Page 34 of Little Red Riding Hood (The GriMM Tales #1)
Red yelped in surprise, the world spinning as his feet left the ground. His indignant protest was cut short by another sharp slap against his now-aching bottom, making him yelp again.
“Put me down this instant!” Red demanded, though his command held little authority from his current upside-down position.
Wim’s only response was to charge through the forest at an impossible pace, his long strides eating up the distance back to their camp. The trees blurred past as Red bounced against Wim’s shoulder, his red cloak fluttering behind.
With a triumphant growl, Wim reached their campsite and deposited Red onto their gloriously soft blankets. Red chose to ignore the dark splatter on the edge of one—likely a smidge of bandit blood—and nestled into them, clutching the fabric.
Red looked up at Wim, ready for him to smother him with his weight—but to his absolute horror, the wolf turned away and began gathering wood.
“What the fuck are you doing?!” Red propped himself up on his elbows, watching in disbelief as Wim arranged kindling.
“Making a fire for you,” Wim replied simply, as if it wasn’t the most ridiculous thing he could be doing right now.
“I don’t need a fire !” Red’s voice came out embarrassingly close to a whine. “Wim, please… I can’t wait any longer!”
“You’ll catch a cold,” Wim said matter-of-factly, though Red caught the hint of a smirk playing at his lips.
“It’s not cold at all,” Red insisted, fighting to keep the desperation from his tone. “Just come here. Please?”
Wim glanced over his shoulder, his eyes gleaming with mischief. “Patience, sweetheart. I plan to be on those blankets with you for a very long time. We’ll need the fire’s warmth before the night is through.”
“It must be almost dawn by now!” Red practically shrieked, before giving up and lying back on the blankets. “I’ll fall asleep if you’re not careful!”
Wim only laughed in a way that told Red he knew there was no way in hell Red would be sleeping before Wim fucked him senseless.
Heat bloomed across Red’s skin as the fire roared to life, its orange glow casting dancing shadows across their blankets. Despite his earlier protests, the warmth did feel divine against his exposed skin… not that he’d admit it in a hurry.
The blankets shifted as Wim’s weight settled over him like a living furnace.
Wim’s face pressed against his own, and Red couldn’t help but gasp at the rough scratch of his beard.
The texture sent tingles across his skin, somehow both gentle and overwhelming at once.
Wim’s hot breath tickled his ear, and Red melted into the touch like snow in sunlight .
Red’s hands found Wim’s arms, exploring the solid muscle beneath his fingertips.
His touch wandered up towards Wim’s biceps, where his fingers discovered the raised edges of the bite mark from the soulstealer.
The puckered flesh felt wrong beneath his fingertips, and Red’s chest tightened as he imagined the monster’s teeth clamping down around Wim’s arm.
A moment of pure selfishness struck Red—because he was ever so glad that the soulstealer had bitten Wim, forcing him away from his pack and into Red’s path.
A horrible misfortune for Wim, yet a precious gift for Red—for the time with this wildling would be something he treasured forever.
He was as sure of that as he was of the moon being in the sky.
Wim’s hips rolled against his own, that impressively large length of him pressing into Red’s own. Wim leaned in close to Red’s ear to whisper, “I can’t wait to be inside you.”
Suddenly the reality of what they were about to do crashed over Red like ice water. His breath caught in his throat as nervousness fluttered in his stomach. This wasn’t like his fumbled encounters in the stable—this was Wim, and he didn’t want to look the fool.
And fuck , he must already not be acting appropriately, because Wim stiffened, pressing his hands on either side of Red’s head to push himself up.
Concern danced in Wim’s narrowed eyes. “You… You have done this before, yes?”
Oh ground, please swallow me up.
“Yes!” Red bit back, the mortification flooding through every inch of him. “Of course I have!” What did Wim take him for, an inexperienced virgin? Though that wasn’t far from the truth, was it? Red sighed, and dropped to a mumble to add, “A few times, with one other.”
Tensing, Red turned his head to one side so he didn’t have to see the look of horror or pity in his eyes. But Wim cupped his face with his large palm, bringing it gently back to face him.
“Just one other? The… The one who slapped you? ”
“Yes. The palace’s stable master.” Red’s stomach turned at the memory of those piggy eyes following the younger stable boys before they finally landed on him one day.
When the stable master showed interest, Red had known exactly what he was doing to himself—seeking validation in all the wrong places—but that didn’t make the memory of the stable master’s hot breath on his neck any less uncomfortable now.
