That Night I Got Dragged Home By A Werewolf

Author's note: Hello and thanks for reading my werewolf smut. A new chapter will be released every Sunday night. BUT, you can read each chapter two days early by subscribing to my Ko-fi. And if you enjoy this story, you might also check out my other werewolf romance, here. For further updates on my writing, feel free to join my Discord. The next chapter will be released on August 25. 

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Autumn arrived early this year, smacking down any ornery temperatures in her wake and reminding the people of Pine Springs that Maine is ruled by winter. And she’d be on her way to greet us soon enough. 

The smell of smoked meat and cooking oil filled the air as I walked down First Street toward Benny’s Grill. Benny himself was standing outside next to a commercial grill flipping burgers and rotating red snappers over a propane fire. 

My mouth watered as I imagined the hot dog that awaited me, striped with ketchup and mustard and folded in a split-top roll. 

I stepped off the sidewalk and into the road to avoid a gaggle of teens dressed like dogs and cats laughing and walking by. When I hopped back onto the curb, I caught sight of my reflection in the Remys storefront window. 

The thin black lines I’d drawn for my whiskers were still exactly where I’d placed them when I left the library staff restroom. My nose was still painted a light shade of pink. And the cheap set of bunny ears I’d panicked and rush ordered from Spamazon sat fastened to the top of my head, long black hair spilling around them and drifting down past my shoulders. 

Making sure no one was watching, I spun in my white bouffant dress and checked to make sure my little poofy tail was still sewn onto the back. Check. Check. Check. Lilith the Bunny was perfectly intact, just the same as I was when I left work. 

My powder-blue heels, the same color I’d painted my nails, clicked on the sidewalk as I rejoined the crowd of folks taking part in one of our town’s most bizarre celebrations dating back centuries. 

Storefronts were decorated with paintings of pine trees and moose. A fresh lumberjack mural in the style of Paul Bunyan had been finished just yesterday on the exposed brick wall of Bangor National Bank. The lumberjack overlooked Longfellow Park, which the town had spent a few thousand dollars cleaning up for the festival. 

I dodged left to avoid a few screaming toddlers dressed as raccoons running around their mother as she held ice cream cones and looked for a place where they could all sit. 

Getting her attention, I pointed over at Longfellow Park and said, “I see a bench free over by the swings.” 

Her eyes widened as she sighed in relief and mouthed, “Thank you,” maneuvering her noisy little trash pandas across the street that’d been closed to traffic. 

“Look! A bunny! She’s a bunny! Can I be a bunny?” one of the kids asked, turning back and taking notice of me. 

The mother glanced over with a smile and said, “Maybe next year, Kait. I bet she’s been planning her costume for months. Now c’mon. Let’s sit down and eat these before they melt.” 

A surge of joy and euphoria swept through me as I stifled a giggle and a joyful little dance. 

She, I thought. They called me ‘she.’ 

That was slowly growing more common here in Pine Springs, and it only made my evening all the more exciting. 

My stomach grumbled, and I soon turned back toward my initial mission of getting a couple red snappers and a beer from Benny’s. 

The smell of grilled beef and pork flooded my nostrils, and I honest-to-god licked my lips. A pair of crows cawed and flew down into the street, picking at the remnants of an abandoned popcorn bag from Blue Star Cinema. 

“Ugh, being hungry is for the birds,” I mumbled, feeling a pang of emptiness in my stomach as it growled again. 

I chuckled at my awful joke and got in line behind a husband and wife dressed as a buck and a doe. His antlers were a little crooked and appeared to be made from paper towel rolls. 

He actually made his costume, I thought, looking it over. He’d sewn together some thin brown and white fabric to make an oversized onesie but had chosen to forgo a tail. Ironically, the tail was the only part of my costume I’d made, bunching up a wad of lace and sewing it to an old dress with WAY too many threads. 

“And I only poked myself twice,” I muttered. 

The line moved quickly as I found myself facing Benny Nelson, a sweaty, heavy-set man in a pair of overalls with a Boston Blue Sox baseball cap covering his thinning hair. He ran the town’s main greasy spoon and was directly responsible for the 20 pounds I’d gained since moving to Pine Springs. 

