My Werewolf King Professor and I
“They call me a wolf in sheep's clothing anyway… So whatever I feed you now fits the character perfectly.”
Before he'd finished speaking, I was hoisted onto the desk, papers scattering across the floor.
As he unzipped his pants, my gaze froze on that spot. The image from the diagram of the anatomy of a male werewolf's genitalia flashed through my mind, and it was in combat form.
So what was depicted in that diagram was real. Purple-red, foreboding veins coiled like raging dragons, the tip damp and oozing fluid, taut with unspent fire. This was an entirely different species from those little sausages in the motel. This was a weapon.