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Archie

I add more wood to the roaring flames in our fireplace. The fire spits and hisses at me, and the smell of smoke and roasting chestnuts fills my nostrils.

It’s a large fireplace with soot-covered stone slabs from the constant heat. We haven’t let the fire die for weeks. Especially since the snow started to fall. Above, dark green vines climb the walls, and purple flowers bloom all year round. But around the hearth, sprigs of Fir and Pine twist and wind in a beautiful arch. Bright red berries and holly grow beside great golden leaves that shimmer in the firelight, and a constant dusting of fresh snow covers it all, never melting, no matter how high the flames in the fire grow.

Pix. That wonderful little witch of ours. She’s made this place a winter paradise.

I wipe away the thin layer of sweat building on my brow, take a moment to roll the muscles in my neck, and enjoy a deep swig of whiskey that pleasantly burns my throat.

Four red stockings hang from the branches coming out of the walls. Each one is filled with trinkets and treats we think each other will enjoy. Red and green candles flicker all around the room, exuding the scent of cinnamon and spiced apples.

It’s just how it used to be when I was a pup and lived here with my pack all those years ago. When the winter solstice celebrations ruled our village and consumed our lives.

It was my favourite time of year, and now, I am getting to celebrate it with my new family.

Lazily, I stoke the flames with a poker and take another sip of whiskey before sliding my hand into my pocket.

I take a deep and content breath, feeling warm inside and out, failing to remember the last time I was this happy for this long. This settled and safe.

Fuck. The whiskey is good, too. I’m so glad I had the forethought to fill the ship with spirits before we sailed.

This cottage has been our home for almost a year. It lies deep in the forests of my ancestral pack, with trees so old that I swear they move on their own. And plants that have long since been forgotten are thriving here.

Pix loves it. She claims she feels a primal connection to this land. One of mystery and incredible strength. I feel it, too. In a wolfy way. And I love that we share this connection.

The foundations of our cottage were my parent’s home. This chimney was theirs. The floors beneath my feet belonged to them. I took my first steps on these very slabs.

I have looked for any signs of a surviving pack for months, but there’s no one here. Either they were all killed by the blood witches, or the survivors fled. There comes a point when too much blood has been spilt for a place ever to be called home.

Luckily, I’ve grown indifferent to the thought and smell of blood. I do not need to consume it anymore. It has no power over me.

I place the whiskey bottle on the mantle above the fire and turn, admiring the home she built using her earth magic.

Our home.

The walls of my family home were destroyed long ago. Pix rebuilt them from three ancient trees that she bent and twisted into shape to form solid walls. Branches bend into arches for doorways. The stairs are knotted roots leading up to a first-floor bedroom, and the ceilings are beautifully crooked and covered in leaves and vines. The walls are living bark that shift and groan, reacting to her moods. Her presence. Her earth magic.

The floors are a mix of stone, moss and clover. And sometimes red daisies bloom in the lounge when she dreams.

But when she’s angry, oh shit… when she’s angry, thorns and thistles emerge all around us. Inches long and as sharp as a sword.

But now, it’s perfection.

I sigh, utterly content.

And look down at my very reason for living.

Pix is a naked and quivering mess, kneeling before me with her hands bound behind her back and my belt buckled loosely around her neck. Her breasts are beaded with sweat as they rise and fall with each shuddering gasp.

She’s blindfolded. Her damp silver hair falls in dishevelled curls down her bare back. Her lips are swollen and parted, and the sweet scent of her arousal mixes perfectly with the earthy aroma of our little palace of wood and stone.

Perfection.

I step towards her, and her head shoots in my direction, keen to find out where I am and what I plan on doing next.

Between her legs, the end of a smooth wooden cock protrudes. Several inches of it lie inside her. Warm and coated in the three orgasms I have already given her.

My cock pulses as I stroke myself slowly. The corners of her lips pull up as I close the gap a little more.

Filling my mouth with whiskey, I take another step closer and look at my kneeling goddess.

My finger rests under her chin, and I tilt it upwards.

‘Open ,’ I tell her, speaking to her through our mate bond.

She obeys, parting those full lips wide.

I slowly release the whiskey into her waiting mouth. Most of it slips past her chin and coats her breasts.

‘Fuck…’ I whisper, watching it glide down her peaked nipple and land on her thighs. ‘When I thought you couldn’t get any tastier.’