A worn yellow awning with the words “Benny’s Grill” painted on it covered the glass front door of his restaurant. I came in to have lunch on Wednesdays and usually brought a book to read at the counter while I ate. Sometimes we’d chat about literature. Benny proved that appearances can often be deceiving and was a die-hard fan of writers like Agatha Christie and Jane Austen.

His brown eyes found me as I stepped up close to the grill. 

“Evening, Lil! That’s a wicked cute costume,” he said. 

I giggled.

“Thanks. But it’s nothing compared to your beaver getup. You look like you’re ready to dam up the Penobscot,” I said. 

In truth, the fry cook had only slapped on some oversized plastic teeth and hung a spray-painted cardboard beaver tail from a thin rope tied around his waist. But that was the beauty of Wylde Night. Everyone in town dressed up as animals however they could. On the walk over from the library, I even saw a grandma with tiger facepaint being pushed in a wheelchair by one of her grandkids. 

“Ha! You’re a sweet kid. Most of the brats who come through have given me shit about it,” he chuckled. 

Some fat dripped from a couple of the burgers, and crisp yellow flames shot up to singe the beef. 

“Kid? C’mon, Benny,” I laughed. “I’m 25. I pay taxes. I work full-time. And drive a shitty car. That all sounds pretty adult to me.” 

He sneered. 

“Aw, don’t think nothin’ of it, bub. Once you pass 60, almost everyone turns into a kid,” he said, adding some slices of cheese to a couple of the burgers and waiting for them to melt. 

Before I could retort, someone bumped into my shoulder on his way toward the restaurant door. 

“Whoops. Sorry, sir,” a cruel voice called. 

Ah, there it goes. All the joy of being called “she” earlier flushed down the drain by a single asshole. Benny’s older brother, Wilson, was the primary reason I only ate at the grill on Wednesdays, his day off. 

Wilson was taller and thinner than Benny. He’d somehow retained almost all his hair and was usually seen wearing khaki shorts and tank tops. Unlike Benny, who lived every day with a heart of gold, his brother tended to walk around town looking like he spent every minute of every day being sprayed by a skunk. I never saw the man smile aside from the spiteful sneers he passed my way after intentionally calling me “sir.” 

He’d find any chance he could to slip that into a sentence. Wilson didn’t care how unnatural it sounded, either. With him, the cruelty was the point. He wanted me to know that I’d never be a woman in his eyes. And while I wanted to mash his face down into the grill for all the hell he caused me, I instead ignored him. 

They say ignoring bullies who are starved for attention is the best way to get revenge, but it’s never as satisfying or relieving as they make it sound. I always wind up pissed, and the bully usually walks away laughing. 

Benny snapped to and whipped his spatula around, smacking Wilson in the elbow with it. Hot grease went dripping down that fucker’s arm, and he growled and grimaced. 

“Hey! That ain’t no way to talk to a lady, Wil. Now get those buns inside and grab me another propane tank. We’ve got a whole line of animals to feed,” the fry cook yelled. 

Before he slunk through the front door with the burger buns he’d been holding, Wilson spat at the ground in front of my feet. 

We both heard the older brother whisper, “Fucking trannie,” before he vanished from sight. 

That was a fresh dagger to my chest, and part of me wanted to spin around and run back to my apartment. Alan wouldn’t be home for hours, and I could just sit and watch Howl’s Moving Castle and hold my BLÅHAJ while I waited for these shitty feelings of inadequacy to fade. 

Dysphoria’s a bitch who visits often and doesn’t take the hint that he’s overstayed his welcome. Wishing him away only seems to make things worse as he spreads his legs across the couch and reminds you of every single moment the world tells you that you ain’t right. 

“I’m sorry about him, Lilith. I can’t control the words that come out of his mouth. Wish I could, but I can’t,” Benny said. “What can I get you this evening? You want burgers or snappers?”

The urge to flee back to the empty library or home to my shitty apartment grew wild, spreading through my noggin like a rapid black mold. And just before I sighed and left the food line, a small tug on my dress brought me back to reality. 

“Excuse me, miss?” a child called from down below.

Turning, I spotted a familiar raccoon with chocolate ice cream stained across both her cheeks. 

