Page 11 of Little Red Riding Hood (The GriMM Tales #1)

Six

R ed was enveloped in the most delicious warmth.

He was perhaps the warmest he’d ever been.

He snuggled deeper into the cocoon of heat, savouring the comfort, then peeled his eyes open.

The first rays of sunlight streamed through the trees, casting a golden glow that kissed their camp and chased away the remnants of the night’s chill.

Red’s gaze drifted lazily across the extinguished fire, to where Wim would be—

Wim’s bedroll was empty.

Memory crashed over him like ice water. The wolf. Wim had climbed in with him last night.

His eyes flew open. His pulse quickened to a jubilant dance. He lay frozen, hardly daring to breathe. Slowly, cautiously, he reached behind him, bracing for the brush of coarse fur.

His fingers met warm skin. Smooth. Soft. A light dusting of downy hair.

Red’s breath caught in his throat. Human skin. Not fur at all.

Wim’s chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm against Red’s back. Still fast asleep.

When had Wim shifted back? It was one thing cuddling with a wolf for warmth, it was very much another with a naked man. How long had they lain like this, with Wim’s human body pressed up against him so snugly? And why did the thought send a shiver down Red’s spine that had nothing to do with fear ?

Red squirmed against the bedroll’s constraints, heart lodged in his throat as he tried to put distance between them. Yet Wim’s slumbering form mumbled an incoherent protest and clutched Red closer, hot breath tickling his ear.

It was no good. Red was a prisoner in the wolf’s arms. The wolf’s strong, muscular arms, that were wrapped securely around him as if Red were a precious treasure needing to be protected at all costs.

Wim shifted, the barest movement, and the unmistakable press of an arousal nudged against Red’s thigh. Shock coursed through him like liquid fire, but something else simmered beneath it—his own excitement.

A groan threatened to escape Red’s trembling lips when Wim’s solid length grazed against him where his leg met his buttock. He swallowed hard, unable to tear his thoughts from the intimate contact. The sensation sent tingly jolts through his limbs, his own cock happily swelling.

How could he, Red, who’d scorned and scoffed at the infuriating wolf-man, now find himself consumed by desire for him?

His cock mocked him, becoming as stiff as Wim’s, a needy ache throbbing through it.

Oh, how easy it would be to touch himself, to relieve himself of this awful torture.

But the image of Wim’s eyes pinging open the moment he did so froze his eager fingers in their tracks.

Again, Wim shifted, his very large member nestling even further into the thin material that covered Red’s ass.

There was no other option. Red couldn’t take it anymore. He was going to have to shuffle around so that Wim’s bare cock would at least be poking a less compromising place.

At a snail’s pace, Red turned to lie on his other side. What a view. His gaze traced the path of a sunbeam illuminating the golden flecks in Wim’s stubble. Wim looked so different up close—a dusting of freckles not previously noticed peppered his sun-kissed cheeks .

If Red wanted to, he could lean over and kiss those cheeks. Wim would never know.

Traitorous want coiled in the pit of his stomach.

Then a sudden bolt of pure madness struck Red. What would happen if he climbed on top of Wim right now? What would the wolf do if he awoke to such a sight? The feel of Red’s body against his surely aching erection?

Would he growl with need? Dig his large, strong fingers into the flesh of Red’s thighs? Pull Red against his length to offer himself relief?

Would Wim become so wanton with desire that he’d beg Red to use his hands—or even his mouth—on him?

And would he cry out Red’s name when he reached his peak, with the same reverence that lovers used when lost in each other’s embrace?

All of this imagining had not helped Red’s situation.

He brought his hand to his mouth and bit down hard, using the pain to bring him back to reality.

Red needed to stop this nonsense. Because this man, this attractive, surprisingly kind-hearted wolf, did not care for him, and Red needed to get these dangerous notions out of his head before Wim woke up.

He already told you he had no interest in fucking someone like you.

A tightness clawed at Red’s throat as he stared at Wim’s rather lovely face.

As if someone like him would want someone like you! Pah!

Besides, even if Wim did somehow want him, he’d likely be quickly put off by Red’s lack of experience, the sum total of which consisted of letting the stable master fuck him a handful of times. Quick, mechanical experiences in dark corners that left him feeling hollow.

Melancholy seeped through him as he stared at the handsome man he shouldn’t be dreaming of having .

