Alpha's Halloween Virgin
Alpha’s Halloween Virgin
A Halloween Wolf Shifter Romance
A standalone full-length novel in the
Alpha’s Virgin series (Book 1).
Copyright © 2018 by Casey Morgan; All Rights Reserved
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Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Tabitha
Chapter 2
Tabitha
Chapter 3
Cameron
Chapter 4
Tabitha
Chapter 5
Cameron
Chapter 6
Tabitha
Chapter 7
Cameron
Chapter 8
Tabitha
Chapter 9
Cameron
Chapter 10
Tabitha
Chapter 11
Cameron
Chapter 12
Tabitha
Chapter 13
Tabitha
Chapter 14
Tabitha
Chapter 15
Cameron
Chapter 16
Tabitha
Chapter 17
Cameron
Chapter 18
Tabitha
Chapter 19
Cameron
Chapter 20
Tabitha
Chapter 21
Cameron
Chapter 22
Tabitha
Chapter 23
Cameron
Chapter 24
Tabitha
Chapter 25
Cameron
Chapter 26
Tabitha
Chapter 27
Cameron
Chapter 28
Tabitha
Chapter 29
Cameron
Epilogue
Tabitha
Here’s a preview of Alpha’s Christmas Virgin
Books in the Alpha’s Virgin Series
Chapter 1
Tabitha
Friday, October 29, 2018.
Friday nights are usually my escape from a life that is overrun by expectations, strictness in thought and belief, and a regimented use of time that would make even prisoners feel freer than I do. On Friday nights I’m allowed a few hours alone in my room and an one hour phone call with my best friend Cami. Even the college I attend and the job I work had to be approved, and both are strictly “wholesome” and religious.
I had desperately wanted to get far, far away for college, but I couldn’t afford it, so I’m stuck at home and saving every penny to try and escape as soon as I can.
I look at the book next to me. Trace my fingers over it. It’s called Fang Bang. One in a series, and definitely not something Dad would want me reading anytime. But especially not on Halloween weekend, which he has already labeled the Devil’s Holiday. I always keep it under my pillow or under my bed. That’s where I keep this particular monster safe. My love for sexy, paranormal smut. Something that would be crucified instantly in this house.
Spreading open the book to my placeholder (a small colorful crucifix bookmark), I begin to immerse myself in the story again. Where I’m at right now, the male main character, Charles Bayne, a werewolf from antiquity, has just been given what he needs to reunite with his Love. Starlet Faun. She has been a werewolf for as long as her mate. They were separated when the continents split into several from one mega continent. Way, way in the past. They’ve been searching for each other ever since.
I turn pages quickly, absently beginning to touch my hips. My lips. My inner thighs.
Now that he’s found what he needs to reunite with her, he’s hurrying with all speed. He’s touching and feeling her through his soul. Through his supernatural senses, and already he can begin to feel her love for him. How anxious she is to tie, to lie with him.
The stroking I’m doing on my lips and inner thighs, becomes a bit less listless, and more determined. Soft, but more urgent and more regular. Already, I can feel my body temperature beginning to spike. Warm, even though the house gets a little cold at this time of night, during this time of year.
I continue to read, creeping my hands closer to my crotch. My lips, and my clit are shielded within my skirt and panties. They are that oh-so-precious spot that I’m not supposed to know about, let alone be touching, but that makes it all the more exciting to me. And it makes me bring my fingers in closer, hovering just over my panties, before turning the page. After that, I’m right back down to my panties. Touching my little bead through the fabric. The very tip of which I can just make out through my layers.
At the moment, the touch I’m giving myself is more soothing than anything. It gets me into a bit of a trance as I read, rather than twisted up into a tizzy. But that’s okay, it helps me focus, begin to paint to the details in my mind.
Charles is racing across landscapes, over bits of a land bridge. As he does, he begins to shift out of werewolf form and to human. As he does, he is a dark-haired, golden-skinned beauty. His hair is long and black. Curly, a wild mass around his dark, keen eyes. His nose is thin, but his mouth is full. Sensual. Carved onto his face with extra beauty and care.