“Tell me,” Wim demanded, fingers firm but careful on Red’s jaw. “Did he show you the respect you deserve?”
Red thought of rough hands that had never quite hurt but never quite cherished either, of being bent over stable gates and taken quickly, of how the stable master wouldn’t look at him afterwards, wouldn’t acknowledge him in daylight.
It hadn’t been cruel, just empty, leaving Red feeling hollow and somehow smaller each time.
“I’m… not sure,” Red said, biting into his lip. The words hung between them, heavy with meaning. A frown split Wim’s forehead in two, and his grip on Red’s jaw gentled into something that made Red’s chest ache.
“Well,” Wim said softly, pressing his forehead against Red’s. “At least now I get to be the one to show you how good it can feel.”
Red’s breath hitched at the promise in that sentence. He tried to summon his usual haughtiness, but it crumbled under the intensity of Wim’s words, Wim’s touch. “Is that so?” he managed, his embarrassing breathlessness betraying how much he wanted exactly that.
The firelight danced across their skin as Wim attacked Red’s clothing with eager hands. Red cursed his leather vest, its tight laces teasingly stubborn as Wim wrestled with them, each tug met with a frustrating resistance.
“I will tear these laces with my teeth,” Wim threatened, sighing in relief when they eventually yielded.
Wim launched the vest far from the blankets as if it had personally slighted him before his hands found Red’s exposed skin.
The talk of the stable master had caused his cock to soften somewhat, but now his body responded eagerly to Wim’s touch, as if thirsting to make new memories.
Soon his length ached almost painfully—his need evident and urgent after the relentless teasing in the forest.
Red’s eyes fixed on Wim’s face, studying the sharp angles of his jaw, the fullness of his lower lip, remembering the skill of that beautiful, wicked mouth against his most intimate places just moments ago in the forest.
Wim’s hands traced Red’s thighs, his touch gentler now than it had been during their wild chase. His fingers grazed over Red’s bottom, still sensitive from the spanking.
“Did I hurt you too much earlier, sweetheart?” Wim asked softly, all traces of the predatory wolf momentarily subdued.
Red shook his head, butterflies spinning dizzy circles in his stomach. “No, it… it felt good. Really good.”
“Mm, you took your punishment so beautifully.” Wim’s palms kneaded the tender flesh, soothing away the lingering sting. “Such a perfect little thing you are.”
Wim’s lips brushed against Red’s inner thigh, sending shivers up his spine.
Red wanted to say something, but all he could manage was breathy little pants as he clutched the blanket, twisting it in knots.
Then he remembered how Wim had reacted when he’d run his fingers through his hair before, how the wolf had practically purred at his touch.
Red’s trembling fingers found Wim’s thick hair, threading through the dark strands and scratching gently at his scalp. A deep, rumbling groan vibrated against his thigh, and Wim pressed his face closer, clearly as affected by the touch as Red remembered.
“Your stable master ,” Wim murmured against Red’s skin. “He never cherished you like this, did he?” he asked, followed by a growl that could only be described as possessive. Red enjoyed it very much.
“He’s not my stable master,” Red replied, his voice catching as Wim’s beard scratched deliciously against his sensitive skin.
“Good,” Wim snarled. “He better not be.”
Red almost wanted to laugh at Wim’s absurd envy towards this man he’d never met, and would never meet. A man who meant so little to Red—nothing compared to what Red felt now towards the wildling presently between his thighs.
Then again, hadn’t Red been just as ridiculous, burning with jealousy at the mere thought of Wim’s past lovers, with their stupidly large mouths?
Wim pressed his lips to the inside of Red’s knee, then slowly worked his way higher, leaving a trail of kisses along his inner thigh. Red shivered with anticipation, his body still tingling from Wim’s earlier attentions in the forest.
“But you never answered me. Did he taste you? Did he make you scream like I did?” Red’s mind struggled to respond, his brain muddled by tingles coursing through his body from Wim’s touch.
“No,” he managed to rasp. “No, Wim. You’re the first.”
Wim’s response was to pause, his hot breath on Red’s skin making him shiver further. “The only one,” he growled, words dripping with that dangerous possessiveness again. “No one else will ever touch you like I do,” Wim growled. “No one else will ever make you feel what I make you feel.”
“No,” Red agreed breathlessly. “No one but you, Wim.”