The Wolf with the Red Roses

"Happy Valentine's Day, Mr. Wolf, Sir" I smile, sipping. It is nice. "Yes, a bit."

The wolf takes my hand. "Me too. Come with me, I've made sure your roses are safe." His hand is large, strong. I like him holding mine.

I follow without question. He leads me to an alcove at the rear of the large L-shaped rec room that takes up well over half of their huge basement. My parents' entire house could fit in Andrew's basement. That's another reason I like it when Craig and I come over. There's so much space in this house. It's almost like a second home to Lulu and I now.

The alcove is accessed through heavy French doors. He opens them, leads me in, closes them behind us. It's a lot quieter in here. The walls are lined with bookcases, a gas fireplace in one corner, large rugs on the floor. Two big leather couches. Big enough for me to sleep on easily. Big enough for Craig and I to make out on too. We have in the past. A large wooden desk. I know the room well. It's Andrew's library and home office.

I've always liked his book collection. I've often come down here when he's not around to look at his books. Sometimes I lie on one of his leather couches and read while Craig and Harry do boring guy stuff. Sometimes Craig and I make out in here. My roses are safe and well cared for in a vase on his desk. I smile when I see them there.

"Thank you," I say before rather impetuously standing on my tip toes and kissing him. "Sir," I add with another smile. I've always wanted to do that. Kiss him, I mean, not call him Sir although I like that too. I'm confused at the thought even as I think it. Have I? Do I?

The wolf blinks. He smiles that smile that always makes me blush, except this time I don't. This time I turn away from him and bury my face in those beautiful red roses, inhaling deeply. That scent is so gorgeous. He's behind me, his hands on my waist, leaning forward and he's breathing in too. Except his face his buried in my hair at the back of my neck.

"That smells beautiful," we both say, simultaneously.

I giggle as we both straighten up. He grins. "I am the wolf," he says, apologetically, "I'm supposed to do wolfey things."

"Well, I'm Little Red Riding Hood," I say. I'm blushing again but my back's to him, he can't see. I can't resist saying it. "The wolf is supposed to do wolfey things and chase Little Red Riding Hood isn't he?" My heart is pounding. Why did I say that? But I think I know.

"Chase you? Why, you're in my den with me, I think I've caught you, Little Red Riding Hood."

I smile. "Little Red Riding Hood always gets caught by the wolf in the stories." My heart is beating faster.

"Yes, but sometimes she escapes and the wolf pays a terrible price."

"This Little Red Riding Hood hasn't escaped." A lot faster.

"I'm sure she could if she wanted too, the wolf isn't as fast as he used to be and he certainly doesn't want to pay a terrible price. He'd really prefer Little Red Riding Hood to enjoy being caught."

I have this feeling it's not the story we're talking about now. My heart is pounding. I take a breath. Take another. Breathing in and out is difficult. It doesn't make any difference when I do breathe though. My heart is still pounding furiously and he's so close to me. "I don't think this wolf has anything to worry about at all, even if he does do wolfey things with Little Red Riding Hood."

"I hope not." He chuckles, reaches past me, plucks a rose from the vase. Both hands are reaching around me now, one on either side of me, and he's very close to me as he breaks off most of the stem. He's brushing up against me. His breath is hot against the top of my head and I'm shivering, breathing a little faster. I'm not having any trouble breathing now. His proximity has me panting.

Outside, in the rec room, the music switches to an old Meat Loaf song. I recognize it because my Dad plays Meat Loaf now and then. "On a hot summer's night, would you offer you throat to the wolf with the red roses." Andrew sings along with the music except he changes the words slightly. "On a cold winter's night," he sings. He hands me the single red rose he's plucked from the vase.

I match the lyrics word for word as I take the rose from him, suddenly breathless. "Will he offer me his mouth?"

We half-sing along together, and I'm smiling until that line where he sings, "On a cold winter's night, would you offer your throat to the wolf with the red roses?" again. His hands turn me around to face him. I look up at him, lips parted, heart pounding as one of his hands cups one side of my face, my cheek.

"Yes," I breathe, one of my hands clutches at his shoulder, the other still holds that rose. I look up into his eyes.

He smiles. "I bet you say that to all the boys!" He kisses me.

