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They were being loud tromping through the underbrush of the forest. Coyote didn’t hesitate to hide that he was coming—he didn’t have to when he was the most dangerous thing there. Lilynette walked by his side and chattered the whole time. Most were complaints, but other times awed observations and comments best left unsaid.
All sound ceased once they reached the edge of the clearing. Coyote Starrk stared past the treeline while Lilynette turned morose and moped.
“You know this is a bad idea, right?” She asked the same question she asked every time they found themselves there. “You know who her husband is–”
“Lilynette,” Coyote interrupted her, his voice brooking no argument. When it came to this situation, he heard no one’s argument but his own. “Beat it.”
Lilynette scowled, rolled her eyes, and called him a very rude name as she turned and headed back the way they came. He remained where he was until her loud chatter was gone from hearing and was replaced with birdsong. Then he moved, slipping from the tree line into the wide-open sunny meadow.
He found you at once where you sat among a bed of sweet-smelling clover, a basket of wildflowers beside you. Your hair gleamed in the sunlight.
He smelled you first. Lilacs and lemons. Sweat from waiting for him in the heat. You hummed as you picked flowers and clover for tea, a light, airy tune he’d heard you hum many times before.
“Red,” he said as he neared you, using the name you’d first introduced yourself with (a nickname given to you by your grandmother as a child and which had stuck over the years) and you turned at the waist to look at him, your eyes wide, and your body draped in that scarlet red cloak you had become famous for.
You grinned when you saw him, a bright, happy grin that made his insides twist into knots. His heart ached. Lilynette was right. This was a foolish notion—it always was. He knew your husband, and the Huntsman hated to let his beautiful wife out of sight for long. Especially with wolves roaming these woods.
Wolves, he hated.
The feeling was mutual.
“Coyote!” you said, and the sound of his name on your voice made him feel weak at the knees. He’d do anything for you. Anything. “You came!”
Your red cloak shrouded your body, and he simultaneously dreaded and felt eager to see what was underneath. When you sat like that while you waited for him, body hidden from view, you were wearing something as a surprise for him.
He wondered whether you made a habit of surprising your husband in the same way. Or if he was the only one.
The last time, you had been naked. Except for the long lengths of red muslin ribbon tied around your thick, luscious thighs. Ribbons saturated with your smell. He still carried one in his pocket, twined around his long fingers. The other he left back at home, forever resting beneath his pillow.
That one still smelled like you.
He stood in silence for a moment, a good number of feet separating you. You drowned in each other’s gazes, lost in the yearning that yawned between you, until Coyote stepped forward. He pulled the ribbon from his coat pocket and held it out to you.
“Here,” he said, as your eyes dropped to it. “Tie this around your thigh. High up.”
You dragged your gaze back up to his, amused. “Why?” You asked, even though you knew damn well why.
“You know why,” he said. “I need it to smell like you again.”
A smile flickered over your lips as you sat up on your knees, reached up, and took the ribbon from him. Your brow arched as you moved your red cloak aside and tied the ribbon around your thigh, high up like he had asked.
You were naked again. Completely. Without a scrap of cloth on you. Except for the ribbon now, he supposed. And that damn red cloak.
He remembered the first time he’d taken you on that cloak. It’d been years ago. You’d been young, he’d been young, you had both been young—young and stupid and ignorant of what frightful thing was forming between you after every accidental meeting while you were on your way to your grandmother’s house with your basket of sweets. You knew he was dangerous — the wolf that lived in the woods, the wolf that your grandmother had warned you about — but you hadn’t listened, never mind the fact that the wolf wasn’t even a wolf, but a coyote. And Coyote had known he wasn’t good for you, for someone so pure and good, that he’d taint you with his presence like he had so many others before he split himself in two.
But you’d come to him that night smelling of lilacs and menstrual blood, and he hadn’t been able to stop himself. Under a full, glowing blood moon, he had ruined your pretty little red cloak, and he had ruined you, too. He had torn away your innocence, left you trembling, and gasping, and soaked beneath him, and neither of you dared to look back. He had ruined you; you had ruined him—you had ruined each other.
Not even when you married another man a year later, did you look back. You would always be his, he knew, in a way the Huntsman would never have you.
Your fingers traced along the ribbon tied around your thigh. They stalked inward and higher, and your eyes glittered as you smiled at him.
“I missed you, Coyote.”
You moved, then.
Lunging to your feet, you took off into the woods. Crashing through the brush after you, Coyote didn’t think; he gave chase.
There was a reason you were naked. Likewise, there was also a reason you wore your red cloak on the afternoons you met with him. Reasons that went beyond the symbolic.
