5. Ash
ASH
I can’t sleep.
The storm still rattles the manor’s bones hours later, but it’s the fever-hot memory of Wolfe’s kiss that keeps me awake. I stare at the canopy above the bed, tracing phantom shapes in the shadows as rain thrums against the windows.
The feeling of Wolfe's mouth on mine replays on an endless loop, his taste lingering on my lips like a spell I can't (or don't want to) break.
The way his big hands cradled my face, the hunger…
I press my thighs together, trying to ease the ache that's been building since our interrupted moment in the library.
I give up.
I throw off the quilt and slide into my slippers.
The manor is eerily quiet, emergency lights now fixed, casting skeletal patterns on the walls as I pad down the grand staircase.
I'm not even sure where I'm going, just following the pull in my chest. I notice an entrance to additional stairs that I don’t remember from before, and decide to descend. At the bottom, a sliver of warm light spills from beneath a door at the end of a narrow hallway.
As I approach, I hear faint sounds of movement—the scrape of metal tools, the occasional soft curse.
Wolfe’s voice.
The door’s ajar and I hesitate, my hand hovering inches from the weathered wood. This feels like crossing a line, invading his privacy. But the magnetic pull he has on me is too strong to resist.
I peer through the gap.
Wolfe sits hunched over an oak table, a bright handful of candles illuminating his project.
His back is to me, broad shoulders flexing beneath a simple black T-shirt as he works.
He’s unmasked, his thick hair tied back in a ponytail at his nape.
From this angle, I can see the scarred left side of his profile as he concentrates on whatever he's crafting.
He’s absolutely beautiful .
Careful not to disturb him, I push the door open slowly another inch.
The workshop is a creative's paradise: shelves stocked with materials, half-finished masks and props in various stages of completion, sketches and designs pinned to walls.
Props litter other tables with gargoyle claws, skeletal phantoms, and werewolf fur. It smells of clay and paint and…Wolfe.
He's making a mask—not a horrific monster but something hauntingly lovely. His hands move with remarkable delicacy, sculpting and smoothing what looks like a forest spirit or elemental being. Leaves and vines intertwine around eye holes, the face appearing to emerge from nature itself.
I'm transfixed, watching an artist at work. This is the real Wolfe…not the Beast of Marsden Manor, but the artist, the creator, the man who transforms his trauma into something marvelous.
My foot nudges something metallic, sending it skittering across the floor.
Wolfe whirls, instinctively raising a hand to shield his face before recognizing me. His eyes widen, a complex mix of emotions flashing across his features.
"I'm sorry," I whisper, stepping fully into the room. "I couldn't sleep."
"So you decided to spy on me?" There's no real anger in his voice, just a husky tension that sends a shiver crawling down my spine.
"I wanted to see you."
He doesn't reach for his mask, though it sits within arm's reach on the table. Instead, he watches me approach, his green eyes intensifying as I step into the pool of light.
"You're seeing all of me." His voice is rough, challenging. "Still think I'm sexy?"
I move closer until I'm standing directly in front of him, between his spread knees as he sits on the stool. Slowly, I raise my hand and trace my fingertips along the scarred side of his face.
"More than ever," I breathe.
His entire body shudders at my touch. I learn the texture of his scars—ridged in places, smooth in others, a topography of survival etched into his skin. He remains still, his breathing shallow, as though afraid any movement might frighten me.
"Ash," he whispers, my name a warning. His throat bobs.
I silence him by leaning forward and pressing my lips to the worst of his scars, just below his left eye. His hand shoots up to grip my wrist, not pulling me away but holding me there, anchoring himself.
“What are you doing to me?” he groans.
“Exploring you,” I answer against his skin.
With a low growl, he pulls me against him, his mouth finding mine in a kiss that's pure heat. It’s raw and desperate and hungry, and as his tongue sweeps into my mouth, I feel claimed…possessed. I meet him with equal ferocity, my fingers threading through his hair, releasing it from the tie.
His hands slide up under my T-shirt, touching my bare skin, and I gasp.
“Damn your soft skin…” he groans, then sucks on my bottom lip. "You can tell me to stop, Ash," he pants against my mouth.
"Hell, no," I reply.
“Thank god,” he chuckles huskily. In one easy movement, he stands, lifting me with him, and sets me on the edge of the worktable. Clay tools, his work-in-progress, and a handful of sketches are swept aside as he sits back down on the stool, pushing me to lie back.
He positions himself between my thighs. "Let me taste your beautiful body,” he says, his voice a dark rumble.
I lift my hips in answer, allowing him to pull my pajama pants down.
He nearly rips them away, then huffs. “No panties…you’re killing me.”
He lowers his head, his hands sliding up my bare thighs, spreading them wide. Cool air hits my center and I prop myself up on my elbows to watch.
He teases me with his hot breath, his lips barely grazing my sensitive flesh. He places soft, slow kisses down my quivering pussy, as I moan and gasp. Each press of his mouth makes me clench.
The first broad stroke of his tongue has me crying out, my head falling back as pleasure races through me. He groans against my flesh, the vibration adding to the sensation.
"That's it," he murmurs, nuzzling me. "I want to hear every sound you make while I devour you."
His tongue is relentless, exploring every velvety fold and crease with devastating diligence. He alternates between long, swirling strokes and delicate teasing of my swollen clit, learning what makes me gasp and arch off the hard surface.
