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The Meat Market

19:00

A week later, Samantha still didn't have enough money to buy meat or to pay the debt she owed Joshua.

This time, she waited until dusk, hoping the crowd would thin out. However, the hunger of this city never faded, and the meat market was still crowded with late-night shoppers. Samantha walked through the back alleys, thinking it would make her less noticeable, but the streets only grew narrower until they led her to the stall at the edge of the market.

Joshua’s shop looked exactly the same. The same old, worn-out sign. But now, under the warm yellow light of the lanterns, meat hung from sharp hooks.

Samantha adjusted her headscarf and pulled it tighter behind her ears.

She stood watching Joshua before calling out to him. The wolf was packing up; he would be closing soon.

She moved closer, her skirt brushing against the cold cobblestones. He looked up when she was within three paces. He didn’t say anything; he just gave a single nod, as if he had been waiting for her for hours.

Samantha stood at the counter. A wooden board and less than a meter of space separated them. She wondered how to start the conversation.

"I don't have it yet," she said, skipping the greeting. "The money."

He didn't look surprised. His eyes stayed on her face, noting the tension in her jaw. Samantha felt both sad and ashamed. He was the only one who let her buy on credit. He was the only reason the children didn't starve.

His hand, which was twice the size of hers, rested flat on the counter. His claws were retracted, and his palm was turned upward.

"I figured you wouldn't." His voice was flat. It was a truth he already knew. He had probably played this conversation in his head a hundred times.

She lifted her chin. "I will pay," she replied. "I always keep my promises."

He tilted his head thoughtfully. "You will pay," he said without sarcasm. "But good intentions can't be eaten." He nodded toward the bag on her shoulder. "And they can't feed them."

Samantha felt a knot in her stomach when he mentioned the orphans. Her resolve hardened. She pictured the children begging her for food, telling her how hungry they were.

She couldn't let him see how much it affected her, so she forced her voice to remain as calm as possible.

"I can work off the debt. Anything you want—cleaning, deliveries, or whatever." She couldn't stop her voice from trembling at the last word. "I'm stronger than I look."

Joshua didn't answer. His wolf-like, expressive lips curved slightly—not quite a smile, but a hint of one. "I can handle my own work," he said. "I don't need help."

The quick rejection stung. She opened her mouth to insist, but he held up a hand to stop her.

"I don't need help," he repeated in a lower voice. "But I want something."

She froze. The background noise of the market seemed to fade away, replaced by the sound of her own pulse. Her mind jumped to various possibilities, each more embarrassing than the last. Yet, the way he looked at her—unblinking, unhurried, and full of emotion—wasn't scary. But it wasn't warm like the time he held her hand and walked her out of the forest either.

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the wood. "Let me see you," he said. The words were not what she expected.

She pretended not to understand. "You mean—"

His eyes swept up and down her body intentionally, but not rudely. "Take off your headscarf," he said.

She hesitated, and silence hung between them. But finally, she did it: she slowly unwound the cloth, brushed her hair back, and let the cool air touch her scalp. He reached across the counter—not to grab or pull, but to tuck a stray lock of hair behind her ear. His fingertip grazed the pink curve of her ear.

"Much better," he said softly. His touch was gentle.

Samantha stood still, her cheeks burning. She remembered how easily she used to blush under his gaze back in school. She thought she was too old for that kind of embarrassment, but it was back again, hotter than ever.

He let his hand linger for a moment before pulling away. "Follow me," he said. It wasn't loud, but it was a clear command.

She followed.

Store of “Tried and Trusted 1809”

Samantha followed Joshua to the back of the shop, inside a large, high-quality leather tent. It was almost hidden by drying animal skins. The storage room behind it was nothing like the front of the shop. It was dim, with light leaking through the gaps in the seams. It was filled with neatly stacked wooden crates. The floor was thick with sawdust, and a single lamp glowed on an old table. The light cast Joshua’s shadow behind him. She realized it was almost silent here—the market noise was blocked out by the crates.

He gestured to a crate. "Sit down."

She sat, smoothing her skirt over her knees. He uncorked a clay jar and poured liquid into two chipped ceramic mugs. The smell was strong—a dark, heavy, spiced mead.

"Drink," he said, sliding a mug to her. "It helps with the nerves."

She hesitated again before gulping it down. The alcohol burned her tongue and throat, making her cough, embarrassed by her own clumsiness. Joshua didn’t mock her or comment. He just watched until she finished, then he drank his in one go.

He wiped his mouth. "I'm single," he said, as if he had just remembered to mention it. "In case you were wondering."

The mead hit Samantha quickly. A warm glow spread from her chest throughout her body. She blurted out before she could stop herself, "So am I."

He grinned, showing a row of white teeth. "I know."

"How?" she asked.

He shrugged. "My friends told me." He didn't explain further, and she didn't ask.

Silence fell after that. She could feel the anticipation between them. It was as thick as the smell of smoke and leather.

He moved closer, so close that the heat from his body pressed against her arm. His hand moved to her waist, his thumb tracing slowly above the edge of her belt. She tensed, expecting roughness, but the pressure was so light she could barely feel it—it was more like a question than an order.

"I want you to... give in to me." He didn't finish the sentence; he just left it hanging in the air.

She looked at him, her head a bit dizzy, and then she nodded.

He moved with a gentleness that was surprising for a wolf-man of his size. His fingers slipped under the hem of her outer shirt, found the buttons, and undid them carefully. He paused for a moment as if giving her a chance to stop him, but she didn't.

