Moira Rogers: Moonshine

When she moved it was fast, her hands coming up to his shoulders. She shoved off the couch and pushed him back on the floor. His head knocked against the TV stand, but he barely felt it. All of his attention was focused on Claire and the heat coming off of her.

She planted her hands on either side of his head, her hair tumbling around them as she rubbed her body against his. "I can't hurt you, can I?"

"You can try." He stretched up and bit her nipple.

Claire hissed in a sharp breath, grabbed the edge of his shirt, and yanked it hard enough to tear it. "I'd rather fuck you," she said, making it obvious she thought the two were mutually exclusive.

Lars let her open his shirt, then flipped her onto her back, pinning her to the floor. "Why not both?"

She struggled to free her hands—really struggling, instead of just giving him token resistance—and moaned when he tightened his fingers around her wrists. "Isn't that a little twisted?"

The moonshine still raged through his system, making his blood boil. His cock hardened, and he ground it against her. "Who gives a fuck? I like it, and so do you."

Claire bucked her hips, not hard enough to throw him off but with considerable force. Then she twisted her head and bit his arm, her accompanying snarl one of arousal instead of anger.

Lars hissed, first in pain, then in laughter. "You can do better than that." He bent his head and dragged his tongue up the side of her neck, all the way to her ear. "Play with me."

The rush from the moonshine faded more slowly than before, leaving Claire's heart thudding in her chest as she rode the wild thrill of her instincts.

Play with me, he said. She wanted to—longed to see the proof of how hard she made him work every time she looked at him. Something inside her whispered that no man who was too weak to take her deserved her.

She turned her head and bit his ear, meaning it more as a distraction than anything else. He was too strong for her to be able to leverage her hands off the ground, but she slid her right hand to the side as far as she could, dragging him off center just enough for her to push with her left leg and try to flip him off of her.

He shifted easily, keeping her down, grinning at her wickedly. "Is that the best you can do?" He bent his head and bit her nipple again, a little harder this time. "Come on. Let her out to play."

Claire shivered and made a soft noise of yearning at the thought of someone wanting the animal trapped inside her. She'd spent so much time playing human for everyone around her that her instincts had dulled, as if she were waking for the first time from a long sleep. She tried to roll again, tangling one leg around his as she kicked out with the other one, knocking both of their legs into the small table where his flask rested.

He lowered his mouth to her skin and drew his tongue along it in long, slow swipes. He left fire in his wake, and her skin tingled.

She twisted and made desperate sounds. The drag of his tongue across one nipple made her cry out, and she finally managed to wrench one hand free of his grasp. She clawed at his back, raking her fingers across it with enough force that her short nails broke the skin.

He hissed and slid his eyes shut. "You want to fuck me? Or do you want me to fuck you ?"

She dug her fingers into his ass, rocked her hips against his, and considered that choice. "How would you fuck me?"

The answer seemed to come easily, and was backed up by the heat in his eyes. "On the floor. Bend you over the couch, take you that way. Maybe even spank you a little."

Not even the drugs and alcohol were enough to kill the shame at how desperately aroused his words made her. He'd looked inside her and found everything she'd ever wanted to hide, everything she’d struggled to pretend wasn't there.

But she was tired of playing human, even if she wasn't entirely sure of how to stop. "Okay. Fuck me," she whispered, her words half command, half plea. "Show me how to let her out."

He didn't undress her, not really. He just tore open her jeans and turned her over the couch. Her knees knocked against the floor hard enough to rattle her teeth, and he dragged her jeans and underwear off her hips. "Last chance to say no , doll."

Nothing human was left in the low, snarling noise she made as she rocked back against him, searching instinctively for the hard length of his cock. She wanted it more than she'd ever wanted anything, to feel him driving into her. Claiming her, mating with her.

"Fuck me," she whispered again. " Now ."

She heard the rasp of his zipper, and the blunt head of his cock nudged the backs of her thighs. She groaned in anticipation as he gripped her hips more tightly to hold her still. Then he pushed inside her, and his hand landed on the back of her hip with a resounding crack. She arched her back with a low cry, the movement driving him deeper inside her.

His penetration felt so right , so much more right than anything should. She snarled in triumph as she shoved back against him.

Mine. Mine, mine, mine.

He grunted as he thrust into her and growled as he pulled away, a constant push-pull of sounds tickling her ears. He didn't press his chest against her back, just gripped her hips and jerked her back to meet every plunge. Then one of his hands left her hip to wind in her hair, and he wrenched her head back. "Beg me not to stop."

She bit her lips before the words could come out, arching her neck with a soft growl of defiance. "No."

His movements halted, and he tightened his hold on her hair.

Claire whimpered and shoved back against him, trying to move for both of them.

He stilled her with a hand on her hip, his fingers gouging into her skin. "Beg for it, and I'll fuck you."

She let out a frustrated snarl and dug her fingers into the couch, unable to move with one hand clutching her hip and the other wrapped in her hair. "P-please—" She stuttered the word and groaned. "Oh, God, please—please fuck me—"

He thrust again, harder this time, almost hard enough to hurt. "Keep it up, and so will I."

"Don't stop." She ground out the words between satisfied groans, whispering them, whimpering, eventually screaming, "Don't stop, don't— fuck, don't stop—"

A low laughed rumbled out of his chest, and his pounding slowed, gentled, until he rocked against her. "Don't stop what?"

Claire cried out in frustration. She wanted more of his cock, she needed more. But he slowed his movements in and out until they were nothing more than a gentle shifting back and forth.

"Lars—" She pleaded with him and tried to move again, but his grip was firm. "Please!"

"How do you want my cock?"

"Harder—" Her body burned with sensation, and she didn't think all of it was from the moonshine. His scent wrapped around her, a mix of mechanic's oil, tangy sweat, and the spicy scent of a mature male shifter. It tantalized her as much as the possessive grip of his fingers on her hip. She'd never been talkative during sex, but the words spilled from her anyway. "Fuck me harder, make me come."

"You can come without me fucking your pussy." As if to underscore his words, his fingers drifted down her hip and circled her clit in a slick caress. "Why do you want me to fuck you?"

Claire tried to lie to him. "Because I'm high."

"Liar." He pulled away, and his cock slipped out of her.

"Lars!" She rocked back against him without thought, whimpering in protest. "Fine, I need you. I fucking need you—God, don't stop —"

"No." His voice was a quiet whisper, though she heard him plainly. His strong hands lifted and turned her, setting her on the edge of the sofa. He tugged her jeans down to her ankles and stared up at her as he pushed her legs apart. "I'll do anything but fuck you."