by Hettie Ivers
Once. Twice. Three times his fist jerked up and down his length before his eyes squeezed shut and his face contorted. He growled and bellowed in anguished euphoria as hot streams of liquid coated my rear and lower back.
I stared at his gorgeous face, mesmerized. It was the hottest thing I’d ever witnessed, and I was throbbing with renewed arousal as he stroked several more times, unloading his final spurts of ejaculate onto the backs of my thighs.
The expression on my face must’ve been somewhat comical, because he chuckled when his eyes opened again. “You okay, lover?”
His tongue replaced his fingers inside my mouth when I didn’t immediately reply. He seemed pleased by the aftertaste of his own blood mixed with my arousal as he moaned and dominated my mouth, sucking aggressively on my tongue to draw it into his own mouth.
“Talk to me, baby?” he prodded when finally his tongue released mine. “Please tell me I didn’t hurt you? Scare you too much?”
The genuine concern in his dark eyes stripped me defenseless. I shook my head and watched as relief flitted across his features, marveling at how he managed to go from scary, dominant Alpha to lovesick, nervous schoolboy.
“Good.” He swallowed. “Your wolf feel better now?”
Again, my head bobbed. My canines seemed to have retracted, and I could barely sense my she-wolf’s presence at all. I supposed that was a good thing, as she seemed to be satisfied. Which made it all the more disconcerting to recognize I still wasn’t.
The words that flew uncensored past my swollen lips next seemed to shock Alex even more than they did me. “I think I need … more …”
I winced in horror at my own wanton forwardness before nonetheless continuing to ask, “Why won’t you just fu—”
His palm clamped over my mouth. I was flipped onto my back a second later. The sticky ropes of cooling fluid covering my skin smeared into Alcaeus’ bedding as Alex hovered above me.
My belly coiled and my heart fluttered with excitement. His expression was unreadable as he worked his teeth over his bottom lip. He hadn’t said no.
“Touch yourself for me. And I’ll think about it.”
What? My cheeks heated at the thought, even after all we’d just done.
“Why?” It was a stupid question. His raised eyebrows answered, Why not?
“I want to watch as you make yourself come. Like you just watched me.”
“But I can’t—”
“Then you’re not ready to have sex,” he concluded with his typical sweeping arrogance. “We’ll wait until you are. Let’s get you cleaned up and fed,” he suggested, switching gears on a dime and sending my stomach and my ego plummeting.
“That’s not fair. Why should you get to decide when—”
“Fairness is a theoretical concept, sweetheart.”
“But you were just saying how badly you wanted to … fuck … me …” I trailed off lamely in argument as an incorrigible, sadistic grin stretched across his face. My sigh was replete with exasperation. “God, I hate you.”
He shook his head, his smile now more wistful than gloating. “No, you don’t. You’re far too sweet and forgiving to even stay cross with anyone for very long,” he asserted as his fingers trailed lovingly over the inner curve of my left breast. “I’m afraid it’s your most tragic flaw, angel.”
Such an appraisal might’ve offended me, if his next whispered words hadn’t been delivered with such earnest veneration as his lips dipped to retrace the path of his fingertips. “Yours is an exquisitely beautiful heart.”
A different kind of warmth spread through my chest, blanketing my senses. Soulful eyes gazed up from my breast to meet mine in a moment of silent communion that was startlingly authentic.
For an instant, an Alex I’d never seen before stared back at me. One who was open. Vulnerable. Desperate for something he feared he could never have. Didn’t deserve.
And he beheld me now as if I was the one being in existence with the power to give him the only thing he’d ever truly wanted.
Deep inside, I knew I was done for. It was only a matter of time. Not even when he’d first morphed into an angry, giant Cujo and chased me down had I felt like such helpless prey.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
“Can all werelocks travel by teleportation?” I paused over my plate of meat and rice smothered in thick, dark gravy to inquire. I’d already inhaled more than half of the monstrous portion Alex had served me. “What’s this again?”