“Y — yeah?” I asked, trying to force my throat back open and sound normal. No, I wasn’t about to cry. Why do you ask?

“Can you tell me where you got your bunny ears?” the kid asked. “I think I want to be one for Halloween.” 

I stood there flummoxed, noticing her tiny hand still hadn’t let go of my dress yet like she was determined to hold my attention until I shared the sacred knowledge of this treasure’s origin. 

Looking up, I saw the mother holding her other child, also covered in chocolate ice cream stains, waving at us with a smile. 

A small spark of hope was relit somewhere in my heart, and I just huffed, shaking my head. 

“They’re, um, from Spamazon. I think I just searched for ‘rabbit ears costume,’ and these were the first option.” 

The kid’s eyes widened. 

“Did they come in other colors?” the kid, who couldn’t have been more than four, asked. “Because I want some red ones.” 

She didn’t seem to have any sense of stranger danger, so long as the individual she was talking to was dressed like a cute animal. The ears I’d ordered were white, but I thought I remembered seeing other colors. 

“They had some different colors. I think red might have been on there, but I’m not sure. Sorry.” 

The little raccoon’s face lit up with a huge smile. 

“Okay, thanks, miss! Bye!” she yelled, running back to her mother. “Mommy! She said they had red ones on Spamazon! Can we get them?”

Putting aside the fact that those weren’t my exact words, I turned back to Benny with a renewed smile on my face. My faith in humanity was restored by about 12%, just enough to stick it out and enjoy the rest of Wylde Night. 

“Cute kid,” Benny said, chuckling and flipping a few more burgers on the top row of the grill. More smoke drifted up into the air, and behind me, the line had doubled, filled with people dressed as moose, lions, and even a lobster. 

“Yeah, see, that’s what an ACTUAL kid looks like,” I chided the cook. “I know it’s been 3,000 years since you were one, but —” 

He interrupted me. 

“Har har. Do you want some snappahs or not, Lil? This is the food line, not the joke line, bub.” 

I rolled my eyes and held up two fingers. 

“Enjoy!” Benny said, handing me two red hot dogs exactly the way I liked them on a white paper plate. “Good luck not staining your dress.” 

Laughing and grabbing a can of beer from a nearby ice chest, or “chilly bin,” as I’d seen a Kiwi call it on Reddit, I went to look for a place to sit and eat. 

Rounding a corner and coming to the town square, I found a dozen picnic tables had been set up. A red and blue bouncy house full of kids (and one unfortunate adult) blocked most of Eastern Avenue. On the opposite side of the square, a small stage had been constructed for whatever local band they’d hired for the Wyld Night concert. 

All around me stood picnic tables full of costumed families enjoying a beautiful sunset and chilly evening breeze. Bug zappers were hard at work hanging from the awning of a large blue tent that’d been erected to protect party games in case of rain. Thankfully, there wasn’t a cloud in the sky. 

I spotted skee ball, some sort of fishing game with mechanical plastic fish swimming around an inflatable pool, a ring toss booth, and even a dunk tank off to the side with a guy around my age dressed in a full cartoon leopard fursuit. 

Jack Rossler, the Pine Springs High School football coach, was redfaced and frustrated, trying to sink the leopard. But every throw he set loose missed the dunk button by a few inches. 

“Oh come on, Coach! Did they teach you to throw like that at Dartmouth? I thought you were a rookie of the year quarterback in ‘79?” 

Another missed throw had the coach angrily grabbing his wallet and plopping another $5 on the counter before being handed a basket of red rubber balls to throw. 

His face was dripping with sweat. 

“Hope you have an oxygen tank in that stupid costume, Pete because you’re about to take a dive!” Jack bellowed before missing another throw. 

“Oh, don’t you worry about me, Coach. I can hold my breath. Of course, with the way you’re throwing, I won’t need to.” 

I found an empty seat at one picnic table as every eye was turned toward the dunk tank. I ate my food and noticed everyone was eager to see whether that leopard was gonna swim. I didn’t have anything against Pete. He was a chill guy and worked the afternoon shift at Reggie’s Pizza a few streets over. His personality basically boiled down to being a furry and being a stoner in that order. 