He could smell you. The lilacs and the lemons, but your sweat, too, and the wetness already dripping between your legs. He could hear you, too, not bothering to be quiet. Tracking you was easy, almost too easy, but he allowed you some headway. He kept his distance. No doubt you already had a bolt-hole ready; some place he could drag you from like a coyote with a rabbit in its jaws. You knew he’d catch you, too. It was only a matter of ‘when’, and that’s what made this game between you so thrilling.
He stopped when he realized he couldn’t hear you anymore. His head rose, and his nostrils flared as he scented the air, and contemplated heading in the other direction from the one your scent led him in. Make you think you had lost him. The thought was tempting, but he felt anxious and pent-up. He didn’t know if he had the patience for a long, drawn-out hunt that afternoon.
It had been a while since you’d met last. Your husband had grown paranoid and suspicious, and Coyote hadn’t wanted to risk your safety. Still. He was eager to be with you again.
The subtle scent of your sex burned in his nose. It made his mouth water. He wanted to eat you, and the wanting of it threatened to kill him.
In the direction of your scent, he took off. He quieted his steps, conscious of every step he made as he avoided making a sound. He was the wolf now — a Coyote — hunting its prey.
He could hear the beating of your heart, fast and excited, like a trapped bird in a cage. You wouldn’t go to your bolt-hole, no, not then. No doubt you wanted him to find you.
He didn’t announce his approach as he neared your hiding spot. Instead, he lunged around the tree shielding you from view. You shrieked with fright, surprised to see him so soon, and your heart-rate spiked. Then you had your arms thrown around his neck, you were caught in his embrace, and you were kissing him, your tongues sloppy in the other’s mouths as he pressed you back against the tree, boxing you in with his arms and body.
His thigh sliced up between your legs, splitting them like cordwood, and you both moaned as you ground your hips down against him. He smoothed his hands along your body, mapping every inch of your breasts, hips, waist, ass, thighs—he couldn’t get enough of you. That insatiability drove him down to his knees. He lifted your leg, draped it over his shoulder, and then his tongue was on your pussy.
Your taste swept over him, the salty sweetness he couldn’t stop dreaming about, and he groaned as he buried his face deeper into you, his lips lingering around your clit while his tongue explored you. When he slipped it as deep as he could inside you, you moaned and buried your hands in his hair. You pressed on his back with your calf as you undulated your hips against his mouth, and for a minute, he thought he had died and gone to heaven.
Gods, your taste! He couldn’t get enough of it, and he found his hatred of the Huntsman deepening. If you had been his wife like the two of you had talked and dreamed about when you were younger—if your grandmother had chosen him instead of that bastard hunter—he would worship you like this all day. His mouth would be such a constant presence between your legs that you would come to think of it being there as natural as breathing.
But you weren’t his wife, like you had talked and dreamed about together. Your grandmother hadn’t chosen him because he wasn’t like you, not really. He was a dangerous element in the forest ecosystem, and what was worse, he was an unknown personality to just throw her precious granddaughter at because he was an Arrancar. And Arrancar, he was sure her grandmother had told her, could not be trusted.
Despite all that, you fell in love with him. Somehow. The details still confused and eluded him.
“Coyote!” you gasped, your voice choked with desire. You arched your back as you bore your hips down against him. “Oh, gods, Coyote, please!”
He knew what you wanted. He gripped your thigh tight with his hand and focused his tongue’s attention on your clit as he slipped two of his fingers into your pussy. Your body swallowed them with a greediness that almost made him breathless with anticipation.
You were already so wet. Your slick coated your inner thighs, his chin, his mouth, and it trickled down his fingers and wrist. You were such a messy lover, and he loved every fucking moment of being with you.
He loved you, his Little Red Riding Hood.
Your legs trembled and buckled, but he kept you standing by buffeting his shoulder against you. For a moment, he contemplated allowing you to sink to the forest floor. On your back, he could spread your legs as wide as he wanted. And with you sitting on his face, he would be surrounded by you to the detriment of all else.
He could think of far worse ways to go than by drowning between the thighs of the woman he loved.
No, in the end, he kept you standing. You’d go off running as soon as he released you, and he enjoyed watching you stumble on shaking legs after making you come a few times, knowing that soon, he’d catch you again and fuck that tremble back into your legs.
“Does he worship you like this, too?” He asked, reluctant to release you long enough to get the words out. You whimpered, and your hand tightened in his hair, a warning, perhaps, but one he ignored. “Your husband, I mean. Does he spread your legs and lick your pussy like I do? Does he make you feel so good you come all over his face?”
