Alexandra Vance. the Beast’s Attraction. Book 1. Wolf
Copyright© 2026 by Virael de la Fer
Chapter 3: Bath Time
Erotica Sex Story: Chapter 3: Bath Time - She just wanted a drive to clear her head. Instead, she hit a wolf on a lonely forest road — and made the mistake of getting out of the car. He wasn't an ordinary wolf. And nothing in her life was ever ordinary again. A sensual paranormal romance about desire, danger, and falling for something wild.
Caution: This Erotica Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Consensual Romantic Heterosexual Fiction Fairy Tale Mystery Paranormal Were animal Polygamy/Polyamory Masturbation Oral Sex Petting Voyeurism AI Generated
Grey stayed on edge the whole way into town. Every so often he’d flinch and duck down against the passenger seat, throwing wild glances around him, as though searching for someone among the trees flickering past in the dark outside the window. I tried to keep my focus on the road, though inside I was a mess of nerves.
Talking to a fairy-tale beast out in the forest was one thing. Driving an enormous predator home was quite another. A swarm of panicked thoughts kept circling in my head: Sasha, what are you doing? Does he even know what a flat is? Does he have the faintest idea what a sofa looks like, the one I so carelessly offered him to sleep on? What if he wrecks the whole room?
When the Hyundai finally passed the edge-of-town sign and rolled onto the lit streets, I braced myself for Grey to panic at all the neon lights. Instead, the opposite happened. The wolf calmed down at once. He stopped flattening his ears, sat up straighter, and only occasionally shot me a quick, curious sideways glance, spending the rest of the time watching the city scenery slide past outside the window.
“Well, here we are, this is my place,” I said quietly, turning into the courtyard of the block of flats and cutting the engine. “Have you been to a city before?”
The wolf gave a smooth, confident nod.
“I hope you’re going to be a good boy,” I unbuckled my seatbelt and wagged a finger at him playfully. “I really don’t fancy having to explain myself to the neighbours afterwards.”
In response, the animal gave me a spectacularly withering, almost offended look and let out a loud, thoroughly human snort, as though genuinely put out that I’d think him some ill-mannered mutt.
“All right, all right, I believe you,” I raised my hands placatingly, struggling not to laugh. “Come on then. But please, no barking. It’s late.”
I lived on the third floor of a four-storey building. My landlady was a woman in her seventies who’d long since moved out to somewhere “away from noisy students and neighbours,” which meant the flat — a fairly generous one, too — had come to me relatively easily and at a decent rent. Certainly better than a room in halls. Already on the doorstep, flicking on the hall light, I hesitated, glancing at my enormous companion with a flicker of embarrassment.
“Grey ... it’s not exactly tidy in here, but — your paws could probably do with a wash. Or at least a wipe.”
I hadn’t even finished the sentence before a grey, furry whirlwind barrelled straight past me into the bathroom. I peered in after him and stopped dead: the wolf had leapt neatly into the gleaming white tub and was now making a determined effort to nose the shiny tap lever down with his teeth.
“Are you sure you’re not somebody’s pet?” I narrowed my eyes suspiciously.
The answer was a long, mocking look from those narrowed amber eyes, one that sent little sparks skittering over my skin. It really was strange, seeing that much self-awareness in a wild animal.
“You don’t even need to say anything, it’s written all over your face,” I smiled, stepping in. “Fine, I get it, you’re clearly no stranger to modern plumbing. Let me help.”
I turned on the warm water, adjusted the shower pressure, and — still in my shorts and vest — stepped over the low rim of the tub and crouched down in front of him. Once I’d washed the forest dirt off his paws, I gave his dusty, campfire-and-pine-scented coat a critical once-over. There was still mud clinging to it from our mad chase around the clearing.
“Listen, Grey ... how about we give you a proper bath? I’ve got some lovely shampoo, too. Gentle, cedarwood scent. Hm?”
