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feel of another inch of steely cock gliding home. The head butted her cervix, nudged her darkest corners, and now she could feel his pelvis grinding between her legs, feel the impact of his hips against hers that had been missing from his previous thrusts. Finally he had buried his whole length inside her, and he filled her so deeply, she tasted his thrusts in the back of her throat.
    “Graham!”
    Her cry was a plea, a protest and a demand for more. He answered the last, ignored the others. Pinning her against the door, now hot and slick from their sweaty bodies, he rode her hard, his cock hilting inside her with each thrust, making her muscles ripple and contract on each entrance, collapse and yearn on each withdrawal.
    She wanted desperately to thrust back against him, but her position made it impossible. He controlled her every movement, holding her still and open for his powerful thrusts. She felt the constricting band of her tight dress where it settled around her waist, felt the rasp of his dress shirt under her hands and against her breasts. She felt the rough fabric of the pants he still wore low around his hips while he fucked her. She’d never felt anything so savage or so amazingly good.
    The tension built inside her until she sobbed for release. He bent his knees for leverage and thrust high and hard inside her, and she sobbed through an endless, pulsing climax. Her cunt clamped tight around his cock, milking him with slick, wet muscles until he slammed her back against the door and roared. Fingers gripping, muscles clenching, he crushed her between the hard door and his hard cock while he emptied his semen inside her in hot, heavy spurts.

    Christine Warren
    Fur Factor
    23
    She melted over him, clinging to his waist and his shoulders with the last of her strength. Her breath sawed in and out of her lungs on ragged gasps. Her muscles felt like melted pudding, and they trembled under the least little exertion. If not for the solid door behind her and Graham’s heavy weight in front of her, she would have trickled to the floor and lain there for at least a week.
    Graham stirred, and Missy wondered where he got the strength. His hands cupped her ass and held her in place while he crossed the room with three long strides and tumbled her back onto the bed. She landed with a thud in the middle of the silk-covered mattress and grunted when Graham settled his weight on top of her. He heaved a rough sigh and buried his face in the crook of her neck, his tongue lapping the salt from her skin with lazy strokes. She read more sleepy satisfaction than amorous intent in his actions and offered up a breathless prayer of thanks. She had just about enough energy left to close her eyelids, and she’d be out like a light.
    Her hands groped along the mattress, looking for a blanket to pull over them, but she found nothing. The only covering on the bed seemed to be the fitted silk sheet. In fact, she couldn’t remember seeing sheets or blankets or even a bedspread pooled on the floor from a restless night’s sleep. Too tired to wonder about it, she contented herself with Graham’s body heat, which seemed more effective than an electric blanket anyway.
    Tangling her legs with his, she shifted her hips and felt his half-hard cock still nestled inside her. She mulled it over for a moment, decided she liked the sensation and wrapped her arms around him. Her last thought before she tumbled into unconsciousness was that no woman could possibly need a Fantasy Fix if she got to spend one night of her life with a lusty lycanthrope.

    Christine Warren
    Fur Factor
    24

Chapter Three
    Honey and vanilla .
    Graham’s nose twitched, followed closely by his cock, as he slid gradually from sleep to waking. With his eyes still closed, he concentrated on the scent surrounding him, an intoxicating blend of honey and vanilla that reminded him of shortbread and sex and warm, melted ice cream. The thought made his stomach growl.
    He nuzzled his face