His body is a thing of sculpted muscle. Beautiful thick and heavy proportions. In his legs, arms, chest and back. All of them ripple with strength and precision. Glisten with sweat as he continues to run, hunger to reunite with her. Already, even if he runs, his cock is standing tall. Proud, thirsting for her. Searching to meet her as well.
I turn the page, and then another, quickly moving my hand from the front of my panties to down the front of them. To inside the dark, devilish cocoon created by my skirt and underwear. I’m wearing a thong. Something Dad would never approve of, and would have never agreed to let me purchase. Which is why I purchased it without his knowledge with a bit of my birthday money last year. They have become my “fantasy” panties.
Panties I wear when I’m reading these kinds of books; spending this kind of time with myself as I finish snaking my hand down my skirt, and onto the thin, silky barrier of my thong and resume stroking. As I do, I give a little gasp. A little lick of my lips, feeling how much more sensation I get now. How much soft and squishy greets me on either end. And my clit, it’s getting nubby. Hard in the best way, and with just some soft, intermittent “scrubbing” motions of my fingers. My nails, because I like a little bit of pain with my pleasure.
As I’m stroking myself and widening my legs a little bit for a little more surface area, I focus back in on the story. How Charles has just seen Starlet running toward him. Like him, she is naked. Where his cock is standing at attention as he runs, her nipples are out straight. Her breasts are full and perky, giving their own “hello” to him.
As I read her description—short, reddish-brown hair, blue eyes and a heart-shaped face, I begin to stroke myself a little faster. Quicker, and make the strokes longer and lingering, not so rapid-fire. I feel my heartbeat and temperature increase, along with my breathing. It’s a little fast. A little shallow. Starlet looks like me. She is me, I think, deciding I’m going to do just that: put myself in her place, though I’m not nearly as busty as she’s described. Nor do I share her shapely hips. I’m well proportioned, but I’m not “thick” in that way, and I’m not necessarily well endowed. I’m a bit on the flatter side, but that’s just fine with my parents. They say I’m “not much to look at” that way, which is just fine.
With them, but so not me. Thinking this, I keep up my stroking. I pause a bit, but only enough to turn a page, and anticipate what happens next. Charles and Starlet finally meeting up. I massage and whisper my fingers around my clit as they run to be reunited, but I hold
off from really touching. Really doing anything special, until they actually hug. Begin touching each other the way I’m touching myself.
Begin fucking, which is actually what I’m here for.
As I just do this barest bit of stroking and attention, my clit and folds are already growing damp in my thong. Every inch of my body is practically begging to be touched. Sucked. Pinched, much like what’s happening with Starlet’s nipples. Her and Charles have finally reunited, literally run into each other’s arms and started fucking right then and there, on part of the land bridge. Except Starlet is not Starlet; she’s me. I’m the one with her nipples in Charles’ vicious, hungry mouth. Getting harder and harder as his tongue lashes around her tender, sensitive skin.
I shiver at this, feeling my nipples go hard. Round themselves out in my bra. Pucker under the slightest touch of the pad, but I don’t touch there. I keep touching my clit. Stroking every inch of my folds, my long nails biting into the tender flesh a bit. Giving them a little slap as I move back up to my clit. In and around the tender bit of flesh, I’m beginning to feel myself quake. Shudder, to the point where I have trouble keeping my fingers on me. Add to that, the fact that my thong is practically soaked. So laden with liquid, that it’s not even really staying on me anymore. One little brush, and I would be touching myself directly.
Which I decide to go ahead and do, just as Charles decides to start licking my navel. My hips and thighs. My innermost heat, remarking on how long he’s been waiting for me. How beautiful and curly my hair is down there. How motherly it makes me, and how much he can’t wait to fill me to the brim. Make babies with me.
