It’s the thought that counts: there aren’t many things that can restrict Bigby Wolf after all, even in his human form.
He rolls his eyes at his wife’s playfulness as she tackles him to the bed and covers his eyes with something thick and silky.
“What if I want to watch,” he grumbles as she straddles him tighter between her beautiful legs: now mostly covered in sinfully enticing red lace.
“Nope,” Snow White purrs, nipping at his nose before placing earbuds into his ears. She grabs his arms, tugs them above his head: he goes so easily, his lips curving up into a smirk.
“Don’t laugh at me,” she huffs.
“Snow,” he murmurs, unable to hear, to see, to even touch. But his hips are twitching up. He doesn’t even half-heartedly protest as she swiftly ties silk around his wrists and his wrists to the headboard.
“Now you can’t hear me or see me or touch me,” Snow mutters to herself as she shifts to better sit on his groin, to better have the vast expanse of his chest to play with.
Bigby stays still, now even more aware of her weight on top of him, her sly hands curving over his pecs and twisting a nipple. Like this: eyes covered, hands tied, ears plugged, Snow White’s touch is all he has so he focuses on it. His groin throbs, still trapped in his boxers.
She lays down on him, her hips rocking, her thighs shifting so he feels every inch of her that is bare- and every inch of her that is covered in that beautiful, beautiful lace that he wants to rip off with his teeth.
But this is Snow’s request and Snow’s wish and there is nothing Bigby wouldn’t do for her.
So he lays still and feels her play.
She kisses his jaw, his lips, his neck. Hot puffs of air, the subtle vibration of her voice on Bigby’s rough skin tell him that she’s speaking- about what, he can’t say. His pulse quickens as her nails drag down his skin, roughly pinching his nipples and then going further. Her mouth follows, licking and kissing down. Her hips rock against the bulge in his boxers.
He whispers her name.
In response, he feels her laugh. Her nails dig deep into his skin and scratch. His hips buck.
“Snow,” he growls. He barely hears his own voice. “Take them off.”
Something quite like a giggle slithers into his ears but he can’t be sure. Then she’s pulling off his boxers and tossing them away- and sitting back down on him, rubbing herself on his erection.
This time Bigby does growl, the sound vibrating deep in his gut.
He wants to hear Snow’s voice and see her face, flushed with pleasure and eyes dancing with playfulness. But she had asked for this, to have him completely at her mercy. And there is nothing he wouldn’t do for her.
Even if it kills him to stay still. Especially when she pressed herself against him again and this time she is bare from the thighs up. Her breasts are as soft as ever, her nipples hard in a stark contrast. She has stripped her underwear off, her wetness sliding over his cock.
His hips buck up and another growl escapes. He’s hyperfocused on her, on her hands working his cock and her curious mouth pressing kisses and nibbles on his throat.
The wolf inside Bigby rears its head. He squeezes his eyes closed under his blindfold and breathes deep, inhaling her scent: now laced with arousal.
Snow’s hand tightens around his cock, her other one working elsewhere- just where, comes clear when she lowers herself on him, guiding his throbbing cock into her.
Even through the earbuds Bigby hears her cry out and he strains against his restrains, easily ripping them in half. But instead of grabbing her and fucking deeper into her, he grabs the headboard.
“Snow,” he growls. “You drive me crazy.”