Page 36 of Little Red Riding Hood (The GriMM Tales #1)

“Fuck yes,” Red moaned, his voice barely recognizable as his own.

His body was a burst of firelight, every touch and caress sending sparks flying.

“Don’t stop, please don’t stop.” He gasped, drawing a large breath in before continuing.

“God, Wim, you feel so, so good—I never knew it could be like this. I’m so close. Don’t hold back.”

“You want more?” Wim asked, his words like dark velvet as he pulled back from Red.

“Yes,” Red replied without hesitation. His entire body was on fire, every nerve ending screaming for more, more, more. Impossibly, he felt himself growing harder than ever before, as if Wim alone was able to take him to new levels.

Wim let out a growl, the sound sending a shiver down Red’s spine.

He could feel the wolf at the surface now, its presence both thrilling and terrifying.

Wim thrust inside him, hard, with fresh intensity.

His movements became more frantic, his touch more urgent.

Again those sharp canines of his scraped across his neck, coming dangerously close to biting him before Wim dragged his mouth away.

When a hand found a fistful of Red’s hair, to tug it hard, holding back became impossible.

“Oh fuck, I can’t… I’m going to…” Red gasped, his body trembling on the edge of release. “Wim, I’m going to…”

With one final slick stroke, Red was sent spiraling over the edge, his vision blurring as waves of bliss washed over him, the world exploding around them in a haze of sensation.

He screamed like never before, the sound tearing at his throat. He screamed until some part of his brain still left activated brought his hand to his mouth to muffle the sound.

Scream silenced, guttural grunts and soft moans filled the night air instead.

Then the sounds coming from Wim became simply feral as he picked up his punishing pace, fucking Red all the way through his release.

Again and again he hit that magic spot inside Red, impossibly drawing out more and more bursts of pleasure from him.

Distantly, he became aware of Wim’s voice echoing in his ear, murmuring words and praises, things like, “That’s it, sweetheart,” and, “You’re so perfect to me.”

Red whimpered. His body couldn’t take any more—every nerve ending was alight, every muscle strained. “Please, Wim. I want to feel you come apart inside me. Mark me. Make me yours.” He said the last sentence in a whisper, more a plea than a demand.

Wim’s movements became erratic, desperate, and the way he called Red’s name reverberated around them like a prayer. Finally, with a primal roar, Wim shattered, his release flooding Red’s body in the most beautiful way.

In that moment, Red knew, as sure as daybreak, that he would never experience anything like this again. It was more than just sex, more than just pleasure. Red couldn’t explain it, not properly, but he’d never felt so alive. So real. So tangible.

Minutes passed, or perhaps it was hours, or moments. He wanted to say something to Wim, but couldn't find the right words to express how he was feeling, so he stayed silent, listening intently to the wolf’s heavy breaths, and enjoying the feeling of Wim’s fingertips trailing up and down his arm.

Red would have happily never moved again, but finally, Wim gently pulled out. He sat up and reached for his leather bag, rummaging around until he found a soft rag. With a tender touch, he wet the cloth with fresh dew from the grass before returning to Red’s side.

Wim’s movements were slow and careful as he cleaned Red, taking his time to make sure every inch was attended to. Red kept very still, trying to savour every second.

As Wim finished, he tossed the rag aside and pulled Red into his arms again, holding him close.

Despite being sweat-soaked, their lovely new blankets still felt wonderful as Wim wrapped them both in a tight cocoon.

The tired-looking wildling smiled at him, an expression filled with such tenderness that it made something inside of Red swell.

Red’s body felt pleasantly heavy, his limbs languid as he snuggled deeper into Wim’s embrace, the wolf’s warmth surrounding him.

“You were quite vocal there, sweetheart,” Wim murmured against Red’s ear. “I believe the entire forest knows exactly how much you enjoyed yourself. ”

Red’s cheeks flushed.”Oh, do shut up.” He jabbed an elbow into Wim’s ribs, earning a low chuckle. “As if you weren’t practically begging me to tell you how good you were.”

“Mm, can’t blame me for wanting to hear those words from your pretty mouth.” Wim’s fingers traced lazy patterns across Red’s skin. “Tell me again how ‘fucking incredible’ I am?”

“You’re insufferable is what you are.” Red twisted in Wim’s arms to face him, finding a smug grin plastered across the wolf’s face. “I didn’t hear you complaining when I was stroking your ego. In fact, you seemed rather desperate for my praise.”