My fingers knot in her hair, and she releases a devilish little chuckle.

‘Open your fucking mouth, Pix.’

She does, even sticking her tongue out for me. I run my cock the length of it and don’t stop until I meet the very back of her throat. Her stomach clenches as she gags on me. And I fucking love to make her gag.

I gently rest my palm a hair's breadth from her throat. I would love nothing more than to wrap my fingers around her tightly. To feel her pulse and steal her air.

But she still suffers from her nightmares and can’t bear to be touched there. No way I risk her having a panic attack now. Not when I’m filling her mouth so perfectly. The belt hangs there at her request. An attempt to try and get used to the feel of something touching her throat.

She’s determined to overcome it all. To rid herself of the nightmares and flashbacks.

It was my torture that caused this trauma in her. My killing of her mother. My forcing her to perform the resurrection spell. When she has flashbacks, it’s me she sees hanging her. It’s my face she sees smile, and my laugh she hears as she is strangled to death.

‘I can feel your concern,’ she says through our bond. ‘And your guilt. We’ll overcome this together. Put your hand on me.’

She moves closer, sensing my open palm somehow, and stopping when my hand rests on her flushed flesh. I pull my cock free of her mouth.

‘Be gentle,’ she says in a soft whisper. ‘It will be okay.’

‘Gentle isn’t exactly my speciality, Pix,’ I groan back in reply.

‘Go hard with your cock. Be a gentleman as you choke me.’ She grins and tilts her head back, showing more of her throat.

I tighten my hold a little.

She shudders beneath my grip, and a pained crease forms on her brow.

I hate every second of it.

‘You okay?’ I ask through our bond.

Her head tilts back, and her pretty little mouth opens up once more.

‘I will not be controlled by fear.’

I slowly ease in, settling deep in her mouth. I pull out. She takes in some gasps before I thrust into her again. Deeper this time, relishing in how her throat constricts around me.

Out once more.

Then back in.

Deeper.

‘I can feel my cock in your fucking throat, Pix.’

Beneath my palm, her throat is swollen and deliciously full. Every inch of her is clenched as she’s filled not only by me but by the specially carved cock wedged inside her pussy.

I offer slow but painfully deep thrusts, keeping myself down her pipe as I fuck her.

Tears spill out from behind the blindfold, and thick saliva falls down her chin. When I pull out, her tongue circles my dripping cock as if she’s a starving little whore, desperate for every drop.

I chuckle, filled with pride at how well she takes me.

Sliding both my hands into her hair, I abandon her throat, and make her take me again, holding her head as I fuck her hard and without mercy. Grunts and moans seep out whenever my cock isn’t filling her up, and even when she is desperate for relief, she doesn’t pull away but waits for more.

Pants for more.

Grinds herself back and forth against the ground so her birthday gift fucks her in time with me.

‘You like that, my Goddess?’ I ask. ‘You certainly look like you do. Fuck. Your mouth is as wide open as your sweet pussy is.’

With a grunt, I shove myself back down her throat and fuck her as she deserves, and when I’m buried as far as I can go, I spill into her, my release pulsing straight down her throat, making her choke and gag in my grip. As soon as I’m done, I kick her down into the soft earth and grip the wooden cock.

And I fuck her hard. I fuck her without mercy. I fuck her as my goddess deserves.

My Mate. My woman.

I snatch off her blindfold, and she blinks me into focus. Her gaze lands on me, and I know I’m all there is for her now.

She is mine, and I am hers.

‘I love you,’ I tell her.

Her back arches and her pleasure-filled screams make the ground tremble and the bark around us groan.

I like to think my words pushed her over the edge. But I think it's more likely it was the two fingers I surprised her tight little arse hole with that may be the true culprit.

I watch her and the effect she has on the house with wonder, and I know I will never tire of watching her convulse and twist in pleasure and pain, nor miss the uncertainty of if she’ll one day bring the cottage down on our heads when she cums.

My perfect woman.

My Goddess.

My Mate.

I flip her over so she’s face down on the fur rug. My cock is still hard and ready for round two.

Oh, the perks of being a wolf.

I pull out the wooden cock, hoist up her hips and spread her arse cheeks.

‘Feel free to scream, Pix,’ I grin, resting it at her waiting little hole. The tip of my cock teases her pussy as I begin the task of stretching her arse with the wooden cock. ‘You’re about to get really full.’

I ease both in at the same time.

‘That’s a good girl.’