He's a werewolf !?!

Emma’s POV
Oh my what a weekend. I woke up this morning in Peter’s bed. After the most intense, the most amazing, the most incredible sexual experience of my life.

I feel a little embarrassed that I passed out, and he didn’t get to cum as well. I am pretty sure that he just took care of me. I did feel he was a little off, but I will make it up to him. He’s amazing, and so sexy. I think I am in lust.

I marshal my thoughts. Running back through the weekend to etch it into my memory.
…
The Langham was amazing. When the doorman helped me out of the taxi like I was someone… It made me feel like a princess. The whole place was a palace of marble and opulence. The staff were amazing, even in my Primark best I didn’t feel any lesser than any of the guests.

My room was stunning and huge, I really appreciated that Peter had got us a room each. No assumptions and no pressure. The room’s decor was greys and a pale green, with white bedding on the most massive bed I think I have ever seen.

Off the bedroom was an amazing ensuite bathroom with a huge standalone tub at one end.The whole thing was white marble.

Dinner in the hotel was a ritzy affair. I was slightly concerned about the amount of cutlery, but followed Peter’s lead, and he didn’t say anything, so I guess I used the right ones. I had a salmon starter, followed by duck and confit potatoes, and finished with this amazing dessert which was like three different ones… a little chocolate cherry bombe, a teeny apple crumble tartlet, and a small honeycomb and white chocolate cheesecake… the flavours were intense and complimentary. I love desserts.

His goodnight kiss was… intense… even better than the cherry bombe… I was wet and wanting after I left him. But I was grateful he didn’t push it any further, and it was nothing that a little hand action couldn’t resolve.

I still can’t decide if I liked the London Dungeon. The history was fascinating, I mean who knew Sweeney Todd was a real person and not just a character in a Tim Burton production, but I really don’t like jump-scares. The views from the Eye were superb, and it was phenomenal seeing the city from above, the blue green of the roof of the Houses of Parliament; the brown waters of the Thames snaking through the city, boats traveling up and down it; splendor of Buckingham Palace.

Cats was everything I hoped it would be. I have wanted to see that show in like forever, but John didn’t like musicals, and in more recent years it hasn’t been practical. Peter kindly didn’t complain about my enthusiastic but tuneless rendition of the highlights on our walk back.

The next memories of last night make me smile to myself. I blush again, remembering how I asked him to ravish me, and I blush harder remembering that I passed out during my climax. What must he think of me?

He was already up when I woke, packing for our journey home. A little monosyllabic, although he let me snag a t-shirt for the walk of shame between our rooms. I have never been more grateful that they were next to each other. The thought of walking the length of the corridor in last night’s clothes and possibly meeting someone was really mortifying to me. Silly I know, but I don’t want anyone to judge what we have shared, it is too new, too precious, too fragile.

I had entered my room and headed straight to the bathroom, pulling the t-shirt over my head. Intending to grab a quick shower before I packed.

The sight of my naked body in the mirror had stopped me dead. Dear god it looked like I was dating a teenager. Hickies littered my neck, my breasts, even my belly. My inner thighs were a mess, you couldn’t tell where one hickie ended and the next began, and the one at the top of my left thigh looked particularly bad, although I couldn’t see it properly due to its position, I pressed it gently, it hurt with a dull ache.

I took my shower, surprised that the rest of the love bites didn’t hurt more, and made sure that my clothes covered the majority of them. I felt weirdly anxious about what other people might think.

I used the journey home as an opportunity to snuggle into him. Glad that he didn’t push me away. I could sense something was bothering him, but I found comfort in his touch, like his arms are my home.
…
My mobile rings, snapping me out or my musings. I am surprised to see it’s Felicia’s number.

‘What’s up girlfriend?’ I answer.

‘Not a lot,’ she replies. ‘How are you doing? How was your weekend?’

‘Amazing and awesome, in that order,’ I answer.

‘Good, good… so Peter behaved?’

‘Peter was… is perfect.’

‘Dear Goddess, don’t let him hear you say that I am not sure his head will still fit through doorways,’ she laughs. ‘Look, Peter and I really need to talk to you… Would it be okay if we come over tonight?’

‘Errr…’ I am surprised and shocked. ‘I suppose so… is something wrong?’

‘No, no,’ she reassures me. ‘We just need to talk to you… We’ll be over at 7pm’

I glance at my watch, currently it is 3:47pm, that gives me just over three hours to prepare for guests.

‘I guess,’ I say. She hangs up.
....
I am on tenterhooks, waiting for the siblings to arrive.

I had spent the last three hours cleaning and the house smelt of lemon Flash and Febreze. It is not that the house was dirty; when John died I basically gutted all the stuff from the house other than the bare essentials, as I wanted him out of my life, but the debt I was left with means that my furniture still dates from that time… other than the bed… My one luxury had been a new mattress and bedding immediately, followed by a new bed frame about six months later… sleeping on a mattress on the floor is uncomfortable.

They knock the front door, and I let them in, guiding them to the sofa…

‘Tea, coffee, juice?’ I offer.

‘Tea would be great,’ Fel responds, ‘white with one please’

‘White coffee for me, please,’ Peter adds.

I take a moment to steady myself as I make the drinks. Walking back in and handing them mismatched mugs. Then sit on the armchair, right at the edge, ready to move at a moment’s notice.

Fel is busy looking around my living room, taking in the charity shop chic it exudes. I feel ashamed of my house for a moment, Fel is far too beautiful and classy for my house. Then pull myself together. They asked me to come here, and I have worked very hard to keep a roof over my family’s heads. They are on my turf.

‘Well, spill please, the anticipation is killing me,’ the air is thick with tension.

Peter and Fel exchange a look, and Peter rises, placing his mug on the table. I find myself staring at it, my life decisions summed up in a Nutella mug. This is it, this is where he breaks up with me because I am a freak and I passed out, I think. Not only that he is so worried about my reaction he has bought his sister alone.

I am going to die of shame… although not before I live alone for years, surrounded by cats who will then eat my corpse, which won’t be discovered for ages… because I am a sad, lonely, unloved woman. Tears start to well. I tamp them down. Determined to take whatever it is without letting him know he has hurt me.

‘Em, Emma,’ he starts. ‘Please believe me I… we don’t want to hurt you… but everything I am about to say is true…’

I am on high alert. The last time a boy, and it was a boy, used that line on me it was over 25 years ago, and he told me the mafia were after him. It was a lie, of course. Maybe that is why I have trust issues. Or maybe I attract fantasists. I look over at Fel, expecting a look of soft concern or long suffering as she looks at her brother. So I am surprised that she is looking at me in nervous anticipation.

‘Fel and I..’ he continues. ‘... We are werewolves’

Time slows, a hollow laugh escapes my lips. What the actual fuck I think. I am staring at Peter like he has just grown a second head. Disbelief written across my face.

‘You have got to be kidding me’ I say.

The most ungodly cracking sound fills the room. I swing my head from Peter to where Felicia had been sitting, only to see Saba perched on the sofa, much to my consternation.

I slumped back into my chair, gobsmacked.