“Perhaps.” Wim pressed a kiss to Red’s forehead. “But I wasn’t the one screaming my pleasure to the stars.”

“I did not scream!” Red protested, though he had to admit his memory of those moments was rather hazy. “And anyway, you were practically purring every time I said something nice about you. Like a great big pussy cat rather than a fearsome wolf.”

“Come on, sweetheart.” Wim’s voice was playfully coaxing, eyes sparkling with mischief. “Give me something sweet to hear now.”

“Absolutely not.” Red turned his nose up. “Your head is quite big enough already.”

“Please?” Wim nuzzled against Red’s neck. “Just one little compliment?”

“You’re impossible,” Red laughed, pushing at Wim’s chest. “And entirely too pleased with yourself.”

“Those weren’t very nice compliments at all,” Wim pouted, though his eyes still danced with amusement.

“Fine.” Red rolled his eyes. “You’re rather good at…” He gestured vaguely between them. “That.”

“ Rather good? ” Wim raised an eyebrow. “That’s not what you were screaming earlier, is it?”

Red grabbed one of their smaller blankets and attempted to smother Wim with it, both of them dissolving into laughter as they wrestled playfully, their bodies still slick with sweat as they rolled across their makeshift bed, neither willing to admit defeat .

Wim’s fingers danced along Red’s sides, finding every ticklish spot with uncanny accuracy. Red squirmed and thrashed, trying to escape the merciless assault.

“Stop! This isn’t—” A burst of undignified laughter escaped him. “This isn’t fair! You’re playing dirty!”

“All’s fair in love and tickle fights, sweetheart.” Wim’s grin turned wolfish as he redoubled his efforts, his strong hands pinning Red in place.

Red’s shrieks echoed through the forest clearing as he twisted beneath Wim’s relentless attack. “I yield! I yield!”

Finally, Wim released him, and Red collapsed back onto their nest of blankets, chest heaving as he caught his breath. They settled into a comfortable position, Wim’s arm draped across Red’s middle.

The playful mood shifted as Wim’s fingers traced along Red’s ribs, following each pronounced ridge with gentle concern. “You need to eat more when you get back to the palace. I can’t believe even the palace doesn’t get enough food.”

Back to the palace.

Four tiny words that hit Red like a punch to the gut, shattering their peaceful moment. Reality crashed back in—their inevitable parting looming large.

“I’ve been giving Auntie Anne extra food,” Red admitted quietly, staring up at the fading stars peeking through the canopy above.

The first signs of dawn had arrived, painting the horizon in shades of cheerful pink and gold that seemed to mock the heaviness settling in his chest. He shifted closer to Wim, seeking warmth against the morning chill, or perhaps against the cold reality that their time together was finite.

“This Auntie Anne,” Wim’s tone softened. “She’s been good to you, hasn’t she? Like a proper mother should.” His grip suddenly tightened on Red’s arm, urgent. “Listen to me, sweetheart. I need you to promise me something.”

Red’s heart immediately started an unpleasant tap dance. “What is it?” he asked, hardly daring to breathe .

“Don’t let him touch you again, when you return. This stable master of yours.” Wim said the name like it was burning acid on his tongue. “The thought of you with anyone who treats you like less than a prince…”

The words should be making Red feel good about himself—Wim was clearly jealous of this random stranger. So why did Red feel even worse all of a sudden?

He’s not asking you not to return to the palace.

It was true that the notion was entirely impossible. But did Wim even know that? He could at least ask, surely!

Why would he? This is all just a bit of forest fun to him. A warm body to entertain him on the long journey. Comfort from another person after being isolated in his cottage, then banished from his pack.

Red’s heart grew heavy as something bitter and angry crystallised inside him, sharp as icicles. Something that demanded to wound in return.

“Hmm? Him? No, I’m quite done with him. But the head chef has tried his luck a few times. I could finally take him up on his offer. His hands are always so warm from the ovens.”

Wim recoiled as if Red had slapped him across the face. His shoulders hunched inward, and the playful light in his eyes extinguished. A low, wounded sound escaped his throat—somewhere between a whine and a growl.

Is this the reaction you hoped to achieve, Red?

Wim’s entire body went rigid. “Why would you say such a thing?” He shifted away from Red, leaving a cold space between them.

The pain in his words cut deeper than any blade.

Red’s chest constricted. He’d meant to wound Wim, to make him feel a fraction of the hurt bubbling inside himself.

But watching the wolf curl in on himself, seeing the rigid set of his jaw and the way his fingers trembled against his thigh… it was unbearable.