Page 109 of Smut Lovers

? F I V E ?

A Fever Named Georgie

Derrick

H e knew she would run. There’s a tiny sliver of him that’s almost disappointed, that wants to admonish her for it. It’s a test of patience. In resolve.

Georgie never looks back.

Good.

She’s got some sense in her, at least. Knows she shouldn’t look back while she’s running from the monster. It’ll get her a little farther. One less thing for him to teach her if she’s going to survive in his world.

She will. He’ll make sure of it.

Light pours from the trailer, outlining his profile in the narrow doorway.

If he had been any other wolf, Derrick doesn’t think she would have even survived this long.

The way the blouse of her dress opens, the way it clings to her thighs as she curled ‘round him, pooling under her from where she’d fallen.

He’s glad the fucker is dead. Isn’t the least bit repentant. Well, except maybe for the fact she’d hurled all over the rest of ‘is corpse.

Still, he sees time stretch forward in front of them and knows it’s gonna be good with her. It’s in his bones, the knowledge of it. She’ll come around, eventually. But if he’s honest, he doesn’t think it will take too long. Not with the way her scent blossoms every time her eyes catch his.

Derrick can be charmin’ when he wants to be.

He wants to now, for her.

Everyone else? Fuck ‘em.

He doesn’t care.

He never has.

But her?

What else could have kept him from eating her up all these weeks? First, it was the chase; then it was her smell. Soon he was convincing himself he just needed to find the right time, the perfect moment, and then he was thinking about how good she would taste if he fucked her as he ate her.

That stage didn’t last too long.

It didn’t take very long of sitting in her bed, rollin’ ‘round in her sheets ,to realize that there was no amount of time that would be long enough to soak up her scent. Realized he was gonna need a lifetime supply of the stuff, but how could he get that if she was dead?

It was when the thoughts of breedin’ her came that he started to see it clearly.

His father had talked about this, said it was like this with his mama. One minute he was huntin’ her down; the next he was bendin’ her over his old beat-up Chevy in broad daylight.

Derrick had scoffed at his old man back then. He'd thought him weak for it before. But now, standing here, Georgie’s scent is thick in his lungs, clawing at the back of his throat. Maybe his old man was onto something.

Derrick had enough self-control to have stopped himself from snatching her that first night.

But now…

He watches as she flies through the trees. Her flower print dress catchin’ on the world ‘round her. His little fox doesn’t know what it does to him to watch her run like that, and that makes it all the more delicious. Her naivete wafts off of her, leaving a trail of arousal, confusion, and fear.

He howls, raw and unbroken, with his human mouth into the night sky.

It isn’t the spoiled fruit scent of her fear with him.

This one tastes ripe, rich. Decadent even, like he can bottle it up.

Drizzle it over his tongue. It has depth, aged perfectly between these tall oak trees that she’s so eager to seek shelter in.

It’s so thick, he knows he’ll be able to find her even without his wolf vision. All he has to do is taste the air.

He wonders if he should shift now, hunt her down like that, or if he should stay like this: human, so she can see him coming.

Derrick thinks he must be just as much a vision as her, naked, his body adorned in the blood of her enemy. His enemy. It’s primal, this satisfaction, knowing he’s going to hunt her down. Gonna fuck her in the dirt with this blood.

She’ll be reborn.

Her first taste of the wild inside of him, and all she could do was stare, wetness gathering between her legs. Fuckin’ delicious. She isn’t afraid of him, not really. It’s in her heartbeat, in the way she swallows hard, keeps moving around him like he hadn’t told her to stop.

Fuckin’ brat.

He wants her to do it again and again and again; to challenge him. He likes that.

Other she-wolves have tried, but there’s no spark in it. They want a conquest, not him. They wanted what they thought came with a bonding to him, the pack, his status.

He’s never wanted any of that.

And Georgie?

He smelled the way blood rushed to her cunt when she looked at him with blood and guts covering his chin. The viscera of her own dead lover hadn’t even dried before her nipples were hardening, her eyes fogging with wild, wild thoughts he was gonna spend the rest of his life learning.

Ain’t no-one looked at him like that before.

Not even the wolf girls back home had half the appetite he’d smelled flowing through her before she’d turned her head too far away from him.

Oh, they liked him well ‘nough. A little too friendly even for wolves, he thought, which was why he’d left when he was so young. That and his sisters.

Derrick lets her go a little longer. He doesn’t want this hunt to end any sooner than he already knows it will. He doesn’t bother with the rickety metal stairs. He jumps over them, his feet moving before he’s even landed on the ground.

He’ll have to build her a porch back here, he thinks, something more substantial so that sometimes, when she wants to play this game, he can tackle her there.

Fuck her on the goddamn wood. Let her get just outside the door and grip that mass of curls right back to his chest before he paints the whorls of bark with her cum.

She’ll like that.

He can tell.

He can tell the same way his daddy used to say he could tell his mama was spittin’ mad long before they got home.

It’s sitting there, this knowledge, somewhere in his gut. It burns in his chest like a hot coal that hadn’t been but smoldering before. Now, though, now it’s lit. Growing embers flickering hotter and hotter until he’s sweating with a fever named Georgie.

A fever he’d never hope to break. He wonders if she has a fever in her too.

He can’t wait to find out.

He’s in his element here in the woods, but he isn’t used to the smell of the swamp. Its dampness makes everything a little harder to distinguish than he anticipates.

There’s nothing that’s ever excited him more.

He knows he’ll find her.

He can taste her underneath the rot and decay, something sweet under the musk and dirt. He’s going to teach her how to properly hide her scent. How to tell which way the wind blows, even when the leaves ain’t movin’.

He can hear her breathing strong, but ragged breaths. He’ll teach her how to breathe while she’s running too.

The less noise she makes, the harder it is for him. He ain’t never had a real challenge in his life, but this feels like a sample. Feels like the beginning.

It tastes like an appetizer for something much, much bigger that teases the back of his throat and makes his dick so hard he wonders if it’ll ever go down again.