I'm startled. Eyes wide, gazing up into his as his mouth takes possession of mine. I kiss him back without even thinking. His lips on mine, his tongue suddenly deep in my mouth, teasing, tasting me, intertwining with my tongue. He knows how to kiss. It's as if my mouth is made for him. I drop the rose on the floor, both my arms curl around his neck without my even thinking about it. It's something I want to do. I'm standing on my tip-toes, his hands are crushing me to him, his mouth is dominating mine, controlling mine and I can feel how hard he is where he presses against me. Suddenly I know. He wants me. Me.

"Ohhhhh." I moan into his mouth. My breasts are crushed against his chest and I'm not wearing a bra and my top is very thin and my nipples press deliciously against him. Even more so than when Craig and I are making out. It's that good, it really is. His hands move me, pull me hard against him, lift me a little, my clitoris rubs against his length, shivery spasms of pleasure and excitement ripple through me and I'm jelly in his arms. I belong in his arms.

His eyes hold mine, he's breathing hard, nostrils flaring as he kisses me, crushing my lips and he's totally in control of what's happening and we both know it when his mouth finally lifts from mine. There's that look in his eye and I'm not weak at the knees. I'm jelly and without his hands supporting me, I'd melt to the floor.

His hands don't release me, they lift me to sit on his desk, the wood surface cool against my butt. He's still pressed against me but now my legs are either side of him where he stands between them, his hands on my hips, holding me tight, his face looking down at mine. Both my hands rest on his shoulders. I'm panting. I'm waiting. My mind is empty, I'm not thinking. I'm waiting for him to kiss me again. I'm wanting him to kiss me again.

He's looking down at me. "The wolf wants to kiss you again, Little Red Riding Hood," he breathes.

Adrenaline floods through me. What's happening to me? What is he doing to me? I have no idea but I'm overwhelmed by his body pressing against me, so close to me. "You can do anything you want to me, Mr. Wolf, Sir," I whisper back, looking up at him.

I don't know what makes me say that but I know it's true. I'm a little scared at my words. Andrew isn't Craig. Craig I can control, stop with a word, a gesture. Craig is a boy. He's two years older than me but still, he's a boy. Andrew isn't. He's a man. He's in his fifties, assured, self-confident, he has that aura about him. He's an alpha male, at his peak.

I realize this in an instant, looking at him as his hard body presses against mine. I mean, I read romance novels, I've read all those Cosmo articles about alpha males. I've never met one before. I'd thought it was all made up. Fiction. Now I don't. Not anymore. Now, looking up at Andrew, I know what an alpha male really is. I'm so aware of him. His aura. His scent. The power and strength and self-assurance he radiates. His proximity. His interest in me. He's interested, I can feel that against me. He's hard. So hard. Hard the way a man is hard when he's really excited.

I can feel him pressing against me. I can feel him now, a hard bulge against me where I'm so sensitive. I know he's hard for me and it's impossible to say just how overwhelming that knowledge is. I don't care that he's married or that he's as old as my Dad. For all I care he could have half a dozen wives and as many girlfriends. They don't matter because right now he's interested in me and I'm here, with him. Just him and me. I'm looking up at him and I hear my own words and I think maybe I've gone bug nuts or something. I shouldn't have said that. I know. I know but I did and I don't care. I meant it and I mean it now.

"Anything?" he breathes, his voice low, husky. He moves even closer to me. His hardness presses blatantly against me where I'm so vulnerable and so unbearably sensitive. With my legs either side of his, I'm open to him and my short little skirt is flipped up. Only my little red lace panties and his trousers are between us as his hardness presses against me. I realize how wet I am as that rigid bulge forcefully pushes my lace panties inwards between labia that are swollen and slippery and acutely sensitive. He's pressing himself hard against me. It's not subtle. He's not hinting. He's displaying his interest in me.

"Anything, Regan?" he repeats, his hands holding my hips as he grinds against me. It's blatantly obvious what he's thinking of. He's not being subtle. But then, wolves aren't, are they? They're hunters. They're predators. If you're being hunted and you're not a predator, you're only chance of escape is to run. To flee. But I didn't flee did I? Little Red Riding Hood walked willingly into the Wolf's den.

I'm suddenly aware that this isn't a fairy story and maybe I'm the prey being hunted here and it's far too late for me to flee. I shudder with helpless excitement. If I'm the prey, I'm already well and truly caught. "Anything," I whisper. I know what I've just said means. I can't stop myself saying it. It's true. "Anything you want."

One of his hands leaves my waist, unfastens the clasp that holds that cloak around my neck, brushes it back so that it falls from me to pool on the desk behind me.