Slowly, you shook your head. “You know he doesn’t,” you breathed. “Only you treat me this good, Coyote.”
He released an amused hum and chuckled, and the reverberations along your sex made you whimper again. “You deserve to be treated this way all the time, beloved,” he said. “And it’s a travesty you’re not.”
Silence fell as he devoted all his attention to you, to making you come. He sucked on your clit while he fucked you with his fingers, scissoring them and crooking them in search of—ah. There it was.
You came with a wail of his name as your hand tightened in his hair. Your legs trembled and threatened to give way beneath you. You sagged, but he kept you upright by swinging your other leg onto his other shoulder and pinning your hips against the tree. His hands tightened around your thighs, leaving slick marks on your skin from his wet fingers as he continued to devote the attention of his mouth to your spasming pussy.
He prolonged the warmth working its way through you until he tripped you over into another orgasm. You whimpered and arched your back, grinding your hips down onto his soaked face, but he didn’t relent. If anything, he wanted more from you—as much as you would let him have.
“Coyote . . .” you whimpered, only to be met with his fierce silver-colored gaze. His tongue swirled around your clit and your breath hitched, as much from overstimulation as anything else. “Coyote, please!”
“One more, beloved,” he whispered against your soaking flesh, an intimate, erotic kiss he could never get enough of. “Give me one more and I’ll release you. Then you can run from me again. I promise.”
As your head fell back against the tree, your chest hitched. While the nails of the other hand dug into the rough bark, your hand tightened in his hair. Your breath jerked, your hips bucked, your thighs quivered, and you gave one last strangled moan of his name as another orgasm washed through you.
As you twitched with overstimulation, he pressed one more affectionate kiss to your clit before he slowly lowered your legs. You winced as pins and needles flooded into them along with your blood circulation, and he helped keep you steady until you regained your balance. He nuzzled the groomed hair on your mound. You had soaked the ground beneath you.
“You’re gonna run from me again,” he said, his silvery eyes dark and hooded as he gazed up at you. “I’m going to catch you, and when I do, I’m going to make you mine, Red.”
You shuddered, gulped, and nodded. You stood there a moment longer before he released you and stepped back. “Okay,” he said, jerking his head in a random direction. “Now run.”
You nodded and lunged forward. You grasped his jaw with your fingers, keeping his head in place, and kissed him. The hunger in it made him moan, but before he could return it, you pulled away and took off again, on still-shaking legs that made you stumble across the uneven terrain.
You had a five-minute head start. He had to give you one. He’d made you come so much, he could smell the slick coating your thighs as easily as a bloodhound could scent blood. Forcing himself to wait, he stood and wiped his mouth and chin on his jacket sleeve. It wasn’t a competition, but neither of you wanted the game to end so quickly. Where was the fun in that?
After a while had passed, he turned and stalked deeper into the forest, following the scent of your arousal as it washed over him, carried on the breeze whistling through the trees. You weren’t as far away as he’d thought you’d be, given the head start he’d generously given you. He smiled. No doubt you were as desperate for him as he was for you.
As he neared you, he could hear your heartbeat, steady and frantic still, like a rabbit’s. Your scent got stronger the closer he got. Was he salivating at the thought of you? He wasn’t sure.
He heard you shift from where you crouched and froze, not wanting to give you the slightest clue he was so close. When you tiptoed—almost timidly—into view from your hiding spot, head swiveling and eyes wide as you took in your surroundings, he smirked.
“Is the hunt to be over so soon?”
You gasped and turned your head to look at him. His smirk widened, and you took off like a sprinting deer deeper into the forest. Coyote took off after you, not at his full speed, but fast enough to remind you that you were the one being hunted. You were the prey, triggering his predator instinct in the best way possible.
You wove around trees, ducked under low-hanging branches, and jumped over holes, gnarled tree roots, and possible pitfalls. Now and then, you’d hold a branch as you passed, only to send it swinging back into his face. He always laughed when you did this, delighted, as his arm came up to intercept it.
You were growing tired. He could hear it in your heartbeat and the way your chest heaved with breath. How you were becoming less nimble and sure of where you were putting your feet.
Then you tripped.
Your foot snagged on the arch of a protruding tree root, and with a frightened shriek, you hurtled forward, your arms flying up to protect your head. Coyote lunged forward, using his full speed this time, and caught you in his arms. He twisted around and landed on his back on the forest floor with you on top of him. Your head spun, and you felt robbed of breath, but he didn’t allow you any room to recover. Immediately, he rolled until you were pinned beneath him and towered on hands and knees above you.