The wolf went still. His expression ran through such a range of emotion, you’d have thought I’d just suggested a public execution. He heaved a long, theatrical sigh, dropped his head, and radiated resigned, doomed consent with every fibre of his being.
I gave a satisfied little hum and reached for the bottle. But the moment I’d lathered up my hands, this little menace decided he wasn’t going to suffer alone. The wolf spun round sharply, caught the shower hose with one paw where it hung on its bracket, and a strong jet of warm water hit me square in the chest.
“Hey!” I shrieked, jerking back — too late.
My thin house vest went instantly soaked through, turning completely transparent and clinging to my chest for dear life. With no bra underneath, my nipples showed through the wet fabric in embarrassing, unmistakable detail, hardened and unmissable. My short shorts had likewise turned into a soaked rag plastered to my hips.
Grey stood in the tub with the most innocent expression imaginable, but his golden eyes were dancing with unmistakable, gleeful mischief. He was staring at my exposed chest so intently, so hungrily and openly, that I lost my breath for a moment and felt heat rush straight up into my cheeks.
“Oh, that’s how it’s going to be? You’re for it now, you monster!”
Standing around in wet clothes was miserable and cold. Flushing with embarrassment under his far-too-knowing, all but undressing gaze, I stepped back over the rim of the tub. Right in front of him, barely breathing from a strange sort of nervous excitement, I peeled the sodden vest over my head, then dropped the heavy, soaked shorts to the floor. That left me in nothing but a tiny lace pair of knickers.
Doing my best to look as if my own nakedness in front of a wolf didn’t bother me in the slightest — though my heart was hammering against my ribs at just how loaded the whole scene had suddenly become — I climbed back into the tub.
I poured a generous amount of shampoo onto his shoulders and started working it through his coarse fur, whipping it up into a thick white lather. The wolf shut his eyes, plainly revelling in the warmth of my fingers. The bathroom had grown hot and steamy, thick with the smell of wet fur and sweetish cedar. My hands slid over his powerful neck, moved on to his broad shoulders, and then travelled lower, over his flanks and lean, muscled belly.
At those rhythmic, close strokes, Grey suddenly drew a loud, uneven breath. His body went taut as a bowstring under my palms, muscles locking rigid. Feeling that sudden change, I glanced down, lower than his stomach — and froze, my face flooding with a scarlet flush, my breath catching in my throat.
From the fur of his groin, parting the wet coat with slow, unhurried certainty, an erection was emerging — a swollen, bright pink shape, growing more pronounced by the second.
I swallowed hard, unable to look away. Something turned right over inside me. The fact that this wild animal had just been aroused, thoroughly, by my touch, set off a strange, forbidden, frighteningly hot pulse of its own, low in my own stomach. My thoughts tangled themselves into knots: God, Sasha, you’ve got a wolf worked up. A huge, wild wolf. And he ... he wants you?
Lifting my eyes cautiously, I found Grey’s gaze already waiting, fixed on mine from below. His burning amber eyes had darkened, gone almost brown, his breathing had turned quick and heavy, his jaw set tight. There was nothing of an ordinary animal left in that look — it was pure, concentrated male hunger, dizzying in its intensity. The awareness of my own near-nakedness, in nothing but knickers, under that predatory gaze, sharpened into something almost unbearable.
With hands that had gone suddenly weak and trembling, I hurried to grab the shower head and started rinsing off the lather as fast as I could, doing my best not to look at him again down there, though the tension between us in that cramped, steamy bathroom was thick enough to cut with a knife.
Grey stood in the tub, playing the martyr, while I finished washing off his shoulders and sides, working the last of the lather out of his thick fur with careful fingers. Hot water streamed over his back; he squinted and gave the occasional snort whenever it caught his nose, but on the whole he bore it with royal dignity. Mostly.
“Almost done,” I promised, aiming the shower at his tail and trying to breathe in careful, measured beats to steady the shaking in my knees after what I’d just seen between his back legs. “You’ve turned out to be a very patient patient, by the way. I was expecting worse.”
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