"Did I mention how much I like your costume, Regan Wong," he says, and his hand is running over me. Running over those leather straps and buckles and my back and shoulder and my arm.

"Not really," I say, looking up at him.

"Not really, Sir," he corrects me immediately. Why does he like it so much when I call him Sir?

It doesn't matter. It's what he wants me to say. "No really, Sir," I whisper. What's he doing to me? Why am I feeling like this? It's so weird but I'm so excited.

"It makes me want to touch you," he says. "Do you mind if I do?"

"Anything, Sir," I whisper, feeling his hand roaming over me. Liking it. With Craig, I don't mind, it's okay when he touches me. With Andrew, it leaves me breathless, wanting more. I'm waiting for him to kiss me again. I want him to kiss me again. I'm feeling weird, not at all like I usually do with Craig. Craig is always so tentative and clumsy. Rough. Andrew is decisive, confident. He caresses where Craig fumbles. Takes where Craig asks. He's telling me what he wants and he's taking what he wants from me and I like the way he does it. It's exciting to feel his hand running over me with such assurance. I'm limp, almost unable to move. I wonder if the real Red Riding Hood felt like this when the Wolf came for her.

"I love your costume, Regan," he says. His hand is cupping one of my breasts, his thumb strumming my rubbery hard nipple. I'm a violin being played, that's what I feel like. The music is inside me though, silent. For all that its silent, it reverberates through my body. "But these straps are in the way."

Saying nothing, I reach behind my back. I know where it unfastens, it's easy when you know. And I have practiced. Flick, flick and flick. It comes loose, I shrug it off, down my arms, drop it on his desk. Without it on, I feel free, unfettered, released from a cage. It's a release that Andrew immediately takes full advantage of. His fingers unfasten three of the buttons down the front of my top. He's fast. My top's half undone before I can do more than blink and look down. His hand slides with casual ease inside the opening he's made. He cups one of my breasts, his hand hot on my skin. I shiver at his touch.

My nipple is aching, swollen, so hard now that it hurts. His thumb runs across it, sending little ripples and shivers of pleasure through me. Outside, Paradise by the Dashboard light continues to pound out. In this room where there's only the two of us, and it's my heart that pounds as Andrew's hand makes free of my breast. He's exploring, touching me, his fingers moving on me. It's not like I haven't had a hand on my boobs before. Craig's hand has been there any number of times. But no-one else's. Not until now. Andrew's hand somehow belongs on me. It's almost as if my breast is made for his hand.

"Beautiful," he says, his hand stretching my top open so he can look down at my nipple. I look down with him. I see my nipple, swollen, large, a dark reddish-brown surrounded by a wide areola. My breast is small in his hand. "You don't need a bra at all."

"No," I say. I don't, not really. Small and firm, that's me. Lulu as well. We could almost be twins. We share clothes all the time. I lift one hand from his shoulder, finish unfastening my top so that it comes completely open. Both my breasts are completely exposed to him. Almost, I'm offering them to him. No, there's no almost. I am offering my breasts to him. I know that. He's looking at me. He knows that too. I see the knowledge in his eyes.

He smiles. "I want to bite you, Little Red Riding Hood," he breathes.

I gasp, my heart beats harder. I'm panting. I'm shivering. Almost, I moan out loud. His look says that he knows what he's doing to me. That he knows, and he says that to me knowing what it does to me, that excites me even more. How does he know? It doesn't matter, I'm not stopping offering myself to him. Kiss me? Bite me? He can do whatever he wants. I'd like it if he bit me, I'm sure. Not too hard though.

"If you want to," I gasp. Then, for no reason I can think of, I add "Sir" again. He does seem to like it when I call him "Sir." I'll try and remember.

He shivers. He actually shivers at my words. The look on his face makes me want to shiver too but I'm already offering myself to him and there's no going back. He accepts my offer, bending his knees, lowering his head. I watch as his lips close on one nipple. The one he's been playing with.

"Ohhhhhh." My back arches a little as his lips close very gently around it. He sucks, his tongue circling, licking, lapping, his mouth opening to engulf my entire breast. I shiver against him, my other hand holding the back of his head now, pulling him to me as I push my breast into his mouth. His mouth suckles at my breast, the pleasure rippling through me to pool at my centre, a molten heat within me.

Craig has done this to me in the past, since we got more serious. Well, since we officially became boyfriend and girlfriend. I've never understood that fascination guys have with a girl's boobs but now I don't care, it's just so good when his tongue toys with my nipple. So much pleasure from his mouth on me and I don't want his mouth to stop doing what it's doing to me.