“Galinha de cabidela,” Alex supplied from where he sat lounging against a refrigerator directly across from me on the tablecloth-covered kitchen floor.
My face heated merely at the way his tongue rolled over his consonants. God he was sexy! I was forever ruined for all monolingual American men.
He was clad only in shorts, one long, muscular leg stretched out in front of him, the other bent upright toward the ceiling. His left forearm was draped casually over his bent knee, and he idly swirled a glass of red wine in his hand by the rim as he studied me with a curiously inscrutable expression. It had begun to unnerve me about ten minutes ago, and I’d since gulped down a whole glass and a half of DRC red wine spritzer as a result.
Realizing that I’d just been blatantly eyeballing him like a piece of meat, I dabbed my napkin over my mouth for good measure—in case I’d started drooling—and refocused my attention on the array of foods spread out picnic-style on the kitchen floor between us.
“It’s a common chicken dish,” he added. “And no, not all werelocks possess the ability to teleport. Do you like it?“
“The chicken? Or teleporting?”
His eyes were amused as he raised his wine glass to his lips. “Both.”
“Yes … I think? What’s this sauce made out of though? I taste cilantro and garlic, but there’s another flavor I can’t place.”
“Blood. From a chicken, sweetheart,” he expounded with an evil twitch of his lips when my fork froze midair on the way to my mouth.
I fought the urge to gag as I set my plate aside, no longer hungry. “Can Alcaeus teleport?” I gulped down more wine spritzer, hoping it would overpower the taste of what I now knew was chicken blood sauce in my mouth.
“No. He can’t.”
“He can’t?” I echoed rather loudly, not bothering to conceal my surprise. “But you and Alessandra can?”
“Yes.”
“How about Remy?”
“No.”
“Not Remy either?”
“No.”
“Well, that kinda sucks for Remy and Alcaeus,” I evaluated, indulging in another sip of wine spritzer. “Do you think I’ll be able to teleport? You know … when …” I made a vague gesture with my wine glass.
“Don’t know, sweetheart. We’ll have to wait and see. But I suspect you won’t, since Al still can’t, even now, when he’s holding your blood power.”
“Huh.” I tried not to look overly disappointed. “Oh, well.” I waved my glass in the air in a display of indifference.
“Kai can teleport,” Alex offered after a beat. “But he chooses not to.” There was a somber, faraway look in his eyes as he said it that I couldn’t reconcile. It seemed out of place.
“Do you not like the fact Kai can teleport? Or is it because he doesn’t use it?”
He appeared befuddled by my question at first, as if his feelings on the matter were the last thing he’d expected me to pick up on, much less ask about. But he quickly shook his head. “No, I don’t mind that he has the ability, nor do I care whether he uses it.”
O-kay, so clearly he did care for some reason. A distinct sharpness had bled into his tone that said it was best not to press the topic further. I made a mental note to ask Lupe about it later.
“So, why don’t you just teleport all the time?” I inquired instead. “I mean, why bother walking or driving when the alternative at your disposal is so freaking cool?”
“Well, for one, it’s not entirely practical,” he revealed. “Or safe.”
“Gr
eat,” I snorted. “I love how you mention that after teleporting me several times in a row in the past hour. Just like you tell me I’m eating blood after I’ve practically scarfed down a whole trough of it.”
He laughed. It was a hearty, rich sound that was almost a tangible touch as it reverberated off the surrounding refrigerators, food prep tables, and other kitchen appliances, flooding the otherwise cool, sterile space with warmth. “You’re quite the adorable drunkard.”
“Drunk?” I balked in exaggerated outrage. “Am not! Don’t you dare try to change the subject,” I rebuked, shaking my mom’s pointer finger at him. “We’re talking about your irresponsibility in teleporting me from the woods to the bathroom shower to the kitchen, when you knew damn well that it was unsafe.”
“Please?” he entreated, holding his free hand and his wine glass up in surrender. “Accept my humblest of apologies? Only point that scary finger elsewhere, you’re terrifying me.”