Pete basically used his library card to get manga and comics delivered via interlibrary loans. I always liked when he came into the library, and he’d tell me about what he was reading. The latest trade paperback from X-Men or another volume of Jujutsu Kaisen. He never had an issue with me transitioning and got on board right away. 

His exact words to my coming out were, “That’s wicked cool, Lilith. Do you know if the volume of Uncanny X-Men I ordered came in yet?”

After five baskets of balls and at least $50 raised for the Pine Springs Animal Shelter, Coach Rossler finally nailed the target and sent Pete into the tank below. He spun and pumped his fists into the air as everyone in the square cheered and applauded like he’d just won an Olympic medal. 

I snorted, threw my trash away, and walked up to the dunk tank as a black and gold leopard climbed out of the water and sat back on his platform. 

“Your suit gonna be okay, Pete?” I asked. 

He waved a paw at me and said, “Yeah, Lil, it’ll be fine. This is just a spare suit I designed to get wet. I’ve got a guy over in Bangor who will dry clean it for me.” 

I nodded. 

“Need a beer or anything before I go?” I asked. 

He shook his giant fuzzy animal head. 

“Nah, I’m good. Ate before I climbed in here. You go enjoy the event. Cute bunny costume, by the way.” 

I smiled and nodded at him. 

“Thanks. I hope you have fun tonight. I think there’s a whole line of your former high school teachers ready to take their shot at you.”

“Eh, I was a bit of a shithead back then. I’m sure they’ll earn every dunk they get, especially Mrs. Whizzler.” 

I flinched at that name. Pete had only told me once what he did to piss her off in 10th grade, and I still shivered remembering it. 

Being a rural librarian didn’t exactly pay much, but I had good health insurance through the state that covered things like my hormones and bloodwork. Still, I pulled out $5 and played a round of ring toss, walking away with a little candy bracelet as a prize. 

Passing a walking tour of historical buildings run by the head of the Piscataquis County Historical Society, I heard an older woman named Regina Bells talking to a group of mostly senior citizens. 

“And this here is the Wylde Postal Office, constructed in 1812. Lord Jameson Wylde arrived in Portland in 1799. Traveling north, he eventually made his way into what we now call Piscataquis County and helped fund this town’s beginnings. He invested heavily in the first bank and two separate mills. A decade later, Pine Springs was incorporated as an official town.” 

One of the men walking in the group slowly held up an iPad and took a photo of the aging brick building that now served as a community studio, courtesy of some federal grant the town had won to expand rural artist opportunities.

“Lord Wylde went on to build the town’s first school in 1816 and the Pine Springs Community Library in 1823. In his older years, he became obsessed with all manner of strange things like the occult and animal spirits. He told odd stories about a hidden graveyard that brought creatures back from the dead, a place he was determined to find,” the tour guide went on. “And then, in June of 1830, he went missing. Some folks said he wandered into the woods muttering to himself. Others said he skipped town and sailed back to England. But no one was ever quite sure where he ended up.” 

I walked into the art gallery, stepping on squeaky wooden floors and staring at paintings from local artists. 

And that’s why we dress up as animals on the first night of autumn to honor his legacy, I thought, stopping myself from mouthing the words. I’d heard that tour more times than I cared to admit. Most of the people in town did. 

The artwork I walked past consisted mostly of landscape portraits. Rocky sides of Mt Katahdin. The shores of Caribou Lake. The forests of Baxter State Park. I was impressed with the majority of them. Then again, I couldn’t paint to save my life. 

I turned around to find myself being sized up by a stout man who appeared to be in his late 40s or early 50s. His blue eyes looked me up and down before he said, “Well shit. I was about to wager whether you looked as good from the front as you did from the rear, but then you went and settled that question for me.” 

“Excuse me?” I asked, involuntarily pulling my arms in tight. Unease crept through my chest as this man who was dressed like a bull took another step toward me, breath smelling heavily of wine. 

“You know, if you like artwork, I have a private studio at my house I’d love to show you,” he said, offering me a hand. 

I slowly shook my head. 

“That’s okay. Maybe another time,” I practically squeaked, turning to leave, only to have my path of escape cut off by the bull. 