His hand leaves my breast to the tender mercies of his mouth, slipping down under my skirt where I'm perched on the edge of the desk, my legs spread wide. His hand cups me though my little red lace panties where I'm so hot and wet. His fingers press against me, one finger pressing in against my slit, pushing my lace panties inwards. I know he can feel how wet I am. I know how wet I am.

"Ohhhh." I cry out with the excitement of that touch, feeling my labia separated by his finger pushing inwards against me. Craig's touched me there too, his finger has been inside me, his hand inside my panties but it's never been as exciting as the touch of Andrew's hand on me is now. Andrew knows what he's doing, he knows how to draw the pleasure out from within me and make me feel it and I am, I'm helplessly enthralled. In that moment, I'm his and he can take me right now if wants to. I'm sure he knows it.

His mouth lifts from my breast, he's kissing me again, his fingers teasing my sex, moving, pressing. My panties are soaked through. I know how wet I am. If I sit here much longer I'm going to leave a wet puddle on his desk. I'm moaning. I want to move against his hand but I can't. I can't move at all. I want to though.

"Would really you offer yourself to the wolf with the red roses, Regan?" he breathes in my ear.

The atmosphere is electric, charged with anticipation. My heart races. His mouth takes possession of mine before I can even think of an answer. His lips crush mine. I moan. His tongue takes possession of me. There's no resistance from me. I've never been kissed like this and I can't get enough of it. When his mouth leaves mine, I'm gasping for breath.

"Would really you offer yourself to the wolf with the red roses, Regan?" He breathes that question again. His eyes burn into mine and I know the answer now.

"Yes," I moan, feeling his fingers pressing, squeezing, touching. "Yes, Sir." I want him to hold me tight. Then, "I'm so wet." Why did I tell him that? He must know. He's touching me there. I need to tell him though. I need him to know how I feel but I don't know how to put it in words. There are no words, not for what I'm feeling now.

"I know, Regan," he says, his nose brushing mine. "You're very wet." His lips return to brush mine. "Harry said you're sleeping over tonight, you and Lulu?"

"Yes," I moan. I can say yes to Andrew. Easily. Very easily. Willingly.

"Sleep in the bed nearest the door," he says.

"Why?" I moan, just before he kisses me again.

His mouth lifts from mine, his fingers play a symphony on my sex. Exquisite sensations. I shiver, tremble. One of my hands moves to rest on his as he touches me. I want to moan out loud the way I do with Craig but I'm too shy. I want his finger inside me but I'm too shy to ask him. He's smiling as I look up at him. He knows what he's doing to me. I'm sure he can read my mind.

"Why do you think, Regan," he breathes at last, his eyes holding mine, his fingers holding me enthralled.

I am enthralled. Captured. Bespelled. In this moment, I'm his thrall, his slave, his captive. My heart jumps. A black hole flowers within me. I know. I know what he wants. He wants me. Wet heat throbs at the juncture of my thighs. I want him. I know I want to give myself to him. Surrender to him.

He smiles, a slow smile, a smile that thrills through me. "You know what I want, Regan."

"Yes." That one whispered word seems to come from someone else's voice but I know it's mine.

"Undo my trousers for me."

"Huh?" I gasp, shocked. Heart thumping. Excited. Scared. What if someone walks in?

He seems to know what I'm thinking. "I locked the doors behind us," he adds. "Nobody'll walk in."

After a moment, I obey, heart pounding, fumbling at his zipper. I've done this with Craig. Held his cock in my hand, stroked him off. I've given Craig blowjobs as well. I'm nervous though. I've only ever done any of this with Craig. Never with anyone else. Never with a man like Andrew. As old as my Dad. Maybe older. My hands are shaking as I unzip him. He only told me undo his trousers. But once you've undone a man's trousers, what comes next?

I don't need to ask. I don't need to be told. I'm eighteen, I'm not a baby and this is something I've done before. I'm confident now and besides, I'm curious. He's been pressed up hard against me, I've felt it. Now I want to see his cock. I want to hold him in my hand. I go ahead and slip my fingers in through the opening in his boxers without him saying a word. My heart almost stops when I touch him for the first time. Silky skin, heat, rigid hardness. I draw him out, clasp him in my fingers, look down at him. Saliva floods my mouth. I want to sink to my knees before him and take him in my mouth.