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Summary
"I just...I just want someone to fuck me,” he blurts out, flailing his hands around. “I mean, like, really fuck me. Not any of this wishy-washy stuff, but someone with strength and stamina who’ll actually, honestly, fuck me, hold me down and fuck me so hard I can still feel it the next day.”
“So, essentially, you want a werewolf,” Lydia deduces.
“Where would I even find a werewolf willing to fuck a human?” Stiles demurs. Werewolves mostly keep to themselves. Stiles doesn’t blame them.
“Oh for Christ’s sake.” Lydia levels him with a hard look. “You find them where you find everyone you can purchase the fulfillment of your every sexual fantasy from. Find a damn hooker.”