropping the panties onto the floor, and stroked with abandon, head thrown back in pleasure. His muscles clenched and unclenched, frantically as he thought of Chloe, sliding her yoga pants down her legs, her little mewls music to his ears, revealing that heart-shaped ass and cute little panties with  rainbows or cats or hearts, anything innocent. He was so close, he could taste blood on his tongue. 

He grabbed the panties and pressed them into his mouth, muffling his loud scream as he came, his cock pulsing and bobbing, thick white ropes of cum all over his chest, his face, sticky and musky and hot, his eyes rolling back in his skull, hips arched off the cool lie of the toilet. His orgasm rolled through him in harsh waves, cutting off his breath and making his cock spasm. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he choked out when he had enough oxygen to speak. Another string of cum hit him in the face. “Chloe,” he whimpered, letting go of his cock as the strings slowed to a steady bubble, a trickle really. 

Sighing to himself, he sat upright and slid into the shower, completely unaware of the slightly ajar bathroom door behind him and the stunned blonde beyond it.