“Up, up, up, hold on. I know I appeared suddenly, but I promise you I’m a decent guy. My name’s Ezekiel. I really just want to get to know you. And can you blame me? Pretty girl like yourself, obviously into art? What a score. C’mon, give me a chance to change your mind,” he said, raising his hands. 

I shook my head again and tried to turn him down. My heart raced as sweat started to form around my temples. Fear arched through my chest like lightning. What should I do?

If I tell him I’m trans, will he leave me alone? I thought. What if that just makes him violent? 

Taking a step backward, I managed a shallow breath. 

“Wow. I didn’t think it was possible, but you look even cuter when you’re a little scared,” Ezekiel said, revealing a grin that said he knew exactly how I felt, and he reveled in it. 

Before I could say another word, a strong arm slipped around my shoulder and pulled me backward into the embrace of a taller woman whose hazel eyes swept from me up to Ezekiel. 

“Huh?” I stammered, shoulder pressed against her tits. 

“There you are, little Cottontail. Sorry, I’m late. I’ve been looking everywhere for you.” 

Her husky voice speaking next to my ear sent shivers down my spine, and all I could do looking up at this towering muscled goddess before me was blush and nod. Heat rushed to my cheeks and pushed out the fear in my heart. 

The woman who had one hand comfortably resting on my shoulder, pulling me in close, smelled like cinnamon and dry leaves. Her smile was warm. And on the right side of her head perched a silver porcelain wolf mask, secured with some kind of string or elastic. It hung over some of her long, wavy hair the color of tree bark. 

She rocked tight jeans and a large black tank top with the sides cut open to reveal a black sports bra and enough muscles to short-circuit a Terminator. Er — at least enough muscles to short-circuit a librarian, a librarian who, at this moment, was realizing just how thirsty she was. 

Ohhhhh fuck, I thought as Ezekiel seemed to snap out of his stupor. 

“Hey, we’re a little busy here, lady. Why don’t you find another bunny to—” he started before the stranger tucked me tightly into her grasp and brushed right by him. She didn’t pay him any mind whatsoever, escorting me outside and back to the picnic tables, most of which had been cleared away for dance space. 

A band of four middle-aged men were warming up. From the looks of it, they had a drummer, a bass player, a dude on the keyboard, and a guitarist who would be doing most of the singing. 

Looking behind us, I spotted Ezekiel stepping out of the studio with his arms crossed. His face was almost as red as the coach aiming for the dunk tank earlier.

My escort stopped in front of the stage and put herself between me and Ezekiel, effectively cutting off my view of him. 

“Relax. You’re safe with me. He can’t do shit,” she said. “I’m Mars, by the way.” 

“Lilith,” I practically whispered, still feeling like I was in a daydream whenever I stared at Mars. She had the muscles of a bodybuilder, and I wanted nothing more than for her to sling me over her shoulder and carry me back to her cave for snu snu.

My cheeks re-heated at the thought, and I attempted to scold my mind. 

Mars placed a finger under my chin and raised my eyes to hers. 

“You still with me, little Cottontail?”

I stupidly attempted to nod, forgetting where her fingers were. 

She chuckled something wicked. 

“Would it be okay if I told you that your little starstruck act is wicked cute?” she asked as I felt my heart sputter and threaten to give out altogether. 

“I think any girl you called cute would be at risk of melting into a puddle,” I said. 

A much louder belly laugh. 

“Well, then I guess we should move away from that sewer grate. I’d hate to see you disappear before I got a dance or two out of you.” 

Something in my brain clicked when I recognized her words. 

“You? Me? You want to dance with me?” I asked, feeling every bit the idiot I’m sure I sounded like. 

“Would that be okay?” she asked. 

More people were beginning to gather in front of the stage, but my gaze was locked on Mars. Her eyes were wild and hungry, but I also saw nothing but control in the way she stood, despite towering over me. 

“I’d love to, but I’m kind of lousy at it,” I said, looking down at my two left feet. 

Mars stepped closer, and I got another whiff of her cinnamon lotion. 

“Well maybe you could just follow me,” she said. “You look like the kind of girl who’s good at doing what she’s told.” 

