The beast clambers to ram in hard, add another finger, a fist, and then my cock. I strain muscles to hold back, to keep my rhythm smooth.

He pulls away from the kiss. “I need your mouth, Flanagan. I need your mouth on me. Please. Don’t take your fucking finger out.”

I smile down at my bossy lover. “My name is Gabriel.”

“Gabriel,” he breathes. And I see recognition in his eyes. He remembers me helping him in the cage. He never said. I’m relieved. I was unsure how he would react. Does he remember more? The day he spent on my lap. In my bed.

With my finger left in place, I slide down to kneel between his legs, lean over, and without ceremony, swallow his hard length to the base. He smells of musk and sweat.

He cries out, rising to meet my mouth. “Whoa! Flan—Gabriel, go easy.”

I have no intention of going easy.

Deep throating his precious member, I squeeze his hip to encourage him to thrust. I want him to fuck my throat while I fill him. To come so hard he never looks to another for what he needs.

Michael’s tentative, trying to pull out and give me air. I fuck his hole, rub his gland, and suck.

His hips rise off the bed. “Oh, my… What the…? Shit, Flanagan.”

He soon gives in, grabbing my hair on both sides of my head for a hold and thrusting into my throat and back onto my finger. His moans increase. His grip tightens. His thrashing hips fill my mouth with the length of his cock deeper and faster. The beast revels in every cry from his lips.

“Oh, fuck. Gabriel. That feels amazing. I’m—I’m gonna come.” His whole body tenses, he arches off the bed, and with a long cry, hot fluid and Flame shoot down my gullet.

The beast crashes to the forefront, lengthening my incisors, shifting from its tethers. Mine.

Michael’s eyes widen as I rise to straddle his chest. He’s still panting from his orgasm. “Flanagan? What—”

I pin him down with a hand over his throat. “Don’t move. Don’t speak.”

Leaning my pelvis closer to his face, I take my hard erection in hand and jerk it with firm and furious strokes. The beast wants to bite. To mark. I can barely hold it back. Anlu’kyr might be immune to the Lycanthrope virus, but humans are not. And Michael is part human. I’ve got to give the beast something. This will have to do.

Michael looks up, watching me, fear in his eyes but also lust and wonder. He strokes my thighs, encourages me with his grip. My heart yearns for him.