As the air hit her skin, goosebumps followed the simmering heat. Joshua looked at her breasts, not with hunger, but with something like devotion. He cupped them in his large hands, marvelling at the softness and the contrast between his dark brown fur and her light skin.

Samantha bit her lower lip hard to keep from making a sound. It had been a long time since she had been touched like this. Joshua was waking up her desires again.

He leaned his head down and carefully kissed her chest, then took her nipple into his mouth, teasing it with his slightly rough tongue. She gasped, a moan escaping her before she could catch it.

His other hand found her other breast, rubbing the nipple between his thumb and forefinger, pulling a wave of pleasure out of her that made it hard to stay upright. Her hands gripped the edge of the crate so hard her knuckles turned white.

Joshua stopped for a second to look up at her. His eyes were clear and determined. "You are wonderful," he said, his voice straining with emotion.

He unbuttoned her shirt completely, opening it wide. He took a step back to look: the white dress, the soft skin, and the curves of her breasts cradled by his rough hands. The lamp light merged their shadows together on the wall.

This wasn't right. But Samantha had every reason to argue that it was.

Joshua leaned in close, slowly pressing his lips against hers. His hands continued to pleasure her.

Samantha kissed him back, using her tongue. Joshua seemed a bit shocked, but then he met her tongue with his own. It was a deep, long kiss.

They pulled apart, breathing heavily. He slid the shirt off her shoulders, letting it fall to her waist, and ran his hands down her sides slowly, as if learning her body through touch alone.

She closed her eyes and let herself go.

Joshua moved with purpose but without haste, as if he had been waiting for this moment his whole life. He sat on a tall stool, elbows on his knees, looking relaxed but with his eyes fixed on her.

Samantha stood where he had left her, her top half bare. The heat from the mead was still humming under her skin. She felt more exposed than she ever had in her life, and she didn't hate the feeling at all.

He unbuckled his belt. The click and the slide of metal sounded loud in the quiet storage room. He unzipped his pants, reached in, and pulled out his cock—it was already hard, large, and slightly curved, dark against his white shirt. His scent—salt, smoke, and something wild—hit her all at once.

He locked eyes with her. "Meat and honey for an exchange," he said. The words carried the weight of a contract.

Samantha dropped to her knees. She reached both hands out to him—her small hands looked tiny compared to his size. She hesitated only a moment before wrapping her fingers around him, feeling the pulse of heat and need inside.

He groaned, a raw sound that came from deep in his chest. He placed one large hand on her head—not to push, but to hold, a heavy and protective wolf’s palm. His other hand stroked her breasts, his thumb rubbing a hardened nipple.

She began to move her hand up and down, slowly at first, learning his rhythm from the sound of his breath. When she leaned in and licked the tip, tasting the salty droplets, his whole body twitched. She was pleased that he liked it, then she took him into her mouth.

It was hard work at first—the size, the scent, and the lack of experience. She had to pace herself, breathe steadily, and learn how to move her tongue just right. But Joshua made it easier. He murmured words of encouragement, his hand on her head stroking in time with her movements. He never forced her; he only guided, letting her find the right depth and pressure.

He leaned back, his head resting against the low ceiling, and closed his eyes. The sound he made wasn't a wolf's howl; it was the sound of a man surrendering. He pulled her hair gently and let out a long string of words—not words she understood, but syllables of pure desire.

Samantha’s breath quickened. Her face was hot. The ache in her jaw was drowned out by something happening inside—a desire to please and to be wanted like this.

She found her rhythm, using both her hands and her mouth, pushing him toward the edge of his peak.

The lamp flickered, shadows dancing across the leather and coils of rope. The only sounds left were the creaking of the stool under his weight and the steady sound of her mouth.

She felt him tense, the muscles in his thighs tightening. The hand on her head gripped her firm enough to remind her what he was. He pulled away at the last second, not wanting to release in her mouth, but instead let his heat spill across her chest. It was hot, sudden, and startling.

He sat there, chest heaving, and for a long time, neither of them moved. Then, Joshua reached for a rough cloth and wiped her clean with deliberate care. The gesture was unexpected—it was gentle and felt strangely like a lover’s care.

When he was done, he helped her up and kissed her again, hard and long, as if sealing the deal. His hands cupped her head, his fingers disappearing into her hair.

He stepped back and fixed his belt. "I’ll wrap you up" he said. At first, she thought he meant he would wrap her up, but he turned and started packing what was agreed: meat and honey.

Samantha sat on the edge of the crate for a moment, her shirt still open, her breath still uneven. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and began to fix her clothes—buttoning up, retying her scarf. Her fingers moved with the calm of a housewife who had slipped away to have fun with her husband while the kids slept.

Joshua brought the supplies over, stacking them neatly beside her.

"Next time, I'll deliver them," he said in a low voice. "You don't need to come here."

She looked at him, really looked deep, and saw something in his eyes that wasn't lust, but hope.

She gathered the items in her arms and put them in her basket. For a moment, she imagined a life where this was enough—food on the table, no worrying about if the children would eat, and being kissed with a peaceful heart.

She walked out. The lamplight faded behind her. The night air was freezing, but she barely felt it.

When she reached the street, she turned back just once to see if he was watching. He was.

At home, the orphans were all asleep. Samantha checked on them once before going down to the kitchen.

She prepared things for breakfast, then washed her hands in the dark kitchen, scrubbing away the traces of salt, blood, and fur. She stood at the sink for a long time.

She tied her headscarf, looked at her reflection in the water, and wondered what the children would say if they knew.

No, she could never let them know.

Not about what she did with Joshua today.

And not about the fact that... she actually liked it.