“Tabitha,” I imagine him saying in his sexy, growly whisper as his long, luxurious hair hangs in my face. He’s gotten up to start positioning himself for extra fun. Penetration of my sopping-wet pussy, which he’s promised to lick clean after making a mess of me. “Tabitha, I’ve waited for eternity to be with you, and now that I am, I’m going to make love to you. I’m going to penetrate and fill you so deeply, no distance will ever mean anything anymore. No connection too far.”
In my head, I imagine the way I am under him. The way I squirm. The way I moan and whisper his name. Part of me hears that I’ve done this out into my bedroom, but I’m past caring. I’m more focused on caressing and vibrating my fingers on and through my lips. My clit, and even into my hole. My opening, already reaching out to grab me. My three fingers, as if they are Charles’s cock. A cock I imagine is already stroking the back of my leg. Teasing the ends of my lips, the edges of my moist, glistening hole.
I imagine he flexes his muscles as he leans over me a bit more. I imagine I feel his cock whisper against my ass, and more of my silky, tense flesh as he positions himself just right. As he takes another testing dip in me. One that drives me wild. One that makes me open my greedy, salacious legs to him.
“It seems my mate is more than ready for me,” he murmurs, after humming observantly. His eyes fix me in a similar way a second later, their dark color driving into me like intoxicating teeth. Claws. “It seems she is ready to have all of me in her. To let me make some glorious werewolf babies.” I imagine he smiles wickedly at me. “Which shouldn’t be hard, since I’ve got a lot to give you. My cock is nice and big. And ready for that beautiful, magical pussy of yours, my dear.”
“I am,” I imagine I say, taking my fingers out of my wet, sticky opening and putting them back on my clit. There, I press out a frantic, intermittent rhythm. One that matches my heart, and my tenuous hold on the book. What I’m using to guide some of this fantasy. While also taking some creative license. Like a part where Charles kisses me. Bites my lip, before wiggling his cock inside me. Inserting the tip and then more, more. His length blossoms in me. Blooms outward, gently and intoxicatingly stretching me.
I imagine him moaning. Groaning with a sexy, barely restrained hunger. It’s a deep animal sound in his throat, and one that makes me spear my fingers into my hole. As I feel my lips and walls expand to accommodate three of my fingers held closely together, I imagine that it’s his cock doing this. His girth dominating me in this way. As I begin to move in and out of myself, I imagine it’s Charles.
I imagine I can see and feel him rocking above me. Beginning to pound me like crazy, his balls and hips slapping me like liquid muscle. Sinewy and soft manhood. Manliness personified. His musky, sweaty, earthbound sent fills me. As does the imagine sound of his rough, untamed breathing. The way his hands and fingers dig into me.
I let out a sighing whimper. I yelped out a soft, “Fill me. Give me all of your big, meaty cock. Ram me full of you, and your fucking cum.” As I say this, I finger myself faster and harder. I stick my fingers in as far as they will go. Pinch and rub as many of my little textured bits as possible, feeling my stomach rolling and clenching. My vagina walls doing the same, and more liquid is beginning to drench me. Try to push me out, as I say these dirty, lusty things. “Give me everything you have.” As I say this, I let out a hot, forceful breath of air. Something that’s between a growl and a sigh. I open my legs up more, though this is unconscious. Much like the way my hips are rising and buckling. “Don’t worry about fucking breaking me. I’m not pure anyway. I’m not weak, either.”
“I know you’re not, my dear,” I imagine Charles says to me, as he begins to fuck me for all he’s worth. Slam in and out of me until my insides feel delightfully bruised. Delightfully punched and stretched by him, but I don’t want him to stop. If anything, I want to feel him swell inside me. I want to feel him shoot me full of so much cum, I’ll feel it drip out of me for the next day and a half. “You are strong. You are powerful. You are a werewolf just like me, and I will gladly break you. Beautifully. Sweetly. But not of your body and mind, but all of all the sorrows you’ve undergone.” Saying this, imagine Charles kisses me. Puts one of his hands on my breasts, and the other under one of my legs. Doing so, I imagine he presses himself in and out of me fast and hard. On each trip in, he lingers. On each trip out of me, he drags himself along my length. Drags me along his, each texture swapping. Joining. Swirling together.