Your red cloak had gotten tangled beneath you when the two of you rolled. With a grunt and a scowl, you unpinned it from your neck and wriggled it out from under you. Lying on a bed of soft moss and fragrant pine needles, he buried his hands in your hair and kissed you.
The kiss, deep and devouring, tempted forth a moan from you. You wrapped your limbs around him, your legs hooking around his waist as you craved for him to be as naked as you were.
As if he could read your mind, he rose as much as he could without severing his lips from yours and yanked open his coat. He jerked it down his arms and off him before he did the same with his shirt beneath it. When you felt his skin against yours, burning hot and scorching, you smoothed your hands along his pectorals, careful of the perfect, symmetrical hole in his chest.
That had been the most shocking thing to you at first — the hole in his chest where his heart should be. You’d been afraid with a missing heart that he’d be as terrible and terrifying as your grandmother, husband, and all the others in your village had whispered he and all his Arrancar brothers and sisters were. To your surprise, he had been nothing like the rumors. What you discovered upon getting to know him was a lonely being in desperate need of someone to love him.
Which you did. You were devastatingly in love with Coyote Starrk. So deep that you couldn’t breathe because of the ferocity sometimes. You couldn’t imagine living a life without him in it.
Determined, you softened your kiss, taking away some of the hunger and desperation. In return, his movements became less hurried and frantic. You liked desperate Coyote, but you loved a soft, devoted Coyote. It was so different from what you got at home with your husband.
Your hands fell between you, and you worked at the buttons of his trousers. He pulled off his shirt as you finished with his pants and you shoved them past his hips and down his legs as far as you could get them before working them off the rest of the way with your toes.
Feeling his pulsing length against you, heavy and thick, you sighed and grasped him. You stroked him a few times, thumb smearing through the pre-come beading at the tip, before you arched your hips. You guided him along your slick sex, covering him in your arousal as you ground against each other, and he chuckled.
“Tease,” he murmured, affectionate and loving, and you could only grin in reply as you kept at it, your breath hitching whenever he slid over your clit. “You need my fingers again?” He asked, and you released a contemplative hum before you shook your head. The concern in his voice made you feel warm and loved.
“No,” you said. “I’ll be fine.”
You deepened the kiss as you lined him up at your opening. His hips pushed forward, entering you inch by torturous inch until you were breathless and full of him. Your head swam, and you felt like you were swooning. It had been so long since your last encounter that you had forgotten how good he felt inside you.
You wanted more.
You curled your legs around him again as you lifted your hips, encouraging him to move. He did, and the slow rock of him grinding himself against you in the best way possible was also frustrating as hell.
“More, Coyote!” you breathed as he dragged his lips from yours and down your neck. He sucked at the pulse point of your throat, you reminded him not to leave any marks, and he replied by reaching down between your bodies to pinch your clit. You whined and writhed beneath him as his dexterous fingers made the warmth churning in your gut worse.
His lips continued to wander, down your throat to your heaving breasts where they lingered. He worshiped every inch of them he could reach with his lips before devouring your nipples with his mouth and tracing them with his tongue. The combined feel of his mouth, fingers, and thrusting cock threatened to overwhelm you.
You could only lay there and utter his name in a series of mindless moans, whimpers, and whines that drove a hot spike of need deeper within him as well. Your lovemaking never became frantic, or hurried, or rougher than what you wanted. It remained the same slow pace, but then it became hard, a harsh, slow slamming of his hips against yours that juddered the breath in your lungs. Your copious arousal facilitated this animalistic lovemaking, and you could feel when he slowed he was nearing his end.
“Please, Coyote!” you whispered as your lips skated along his throat, making him shudder. “I want it. Please give it to me!”
He groaned and held you close, kissing you with passion as his pace deepened again. When the base of his cock swelled, you moaned and clung to him, trembling with a need so profound you almost couldn’t explain it. You teetered on the edge of orgasm.
One of your favorite things was him knotting you. You didn’t know if it was an Arrancar thing or because it had to do with his resurrección, but you didn’t care. It had surprised and shocked (and not to mention intimidated) you at first before becoming one of your favorite things in your sex life with him.
He fucked you with his growing knot, faster as he grew closer and closer to coming, and you clung to him and moaned as it stretched you almost to your limits. Your body strained around his, thighs quivering, and when it popped into place, you came, hard, with a strangled wail of his name. Wetness burst between you, soaking his hips, and he groaned again as he fucked you to his own orgasm. Unable to pull out when he came, he filled you with his release, until he felt weak and drained and you felt deliciously full.
