Just Any Other Day | By : SamHill Category: Twilight Series > Het Views: 12808 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0 |
Disclaimer: I do not own Twilight or make any money from this story. |
Author: Faery Queen
Title: Just Any Other Day
Series: Twilight
Pairing: Jacob/Renesmee (older)
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Borderline Beast.
A/N: If you haven’t read the series, this won’t make sense at all. Plus, this story hasn’t been Beta’d… at all!! Please be kind and take that into account when you read it. If you’d like the chance to stretch those Beta fingers, let me know. My email is in my profile.
Just Any Other Day
He growled low in his throat - the sound very reminiscent of what he would make when he was in his wolf form - and she found herself weak in the knees. The feral gleam in his eyes did nothing to steady her erratically beating heart and she could feel her stomach quiver as he stalked closer. He did it again, the rumbling sound forcing its way past too-human vocal cords, and when his fist clenched in her hair, her body jerked. Eyes wide with horror, she stared back at him guiltily.
"I didn't think you'd actually come without a single touch," he whispered darkly before stealing her breath away in punishing kiss.
"It wasn't a fair fight," she tried to point out between panting breaths. "You did that thing, with your voice, and then you, you..." Her accusations died on her lips as his fingers curled tighter, pulling her head back so that eyes of onyx could drink in the young woman’s needy expression - and there would be no doubt in anyone’s mind that that was exactly how she looked right then.
He was able to reduce her to nothing but a mass of quivering flesh with only a hooded look, and that's even before she take into account what he is. Walker. Skinwalker. Shapeshifter. The names meant nothing when confronted with the beauty of his inner wolf. Not, mind, a werewolf, but a true wolf. With silken fur of a deep reddish-brown and dark eyes that saw everything. Knew everything.
"I know what you're thinking," he muttered against the base of her throat. "And it's positively dirty."
His voice got hot and raw and raspy when he said that last word and she shivered in response. "Fuck," she all but whimpered.
"Hmm, but not the way you're thinking. At least," he added, pulling back to meet her gaze once more, "not yet. But I will have you, on all fours and howling... While you're taking it like the good little bitch I know you can be."
"Oh gods," she whispered, and her eyes fell shut as his hand slipped between them, the strong, calloused fingers finding their way past the waistband of her jean skirt. By the time he was two fingers deep inside her, she was already there, on the edge again, his darkly worded promise burning bright in her mind’s eye.
“Beg,” he growled, and she was only too happy to oblige.
“Please. Please...”
“Please what?” He wanted her to say the words so that there was no mistaking her consent, her willingness to let him have her.
“Touch me! Oh god, please, fuck, anything! Just touch me before I die.”
His reaction was instantaneous. In one fluid movement, he had her slammed up against the wall, one hand rucking up her skirt while the other tore through the fine material of her t-shirt. She didn’t need his prompt to lift her right leg and curve it around his hip, but she spared a second to send up a quick thankful prayer that she was tall enough to do this without feeling utterly ridiculous.
“I don’t want to hurt you,” he breathed against her suddenly burning flesh.
She registered his words and understood them to be a thinly veiled question beneath an almost blatant lie. “Do it,” she replied.
Her teeth gripped her full bottom lip, threatening to tear through the delicate skin as he slammed home in a single thrust. She was relieved that at least this time he was there, buried to the hilt inside her, when she came once more.
He wasn’t against using her even as she sagged back against the wall bonelessly. Every thrust lifted her onto the toes of the only foot still touching the ground. The grip he had on her hips would leave marks, something she was counting on, and she could feel him so deep, so hard, she was almost positive that he was bruising her from the inside out.
There were tears leaking from the corners of her eyes; not tears of pain, but tears of release, of pure, unadulterated pleasure, and he lapped them up with a tongue that was rougher than a human’s should be. The heat of him, unnaturally high because of his inhuman side, made it impossible for her to come down from the bliss she was still wading in, but she couldn’t find it in her to care.
When his mouth attacked hers once more, the kiss was brutal. He was clearly stating not only his dominance but just how much he owned her, body and soul. One last thrust and his body went rigid with the exception of the infinitesimal jerks that signaled his own release and she felt the wet heat of him flood her insides. The only other outward signs of his orgasm were the rumbling growls that sifted through her hair and into her ears. He had overwhelmed every single one of her senses and this last push drove her into the darkness of post-coitus oblivion.
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