Soon my head’s almost swirling too much for my fingers to stay inside. Stay with the maddening rhythm I’ve started to do, but I can feel the itchy, clenching warning signs. The pleasure-pain of pre-orgasm. I breathe into it, forcing my wet, pruning fingers to keep stroking. Keep plundering my depths, though I keep wishing I had something longer. Something better.
Like an actual man’s cock. An actual thick and massive tool, ready to spread me. Use me. Abused me with love and lust. Stretch and bend all of my secret places. I moan low and long, the sound sad and sweet. Lonely and mournful, but also lusty and wild. As the sound escaped me, my walls tighten around me. Clench around me, and begin to throb.
In my ears, I can hear is my ragged, hungry breathing. My rapid, irregular pulse. The way the blood is rushing through my veins. Now I can’t hear anything that I might be imagining Charles says. All I can do is feel him. His strong hands bearing down on me. Pushing me into the rock and earth, as he bends upward in release. Pushes himself as deep in me as he can go, and unleashes his torrent of cum.
The exact moment that I imagine the thick warmth rushing into me, bulging into all of my nooks and crannies, I experience a wet, warm and wild ride of my own. My muscles clench. Almost to the point where I find myself worrying about whether I should stop.
And then, as if to shut that thought completely and totally out of my head, my body releases. Snaps the tension inside like a water balloon popping. Wet and viscous, warmth rushes through and out of me. Creates a lake that quickly spills over and out of my thong and into my pants. As it does, I let go of the book. Almost fling it away from me, and press my now-free hand hard over my mouth to keep myself from screaming.
I’ve never had an orgasm that good, and I don’t want to sour the experience by letting my parents hear me and come check on me.
As I let the orgasm ripple and smash its way through me, I enjoy this bit of freedom. This moment
of being able to be myself, and imagine that I’m in the arms of a sexy, strong werewolf. A being that is beyond all time and traditional sense of morality.
I imagine his eyes are locked on me. That he gives me a brilliant, earth-shattering smile. Sweat drips from his brow, but I imagine I enjoy the taste of it on my lips.
As I imagine looking into his brown eyes, now beginning to burn with flecks of gold and copper light, I come down off my pleasure. My little slice of heaven I’ve been floating around on, and renew my vow.
I don’t care what anyone says. I’m doing something that I want for my birthday. And that something is a beautiful, magical man. I’m losing my virginity the moment I turn twenty-one, and setting myself free from being a virgin. Being “pure and sweet.”
The phone rings and I carefully I unfurl my legs. It’s Cami. Time for my one phone call of the week. I smile and answer.
Chapter 2
Tabitha
I’m lucky to have my friend Cami. The few hours I’m allowed on Friday night to be on the phone, talk about whatever I want, and feel like a normal twenty-year-old.
I’m sitting cross-legged on my bed catching a glimpse of myself in the mirror mounted to my dresser. Despite being twenty, and into darker, edgier music, my room has been left just the way Dad wants it. As a time capsule. A time warp, in which everything is the way it was when I was between three to five years old. Covered in pink, roses, ballerinas along with Bible verses. Girly crosses and religious artwork.
When I turned eighteen, I moved on to werewolves and other wild boys, at least in my head. My room remained the same. I read about shape shifters, every book I could find. While my other friends, Cami included, went through a phase falling in love with sparkly, emo vampires, I was into wolf-boys.
These thoughts are interrupted by something my friend has just said. Some bubbly comment of hers about Halloween plans. How cool it would be to go to a party, or go trick-or-treating. Though Cami still lives at home too, she is sure that her parents would let her go to something like that. She says how it be cool for me to join her.