My brows knit together as I turned my pointer finger on myself, studying it. I shook my head. “Ugh, I’m not doing it right. I swear it’s positively petrifying when employed properly. I wish you could have seen the way my mom wielded one of these. She’d have had you, Alcaeus, Remy, and Kai all pissing your pants in terror.”
He chortled again, and I noted that the sound of his laughter grew more appealing and infectious each time I heard it.
“I’m certain,” he agreed with a solemn nod.
I was beset with giggles at the image of my mom scolding Alex and the others.
“You could always show me sometime,” Alex suggested tentatively, “through sharing your memories of her. If … only if you wanted to, that is.”
I chewed my lip. “Yeah. Maybe … sometime … when … when more time has passed?”
“Of course. And only if you want to,” he reiterated. A moment of silence and several sips of wine stretched between us before Alex confided softly, “I’m sorry I’ll never know her.”
I was sorry, too. I shrugged it off. “Eh, probably just as well. She would have hated everything about you.”
“Oh, I might’ve won her over.” He smiled. “I have secret charms you haven’t seen yet, darling.”
“Like creepy mind control?” I quipped with a disparaging eye roll. “Been there, done that.”
His head canted to the side, and his laughing eyes narrowed at me. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were hoping to goad me into spanking you again, princess.”
My eyes widened and my mouth opened and closed soundlessly in response to his allegation.
“Who could have predicted you’d enjoy a spanking so much?” he remarked with a knowing smile.
My throat went dry, and I blushed in spite of my intention to blow off his teasing. “I didn’t.” I emphatically shook my head in denial. “I didn’t like it. It was my she-wolf who responded—”
“Milena, it’s okay.” Alex held up a silencing palm. “Say no more.”
“But I didn’t—”
“And I believe you, baby. Only a thoroughly depraved she-wolf could ever enjoy something so deviant. I just hope we don’t have to put her down at some point, should she persist in engaging in such divergent behavior.”
He cleared his throat, and I was sure he’d done it to mask the onset of laughter that threatened to seize hold of him. “So tell me, what do you intend to do when you return to Santa Cruz?” he inquired, changing the subject.
My breath caught and I hesitated, afraid to allow the hope to continue to bloom in my chest that he was serious, that he actually wanted to know my plans—and that he really did intend to let me return to Santa Cruz.
Alex had bought me my house. I clung to that truth for all it was worth. It just had to mean he’d intended all along to let me go!
“Um … well, my college plans kind of got derailed when my mom became ill. At first I thought I’d put things on hold until she was better, but then …” I frowned and let that sentence die while I took another sip of my wine spritzer. “For now, I’ve decided to take this first semester up to a year off, so I can start working and saving and then maybe apply for financial aid or scholarships. Maybe go to community college first?” I rolled one shoulder, eyeing him shyly to gauge his reaction. “That sort of thing.”
“Sounds like a sensible plan.” His smile was kind. “And what do you want to study in school?”
“Well …” I swallowed, my cheeks turning pink with a level of schoolgirl embarrassment that made zero sense, given our present course of discussion. I fidgeted, tucking my damp, freshly washed hair behind my ear as I reminded myself Alex had just spent the past few hours becoming intimately acquainted with my privates. Sharing what I wanted to be when I grew up should hardly have been cause for blushing at this stage. Yet I squirmed under his assessing gaze as I admitted, “Ultimately, I … want to study … law.”
Though his brow lifted in interest, he otherwise merely nodded noncommittally in response. “And what area of law interests you?”
“Public defense,” I answered succinctly with a sheepish shrug.
He grinned, chuckling with genuine amusement and raising his glass to me in salute. “Brilliant. I should’ve guessed as much.”
His admiration and approval seemed genuine, but I’d grown so accustomed to the negative reactions and critical remarks from friends and teachers whenever I shared my eventual law school plans that I automatically commenced jabbering in my own defense, explaining that I knew most people viewed mine as a foolish choice, given the massive student loans I’d rack up in pursuit of such a career, not to mention all of the frustrating constraints and tiresome politics and injustices I’d no doubt face working as a public defender.