"You’re delicious, Ash" he says, looking up at me, those eyes dark with lust. "I love making you writhe and pant as I worship your sweet little pussy.”
His large hands grip my thighs, holding me open for his hungry mouth. When he circles my clit with his tongue, sucking gently, I nearly lose my mind.
"Wolfe!" I gasp, one hand flying to tangle in his hair. "Oh god, right there..."
He hums his approval, sending new waves of pleasure spiraling through me. His tongue circles my entrance teasingly before dipping inside, then returning to tease my clit.
"You're getting wetter," he says, his voice rough with arousal. "Are you going to come for me, Ash? Right here in my mouth…on my tongue?"
"Yes," I pant, my hips shaking like mad and rocking against his mouth of their own accord. "If you don't stop doing that—oh!"
He continues his merciless assault, fingers caressing my inner thighs. My whole body is tense and ready to explode.
“Give it to me,” he demands, lapping and sucking at my flesh. “Let me feel you come.”
And suddenly I’m hurtling over the edge. My back arches off the table as my climax detonates, thighs trembling around his head.
“Oh- ohhh! Wolfe!”
He doesn't stop, working me through every aftershock, easing the pressure but continuing to lick me until I'm whimpering. Only then does he pull back, his lips and chin glistening.
"Christ, you're magnificent when you come," he says, rising to his feet and looking down at me with unabashed admiration. With his long hair down and wild, he reminds me of a Viking warrior.
“Wolfe…” I whisper, my orgasm still fresh. “That was beyond amazing.”
“I’m so glad I could please you,” he says, standing and pulling my shirt up as he does.
I raise my arms, letting him pull it off. His sharp intake of breath as he sees my bare breasts fuels my desire.
"Jesus, your body," he groans, hands reverently cupping my breasts. His thumbs brush over my hardened nipples, drawing more whimpers from my lips.
He wipes his hand over his mouth, then kisses me again…deep and passionately.
I can taste myself on him and it only brings me back to life. His mouth trails from my lips to my jaw, then down the column of my throat. I arch into him, my head falling back. He sucks on my neck and shoulder, grazing his teeth over my skin.
When he lowers his head to suck one peaked nipple, I nearly come undone all over again. He laves and nips with expert attention, alternating between gentle teasing and rougher urgency, while his hand caresses my other breast. I clutch at his hair, holding him to me.
"Wolfe, please," I beg, not entirely sure what I'm asking for, just knowing I need more.
He finally pulls back just enough to yank his shirt over his head, and I'm treated to the full glory of his torso—powerfully muscled, dusted with dark blond hair that narrows to a tempting trail disappearing beneath his jeans.
The scarring continues down the left side of his neck and shoulder, ridges of sinew edged with scars that twist like ivy over part of his chest and arm.
But they only enhance the beauty of his raw masculinity.
He begins to undo his jeans, then catches my gaze.
"We don't have to—" he starts, but I cut him off by reaching into his boxer briefs and wrapping my hand around his thick cock. My eyes widen at his impressive length and heft.
"I want to," I tell him, stroking the slick tip.
A string of curses falls from his lips as he hurriedly shoves his jeans and underwear down enough to free himself completely. "I have protection," he manages to say through ragged breaths. “Somewhere.”
“I’m on the pill and have been tested,” I reply.
“I haven’t been with anyone since before…” he trails off, and I know what he means.
“I need the beast inside me. Now,” I purr, smiling into a kiss.
“So terrible.” He half-laughs, half-moans, as he kisses me, positioning himself with one hand at my entrance. The blunt head of his cock presses against my still-sensitive and wet pussy. Our eyes lock as he begins to push inside, the stretch burning in the most delicious way.
"Fuck, you're tight," he groans, his hands moving to grip my hips. "All okay?"
I nod, beyond words as he fills me inch by glorious inch. When he's all the way in, we both pause, breathing heavily, adjusting to the overwhelming sensation.
Then he begins to move, and coherent thought becomes impossible. Each thrust drives me higher, the wooden table creaking beneath us. I wrap my legs around his waist, pulling him deeper, my nails scoring his back.
"Ash," he pants, his rhythm becoming more urgent. "I can't—I'm not going to last."
"Me neither," I gasp as his pubic bone grinds against my clit with each thrust.
“That’s it, sweetness. Take me. Take my cock like the good girl you are.”
“Oh yes,” I moan, loving his confident, dirty talk. “More…”
“Hell, your pussy is going to be the death of me, Ash. Is that what you want? To ruin me with your beautiful body.”
And with that, I explode around him, my second orgasm even more intense than the first. I moan loudly, my inner muscles clamping down on him.
“Oh, I’m coming baby…” And he roars, his rhythm stilted, shuddering with each thrust.
I can only hold on, as he shakes like mad, emptying the last of his seed into me.
We lay on the table for a long while, still joined, breathing each other's air. His unmasked face is inches from mine, vulnerable and sated and breathtakingly handsome in its imperfection.
My Beast.
As our heartbeats slow, reality begins to seep back in. I'm naked on a table in a haunted manor’s basement, having just had the most intense sexual experience of my life.
"What are you thinking?" he asks softly, finding my hand and stroking it.
"That I'm falling for you," I admit, the words escaping before I can censor them.
He lifts up and I worry for a beat he might just get dressed and leave. But he cups my face, and leans down to kiss me, achingly tender, the complete opposite of our passionate frenzy moments ago.
"Come to bed with me," he whispers against my lips. "Stay with me tonight."