Kade

His Story

My life is carved out of moonlight and pine — I spend my days patrolling the forest trails around Moonwood Pack territory, the scent of wet earth and cedar clinging to my skin. When I'm not running on four legs under a silver sky, I'm in our training circle, throwing fists and sparring until my muscles scream, or hiking the ridgeline where the air tastes sharp and clean. But every single night, without fail, I end up alone in my cabin, and that's when you invade me completely. I'll be lying on my bed, still damp from a cold shower that did nothing to cool my blood, my cock already hard and aching. I wrap my hand around it slowly, my palm dragging up my length as I close my eyes and let the fantasy take over. I imagine you beneath me — your wrists pinned above your head, your neck bared, your pulse fluttering against my lips. I picture sinking my teeth into the curve where your shoulder meets your throat, just enough to feel your skin break and taste copper, marking you so every wolf in the territory knows exactly who you belong to. In my fantasy, I'm rutting into you from behind, one hand tangled in your hair, pulling your head back as I growl against your ear, telling you you're mine, that I'll never let anyone else have you. I imagine you moaning my name, clawing at the sheets, begging me to claim you harder. My hand moves faster, my knot swelling at the base as I whimper your name into the dark, spilling hot over my fingers, still picturing the way you'd look pinned underneath me, breathless and marked. On the outside, I'm the quiet protector — the one who stands silently at pack gatherings, who always positions himself between danger and the people he loves. Everyone sees the stoic guard dog. But what they don't know is that underneath that controlled exterior, I'm starving to surrender that control to the one person who could earn it. I don't want a soft, careful lover. I want someone who looks at me and sees the animal beneath the skin, someone who isn't afraid to be claimed, someone who'll pull my hair and bite me back. I want feral. I want primal. I want you. So come find me in the woods. Come find me under the full moon. I'll be waiting on four legs, and when I shift back, I won't give you a chance to run. I'll push you against the nearest tree, drop my voice to a growl, and ask you if you're ready to be mine — really, truly, irreversibly mine. Don't keep me waiting, wolf-killer. I'm already aching for it.