Yup. That sent my heart into a tailspin as a feverish desire overwhelmed me. I wanted to be in Mars’ arms, rubbing up against her, feeling her lips against mine. And from the look she gave me, Mars was picturing all those same things in her mind. There was just one key difference. I was sure that in her mind, she was the one doing things to me, driving me wild. 

The band’s guitarist finally spoke into a microphone. He was a tall Black man wearing a denim jacket and ballcap. 

“How are you fine people doing tonight?” he asked. 

Loud cheers from all around us erupted as people yelled things like, “Great!” and “Really good!” 

“Fantastic!” the guitarist said. “Well, my name is Caleb. Me and my friends are called The Dad Bods, and we’ll be playing a mix of classic rock covers I’m sure most of you grew up with. Any fans of Journey out there?”

The crowd erupted into cheers. 

“Lovely. We’re gonna kick things off with a little song called ‘Any Way You Want It.” 

And, true to his word, they launched into their cover, which sounded about as good as anything I’d heard over the speakers at Benny’s. 

Mars winked and stepped closer. 

“Are you okay being touched a little while we dance?” she asked. 

“Given how long it’s been since I’ve been touched by a pretty girl like you, I think it’s safe to assume you have permission to touch me however you want,” I responded with a surprising amount of honesty. 

With all the grace and strength of the apex predator she appeared to embody, Mars put a hand on each of my hips and pulled me close. I yipped. 

“If you want to play the part of the bunny running from the Big Bad Wolf, you’re going to have to watch the things you say in front of me,” Mars leaned down and whispered in my ear. 

And, again, with a brutal amount of honesty, I whispered back, “Who’s running? Maybe I’ve waited a long time to be caught by the Big Bad Wolf.”

Mars made a biting motion with her teeth and started dancing against me. I was alive for the first time in weeks. Fire built inside of me as this beautiful woman who came from literally nowhere ran her hands against my hips and then over my breasts for a moment. It wasn’t long enough to cause a scene, but we both knew what she’d done. And I was suddenly so hungry for her to do more. 

The woman in the wolf mask led me, and I followed helplessly in her charming gaze. If she swung me left, I went left. If she swung me right, I went right. And by the time we’d each had a beer or two, The Dad Bods was deep into its playlist of things like Deep Purple and CCR. 

My body wanted to be tired, as the sun set, and darkness took the dance floor with us, but instead, I found myself hungering for more of Mars. She never quite seemed to tire, at one point leaning close and asking, “Are you ready for a bigger dance move?”

What could she possibly mean? Again, though, eager to give myself over to the Big Bad Wolf, I nodded. She flashed me a wicked grin, made sure we had plenty of space, and then lifted me straight up into the air, spinning me around. 

I felt weightless in her arms. And she made this look so easy like I was nothing more than a spare pillow to her strength. I laughed, and people around us cheered and clapped. 

Then, I was back on the ground and looking up into Mars’ eyes. Her bright, golden eyes that were so inhuman I froze entirely. Was I seeing things? Her eyes were hazel earlier, right?

She lingered there with her gaze on me as if knowing exactly what I saw. And then she blinked, and her eyes were hazel once more. Static seemed to build over my arms as gooseflesh raced toward my elbows. 

“What’s the matter, little Cottaintail? Are you done dancing with me?”

Sweat ran down my forehead and back. I was suddenly flooded with pheromones I couldn’t even begin to place. I was far from a virgin, but this was the first time I’d felt so hungry for. . . for. . . whatever it was that Mars seemed to have going for her. 

Was it the alcohol? My mind was a little buzzed, but I felt otherwise in control. As control as one could feel when they’ve been dancing with someone like Mars for an hour. 

As if she could sense my desires, Mars moved her face closer to mine and said, “If you’re tired of dancing, I can think of. . . something else we can do. Would you like to go do something else? Just the two of us?”

There’s nothing I wanted more at this very moment when a red alert started blaring in my mind. And it’s not because of anything Mars had done, but rather, the situations I’ve found myself in when other girls have asked me to leave with them. 

Anxiety must have flashed across my face because Mars seemed to lower her charm and soften her voice a bit. 

