Mating Amelie

Amelie has always known she was different from the other girls in the village. Since she came of age she's been gripped by a hunger deep within her, compelled to escape to the forest to satisfy her carnal need. Her shame drives her back each time, but not a day passes that she does not wish for a strong, powerful man to take her from this stifling existence.

Roman, the last king of the dying werewolf race, must sire an heir to prevent the extinction of the royal line. Only one mate will do: a young human born of a werewolf, living among people who don't understand why she is so special.

He must have her.

Excerpt:

Amelie knew it to be shameful. Her mother had taught her as a child. The body is for procreation, she'd said, not for pleasure. Only wicked girls touch themselves there. Only the depraved, the immoral and the tools of Satan abuse their bodies for amusement. Her flower, as her mother called it, belonged to her future husband, and to sully it before marriage was a sin before God.

She knew this to be true, and she loved her mother dearly, but she also knew that she, Amelie, had no choice in the matter. She knew that the body issued commands that could not be denied, only delayed. Ever since she'd come of age she'd been gripped by these powerful, undeniable longings, and she often wondered if the other girls in the village felt the hunger as she did. She wondered if they could resist where she failed, or if they all had their own secret places to hide their shame. If only she could ask! Perhaps it would be easier to bear the burden knowing it was not only her who was forced to carry this weight.

Amelie held off as long as she could each time, waiting until it burned like a raging fire deep within her and joyous relief was all she could think of, but she always knew she would eventually have to return here to the glade. She knew this was the only way to quench that wild flame, and she prayed for forgiveness after each of her sins.

She reached into her basket and drew out a blanket, the red one she'd sewn together herself from scraps, and laid it gently on the grass. She sat, checking carefully for bugs nearby, and only when satisfied that the ground was clear did she lay back to look up at the gently swaying oak leaves.

While she knew this to be sinful, in these moments before the act she could only think of the excitement and pleasure to come. She knew it would take a thousand prayers to atone but she decided, quite sensibly she thought, that her atonement should at least be worthwhile. Her prayers would be just as fervent if the act took a minute or an hour, and if she was to suffer the shame to come there was no sense in hurrying the pleasure.

Amelie unbuttoned her white cotton shirt slowly as she watched the leaves, enjoying the touch of the cool air on her skin as the stifling neck high collar splayed open to here hire, smooth stomach. This was her favorite time, these precious moments of anticipation as she felt every sense heightened. Every cool zephyr raised goosebumps on her skin, and she could feel every blade of the moist grass on her hands as she ran her fingers through it. Patches of sunlight broke through the the canopy, and wherever one touched her skin she felt a moment of delicious warmth.

And then she began. Her hand dripped with sweet, glistening dew, and as she brought it over her firm, round breasts she felt cool drops fall to her milk white skin. She gasped, flinching with each splash, and then brought her dripping hand to her left breast to feel the heat of her body warm her fingers.

Beneath her palm she felt her nipple harden, swelling and rising from its island of pink skin.