“No, I get it.” He bit his bottom lip and nodded in understanding. “It suits you. You have that natural Atticus Finch instinct to protect the oppressed common man, to defend the Davids of the world from the Goliaths.”
“You think so?”
“I know so! Milena, you would’ve defended Felix at his own trial for kidnapping you, had he been granted one.”
My smile fell. “You’re making fun of me.”
“I promise you, I’m not,” he said, his eyes frank, his posture adamant as he leaned closer. “Look, I’ll allow that in truth, I believe you’re likely to encounter far greater moral dilemmas on such a career path than I suspect you fully realize at present, but that doesn’t mean I don’t think you’re well suited or equipped to face those challenges.”
“Really?” My voice raised an octave in excitement at his evident sincerity. “I mean, you’re not just saying that?” My nose crinkled. “You don’t think I’m an idiot for wanting to be a public defender? Because everyone else always thinks so,” I rushed to confess.
“No. Not in the least.”
“Wow, that’s sorta crazy, you know? Because only my mom ever got it before,” I prattled, giggling nervously in spite of myself. “And I never quite took her support seriously, I suppose, since she always thought I was meant to save the world and all, anyway. I just chalked it up to her doing her loyal mom duty thing.”
“Funny.” Alex’s smile was rueful. “My mother held similar aspirations for me.”
My brows fused. “Your mom wanted you to go to law school?”
“No,” he barked out a laugh. “No, my mother envisioned that I was literally destined to save the world one day,” he mused nostalgically with a wry grin before rolling his eyes and tossing the last of his wine back. “To protect the weak and subjugated—specifically, the human race. Hence, the name Alex. Alexander means defender of the people. Protector of mankind.”
I nearly snorted wine spritzer up my nose. “For real?” Dang it if that wasn’t just the ultimate irony. “That’s positively insane!” I blurted rudely, shaking my head in disbelief.
Alex smiled amiably at my obvious shock, but I noted his eyes didn’t join in the amusement.
“I mean—I didn’t mean it … like that …” I fumbled in apology.
“’Course you did,” he countered with a forced smile. “How could you mean it any other way, given your experience with me? After all, I’m your Goliath.“
I thought to protest as good manners dictated, but realized it would only insult him further. So we fell into awkward silence instead as I made a study of the near-empty wine glass I held suspended over the pale blue silk covering my lap. I was wearing a sundress Alex had procured from Alessandra’s closet while I’d been showering. Somehow I suspected it was the most expensive dress I’d ever worn. Which was a shame, as I was terribly overdressed for a kitchen floor picnic.
“Um, so the name Milena,” I began conversationally in an effort to bridge the silence, “it means—”
“Gracious. I know. And you are.”
When I gawked at him in astonishment, he sighed and gave me a feeble, lopsided smile. “You don’t think much of me, do you?” It wasn’t a question.
I winced internally. “Alex, that isn’t fair—”
His abrupt snort of derision startled me. “Princess, this mythical world of fairness you think you’re living in doesn’t exist.”
I flushed at his blunt, belittling tone. “Why do you always have to revert back to being an asshole, like it’s your default setting? There’s nothing wrong with wanting things to be fair.”
“Only there’s no such thing,” he scorned. “If the universe revolved around fairness, your mother and my parents might still be alive.”
I shook my head. “It’s not the same,” I contended, baffled as to how his mood had so quickly turned disagreeable.
“No? Explain it to me then.” His nostrils flared. “If things were fair, maybe I wouldn’t have had armies of werelocks attempting to murder me since the day I was born, hmm? And in a fair world, I might’ve been given an honest chance with you. The right time and circumstances for you to get to know me as a person, rather than forever regard me as some symbol of great evil and oppression.”
“I don’t … I don’t think of you like … that …”
My weak protest was met with an embittered eye roll and a fit of dry laughter. And an inexplicable, stabbing pain in my chest.