The wolf smiles at her with too many teeth and the girl backs away, as she should. As is wise, as is proper.
But the hem of her red cloak snags on a clump of thorns, jerking her to a halt. And she should be able to tear free and run, but the first thought in her head is what about the cloth? And the second is relief, that she doesn't have an excuse to run.
"Something wrong, little one?" the wolf asks, slinking towards her. The girl opens her mouth, trying to say something of worth, but suddenly she can't quite manage a breath.
They told her that the wolf was dangerous, and in this she supposes they did not lie. But they did not tell her the wolf--the she-wolf--was beautiful.
They did not tell her the wolf was tall and strong, muscles rippling over a powerful frame. They did not acknowledge how lustrous her fur, how thick and lovely, and how elegant the curve of her muzzle. They did not talk about the wolf's eyes, bright and clever and searching. 
They did not tell her about the way that the sight of nipples poking here and there from under her fur stirred a hunger in the girl she had never known before. They did not say anything about how the wolf's sharp musk makes her mouth water. They did not mention the electrifying nature of a raw, throaty growl.
They did not say anything about how oddly refreshing it was to be away from the politics and intrigues of the village, where predators put on smiles before they say something cruel or maneuver you into a dark alley. Where the monster stepped out of the light and showed herself to you clearly, and she was...she was....
She is like the thorns. A strange line between feeling trapped and not really wanting to tear yourself away.
A powerful hand comes up, tracing the girl's cheek. She shivers, and she wants the wolf to believe it's entirely out of fear, but then that snout twitches and the girl can tell she's been caught.
"I asked you a question," the wolf murmurs. Her rank breath should be repulsive, even terrifying with its sharp hint of meat. It makes the girl's legs tremble, and the logical thought that there must be something very wrong with her doesn't seem of great importance.
"I..." She gives a half-hearted tug on the self-trapped skirt. "I don't know."
The wolf hums, reaching for the girl's wicker basket. She lets it go without a struggle, watching a wolf peer into the depths. "Mmm." A long tongue snaps out and laps up a scone--the girl's heart flutters at the sight. "Tell me, child, who are these for?"
"My grandmother," the girl says automatically.
The wolf snickers. "Any old lady living out here would be dead a long time ago. Try again."
"I..." The girl straightens her shoulders.  "I was--curious, I guess. And, well, there was nothing back there for me, not really." A wrist, adorned with a still-fading bruise, twitches. "I don't know. I wasn't thinking straight." She'd heard the howl on the night wind, muffled and distant, and her head hasn't been clear since.
The wolf hums. "And these were, what? Bribes? Offerings?"
The girl blushes, suddenly feeling silly. "I mean, I--"
But then the wolf is lowering her head, close enough for their lips to touch, teeth glinting sharp and bright. "And would you deny me the sweetest treat of all?"
And the girl truly doesn't know if she's talking about eating or fucking, but right now one sounds as good as the other. She leans forward, and then the wolf is leaning toward too, snout and mouth awkwardly crashing together. That long tongue slips down her throat and the girl gags even as she leans forward, wanting so much more.
The wolf pulls away, eyeing her thoughtfully. "You're a mad little one, aren't you?" she whispers. She tugs the girl's hood down, letting her hair spill free. "I like that."
Unable to face her piercing gaze, the girl looks away--only for her eyes to fix on the nipples poking out from the fur on the wolf's chest. Far more than there would be on any human one, and maybe she should be repulsed--but the thing is, she's not. Far from it.
The wolf sees her looking. "I think someone is hungry for her own treat," she purrs, crowding up against the girl. The nipples pressed up against her chest feel as hard as thorns, and just like with the thorns, the girl doesn't want to pull herself away.
Before she can stop herself, she crooks  her neck and slowly, carefully wraps her mouth around the wolf's teat. It's sweeter than she expected, warm and heavy in her mouth, enough to bring a spot of drool to her lips.
The wolf moans and the girl, emboldened, gives a careful suck. Another moan, fur rippling as if in a breeze, and she sucks harder, adding a few sharp licks here and there. She smiles, caught up in the newfound rush of power. Her hands come up to caress the wolves' other nipples, stroking and plucking the way she's only ever done with her own breasts.
She's so lost in her work, in the sounds the wolf is making, she doesn't see those strong hands move until she's abruptly picked up and slammed against a tree. Her cloak rips free of the thorns, leaving it shredded and torn, but she doesn't care.
The wolf looms over her, one hand holding the girl steady while the other slides up between her legs. The girl moans at the touch, arching and shuddering, as she reaches out to drag trembling fingers over the wolf's fur.
"What do you want?" the wolf asks, eyes sharp and vicious.
And the girl looks back with eyes just as sharp, just as relentless, just endlessly hungry. "Devour me," she whispers. She opens her legs to the wolf's touch. "Until there's nothing left."
The wolf laughs and throws her to the ground, letting her roll in a patch of soft glass. The girl moves to take off her clothes, but the wolf impatiently rips them away. She descends in a blur of clever fingers and wet, tooth-edged kisses, a furry storm of want that sends the air crackling.
"Teach me," the girl whisper-sobs, back arching at a touch a thousand times more electrifying than anything she could do for herself. Her hands come up to scrabble at the wolf's back, hoisting herself up until she can rub her damp, aching cunt against the wolf's tits. "Show me how to fly."
And in that little puddle of moonlight, with thorns providing a barrier from the outside world, with sweat and drool and blood and dripping fluids christening the earth, the wolf--her wolf--does.