You didn’t move for a while afterward. Wrapping your arms around him, you held him close as the two of you waited for his knot to deflate. You hummed as you ran your fingers through his hair, and he chuckled as he rested against you, his head pillowed on your breasts.
“Your pussy’s still twitching around me,” he said, his breath hot against your neck, and you laughed breathlessly in response.
“It’s not my fault you feel so good.” You grinned as you pressed a kiss to his head. “And I’m sorry, but it’s been a while.”
Both of you had been so wrapped up in your own pleasure, in your orgasms, in the comedown, that you neglected to notice you had a visitor.
Coyote noticed him first. His senses screamed and adrenaline slammed into him as he pushed himself off you to his knees. You winced as his knot tugged painfully, not yet free of you, and he growled with frustration as your husband calmly stepped forward. The Huntsman buried a hand deep in Coyote’s hair, pulled his head back, and brought a wickedly sharp skinning knife to his throat.
Or was it a dagger? He could never remember how to tell them apart.
“I’m not surprised you didn’t sense me,” the Huntsman said, his deep baritone voice seeming to shake the surrounding trees. You lay beneath Coyote still, propped up on your elbows, your eyes wide with terror and your chest hitching with it.
Coyote didn’t wince as the blade cut a little into his throat. A thin trickle of blood ran down his neck. “My wife’s cunt has that effect on people.”
Breathless with fear, you whispered your husband’s name, but both men ignored you. Your husband wasn’t looking at you. Instead, he gazed upon the lithe, corded expanse of Coyote’s body with an awed, almost reverent expression.
Coyote scowled. “You’d know that as well as I would, wouldn’t you?” He asked. “Then again, you’re looking at me like you want nothing more than to eat me. You’re out of luck, though, man, sorry. My dick only gets hard for your wife.”
As if snapping out of it, the Huntsman scowled. Coyote’s knot finally deflated, and he slipped free of you at once, releasing you with a suddenness that made you gasp and wince. Fluid spilled from between your thighs to the forest floor beneath you, a thick, sticky combination of Coyote’s come and your own.
You scrambled then onto your knees. You planted a hand on Coyote’s chest and reached up to grab your husband’s wrist with the other. There was a stubborn, determined look on your face that Coyote couldn’t ever remember you holding as you gazed fearlessly up to the man who currently held a knife to your lover’s throat.
“Let go of him!” You demanded, the fierce look in your eyes freezing both men. Your jaw hardened. “I might have married you, but grandmother told you to do everything I said. Now release him!” There was a beat of a pause before she added, “She told you not to kill him. So don’t kill him.”
This surprised Coyote. He thought that, given the chance and all the bad blood that existed between them, the Huntsman, his old enemy, would kill him given the slightest opportunity. To hear that not only couldn’t he but that he had been given orders not to . . . his interest was piqued.
“You think I care if you fuck this mangy wolf?” The Huntsman growled, his voice full of anger. “Think again, sweetheart. I couldn’t care less. But you play with wolves, sweetheart. Don't be surprised when you learn how to bite. Your grandmother saw that when she betrothed us. And what have you done? You’ve thrown her kindness right back into her face!”
Furious tears gathered in your eyes, but still, you did not release his wrist. Coyote’s gaze burned into you, and you avoided looking at him as you spoke. “Let. Go. Of him.”
There came a heavy pause wherein Coyote didn’t think he would listen to her. Then, with a sound of irritation, he removed the knife from his neck and kicked him forward. You gasped his name and caught him in your arms as his weight drove you back on your ass.
“Get yourself clothed,” the Huntsman said, throwing your clothes at you. “I came out here to find you because your grandmother wants to see you.” He sneered. “I’m looking forward to seeing how she reacts to me finding you out here in the woods playing wolf with her mortal enemy.”
“I hate you.” You whispered, those furious tears in your eyes refusing to die. Coyote reached out and brushed them away with his thumbs.
“Hey,” he whispered. “I love you.”
You nodded as you reached out and pulled him to you. Your head fell forward to rest against his. “I love you, too, Coyote.”
“How sweet,” the Huntsman sneered. “Hurry up. You know your grandmother isn’t one to keep waiting.”
Coyote looked at him over his shoulder and realized just how much he hated him. Behind him, he could hear you pulling on your clothes and pinning your red cloak around your neck. “If it weren’t for the accord I have agreed to with her grandmother, your guts would be strung from these tree limbs like tinsel.”
The Huntsman’s sneer remained, though it flickered with doubt. “Lucky me, then.” He said. “Though, you and I both know this isn’t over, Coyote Starrk. Not by a long shot.”