This suffering had gone on long enough. He’d simply carefully remove himself from the bedroll before—

Wim’s eyes fluttered open, and Red forgot the rest of the world existed outside their gorgeous golden depths. He heard himself take a large gulp of air, then held his breath, waiting for Wim’s expression to harden in regret at waking up so close to Red.

It didn’t. Wim’s face remained pleasantly soft, gazing over at Red with a languid, peaceful smile, as though they woke up together like this every day.

“You changed back.” Red’s voice, raspy from sleep, wavered.

“It wasn’t deliberate. Though by how you’re clinging to me like a vine, I’d say you’re not complaining.”

Red opened his mouth to protest that yes, he did mind, thank you very much, but nothing came out.

“Didn’t have a single dream,” Wim said, brows furrowing.

He stretched one arm out before scratching his beard, then slid it behind his head to act as a pillow.

“Been weeks of the same nightmare haunting me. Always starts the same—I’m cured, heading back to my pack, but I can’t find them.

I keep walking in circles through the forest. Lost. Never finding my way home. Just me, alone, forever.”

Wim stared at the trees above them, where a light breeze knocked many leaves from the branches, sending them drifting down to the forest floor.

Red cleared his throat. “That does sound awful.”

Wim shuffled so that he was facing Red, propping his head on his arm. “Nice change, not being plagued by it for once.”

The way Wim was staring at Red had his heart hammering in his chest. He looked like he expected Red to say something in response, but Red was completely out of words, what with Wim’s face so close to his own. He could count every freckle if he wanted.

Why were the two of them still lying here, even? There were pots to wash, water to fetch, forests to be journeyed through, quests to be completed. Yet they were lazing about as if they were on a leisurely camping trip !

Wim’s tongue darted out, moistening his lips, and Red’s gaze locked onto the movement, his mind conjuring unbidden images of how those lips might feel against his own. Soft? Rough? Would they taste of the forest, of wild things?

A tremor rippled through Red’s body, starting at his core and radiating outward.

His fingers twitched, his toes curled, and his breath caught in his throat.

He couldn’t tear his eyes away from Wim’s face, drinking in every detail as if seeing him for the first time.

The faint scar that arched over his left eyebrow.

The slight crookedness of Wim’s nose that only served to enhance his rugged handsomeness.

Because, fuck , was he handsome! More handsome even than that nobleman from the Spring Ball that Red had plucked up the courage to talk to after several cups of ale.

And how did that end, Red?

Wim’s hand reached out, slow and deliberate.

Red’s pulse thrummed like plucked strings as calloused fingertips brushed against his cheek, gently tucking a stray lock of hair behind his ear.

His tender touch lingered, warm and intoxicating, sending sparks dancing across Red’s skin.

It was too much and not enough, all at once.

Red’s lips parted, a shaky exhale escaping. He wanted to lean into that touch, to chase the warmth of Wim’s hand. But he remained frozen, caught between desire and disbelief that Wim wanted him.

Oh, how Red would trade all the gold in the kingdom for just one kiss from Wim. But there was no way Red could initiate it, not after what Wim had said, not after the awful encounter with the handsome nobleman, the one who’d laughed in Red’s face.

If only Red were strong enough that the sting of rejection would wash off him like water, instead of needling ever deeper into his bruised heart.

Wim’s warm hand was still on his cheek.

Keeping impossibly still, Red only blinked, waiting to see what happened next .

Wim, voice low and husky, finally broke the silence. “Red, I—”

“Wilhelm!”

The unknown shout pierced the air, shattering the moment and making Red nearly jump out of his skin. Red scrambled upright lightning quick, fingers dashing madly for his bow.

“Who…?” Red searched for the intruder, pulling the bedroll up around him as if he were the naked one, not Wim. He saw nobody.

Then a wolf stepped out of the shadows of the foliage into their small camp.

“Astrid!”

Red’s breath caught in his throat as Wim leapt up, evidently utterly unabashed by his nakedness. The wolf-man strode towards the newcomer, muscles rippling beneath his skin. He placed a large hand on her neck, fingers sinking into jet-black fur.

Astrid . She was smaller than Wim’s wolf form, lithe and sleek. Her dark eyes darted between Wim and Red, intelligence glimmering within their depths.

Red’s stomach twisted. The familiarity between Wim and this wolf—Astrid—was unmistakable. A hot, ugly feeling clawed at his insides. Who was she? Why was she here?

Astrid jerked away from Wim’s touch, hackles rising. Her lips curled back, revealing sharp white teeth. A low growl rumbled from her chest as she backed away, gaze fixed on Red.