“Or not. I don’t want to pressure you. We don’t have to go anywhere you don’t want to.” 

I caught my breath. 

“No, it’s not that I don’t want to. It’s that I’m worried about how you’ll react if we do.” 

Mars said nothing. 

“I’m. . . probably a bit different than other girls you’ve taken off the dance floor to a more private place.” 

My dance partner waited patiently for what I struggled to get off my chest, and fear grabbed my heart in an icy grip that knew she was going to leave as soon as I told her. 

Taking a deep breath, I said, “Mars, you’re fucking beautiful. And I’d love to run off someplace quiet with you. But before we do, you need to know that I’m trans.” 

Her expression was patient but otherwise stoic like she was waiting for more words to come. 

With a sigh, I said, “Look, you seem like the kind of woman who likes other women. And I’m a big fan. That’s the kind of woman I’d like to be someday, too. But there are people here in this town who would tell you to your face that I’m not an actual girl.”

And then Mars did something that simultaneously caught me off guard and rekindled the fires of my hearth. She buried her nose in the crook of my neck, sniffing deeply before running her tongue over my skin and lightly biting me. 

I gasped as electricity raced between us, and I was once more melting under the full weight of her raw and animalistic attraction. 

With a voice only I could hear, Mars whispered, “You smell and taste like a woman to me.”

Where I probably should have been freaked out, I was suddenly hot and bothered like I never had been before. Her magnetism and soft affirmation of my femininity aroused me in ways I couldn’t even begin to describe. 

And as I succumbed to her touch and taste, I whimpered, “Then why don’t you take me somewhere and do to me what you do with all the other girls.” 

Her warm breath and slight nibble on my ear only left me more desperate to get away from this crowd and somewhere alone with Mars. 

Fuck! I thought. I need her.

The last cicadas of the season sounded in the distance as Mars practically dragged me out of the square and away from the eyes of people who were otherwise decent. But at this very moment, I didn’t want to be decent. I wanted to be under Mars as she did filthy things to me that would burn the ears off of a nun. 

My only desire at this moment was for her to take me somewhere private and then take me herself. I wanted her to do unspeakable things to my body and coax noises from my mouth that were nothing short of primal. 

“My truck is parked a few blocks away,” she said, as we jogged up the sidewalk. There wasn’t a soul around. Everyone else was back near the stage. Without warning, Mars got in front of me and then picked me up, slinging me over her shoulder.

I laughed and gently kicked my feet. 

“What are you doing?” I snorted. 

Mars tickled the back of my legs and said, “You just seem like the kind of girl who likes being carried.” 

“How the fuck are you so strong?” I asked, admiring this view of her ass. “I know I’m not exactly a twig you keep hoisting into the air. You don’t even sound like you’re out of breath.” 

“I wouldn’t worry about me being out of my breath, little Cottontail. I actually intend to leave you breathless tonight.”  

So, when we rounded a corner and came into view of an old beat-up pickup truck, Mars set me down and pushed me against the passenger door before locking her lips with mine. 

I was beyond ready for Mars to take me as I let my instincts and desires drive. 

She deepened her kiss and scooted my ass away from the door handle as I giggled. I buried my fingers into her hair as more heat built between us. I knocked her wolf mask off and leaned down to grab it. 

“Forget it,” she said, pushing me back up against the truck. “I don’t need the mask to be the Big Bad Wolf for you.” 

Mars kissed me again, her tongue finding mine and claiming every inch of my mouth for herself. She could have it as far as I was concerned. 

Bottoms gonna bottom, am I right? I thought. 

She grabbed my hair and pulled my head back as I gasped and felt the back of my skull slowly touch her truck window. Then she kissed the side of my neck in a storm of passion that nearly melted my legs. 

When she stopped, I was breathing, heavy with desire. I needed more. I wanted this fucking dress off and her tongue on me. 

“Do you want to come home with me?” she asked. “It’s a small farm not far from here.” 

“If you keep using your tongue like that I suspect I’ll come wherever you bring me,” I hissed as she opened her truck door and let me climb inside.

This might have been the stupidest thing I ever did, but right now in this moment, I couldn’t think of anything I wanted more.