Chapter 24
JULIET
Roderick doesn’t respond right away, but that’s okay. The pause gives me a chance to study him. To become more comfortable with this chance I’m taking.
A challenge I’m setting for myself to take a step away from the darkness of my past.
Kiss a man.
Kiss a werewolf.
Is this the dumbest or the bravest thing I’ve ever done?
When I moved in with Cory, we chose a house that was walking distance to my job at the Bear Valley Public Library.
At first, I couldn’t get over how sweet the gesture was—that he’d choose to live in a smaller place that was more convenient for me.
After time passed, I came to realize the house was another way to control me.
That me traveling on foot to work meant it was easier for him to keep track of where I was.
Still, I enjoyed that walk. Especially in the spring when everyone started planting flowers in their front yards.
There was one stretch of sidewalk in front of a row of town houses that all had the same rough bricks at the edge of their gardens.
The walls stood about knee-high and provided a pretty structure to the landscaping.
Unfortunately, yellow jackets liked the bricks too.
As I walked by each day, I would spy the critters crawling out of the cracks and taking flight.
Never swarms, but just enough to make me uncomfortable.
I’d been stung a couple of times as a kid, and I knew the radiating pain from even one little prick.
Still, I didn’t switch sides of the street or map another route because that sidewalk kept me in the warm sun for my walk, and just past the town houses was the home of a retired woman, who put all her free time into constructing a gorgeous mass of flowers.
I wasn’t the only one attracted to the blooms. When the weather started to warm, butterflies would flutter about in the yard, probably having lived there as caterpillars.
The sight of their soft wings catching the breeze brought me a smile every time, filling my hollow chest with a little bit of joy.
The problem was, whenever a butterfly approached from the side, where I could only spot movement in the corner of my eye, I would flinch. To get to the butterfly garden, I first had to pass the yellow-jacket walls, and my body was programmed for defense.
Which made me hate the yellow jackets even more. Fear of them stole some of my happiness from seeing the harmless creatures.
And I can’t help thinking of that walk now, as I sit on my kitchen floor, staring at Roderick.
I keep expecting the Pine Falls werewolves to be yellow jackets. But they keep showing me they are butterflies.
And I hate the Bear Valley wolves all the more. They are the reason I flinch. The reason I panic.
I’ve escaped the place, but not the fear attached to it. When I saw Roderick’s black eyes, I lost my grip on the current moment. I was back in my old kitchen, Cory looming over me, eyes dark with anger over some infraction I hadn’t realized I had committed.
Or dark with lust because he wanted me. Didn’t matter if I wanted him anymore. Although, for the longest time, I told myself I did because I thought it might help in some way.
It didn’t.
Roderick tilts his head to the side, studying me like a puzzle.
Unfortunately, his lack of response pinches at my pride. I wanted to do something wild. Something rebellious. Commit an act that would send Cory into a rage if he ever knew.
He won’t know, but that’s fine.
Because all I want is to establish that I have full control over my life now. I want to press myself against a werewolf without fear.
Also, it would be nice to finally kiss someone because I want to and not because I’m scared of what will happen if I don’t.
But not if the guy doesn’t want to kiss me back.
I’m just about to pat Roderick’s knee and tell him not to worry about it when his hands reach out to grip my waist. With little effort, he picks me up and settles me on his lap, my legs straddling his waist.
“Do what you want with me.” His voice is rough, low, and laced with what I could swear is need.
Holy shit. Has a sexier phrase ever been uttered?
His lids lower, blocking out the darkness of his eyes, which I’m thankful for. Now, with full permission, I hesitate.
What do I want to do with him?
I don’t remember ever having this much control with a man before.
Testing the waters, I place my fingertips on the collar of his shirt, then trace them upward.
His skin is so warm; it’s like a massage for my fingertips.
When I reach his jaw, stubble scrapes me in a surprisingly pleasurable way.
So close, I watch as he swallows, his throat working on the movement.
I can hear each of his long, controlled exhales.
Roderick’s lips aren’t lush pillows begging for me to sink into. Again, they make me think of stone. A hard, unforgiving granite.
Do I want to kiss a hard mouth?
Yes, I do.
I want to dominate it. I want to be the one to make stone yield.
But force isn’t the right move. I don’t ram my face against Roderick’s. Instead, I brush my lips across his, testing the texture. Stealing a taste.
Roderick’s fingers flex on my hips, but he makes no move to take over.
For a mouth that looks like granite, his lips give easily, moving with mine. Following where I lead him.
The sensation is …
Powerful.
Holy hell, I could get off from the way I control this situation. Moving where I want to. Tasting what I want to.
Roderick’s buzzed hair tickles my palms as I cup his head, guiding him to tilt his skull back just a bit more. A better angle for me.
My kissing is selfish, but he grunts a pleased noise when I run my tongue over his bottom lip, so maybe the wolf likes when I take what I want.
Then I feel the hardness of him rise between us, and I know he does.
But that thought has me pausing. I know better than most that a physical response does not actually mean the person is enjoying themself.
“If you want this to stop,” I say, my voice breathy but firm, “tell me to stop.”
Maybe that’s silly, me thinking a mythically strong creature needs to be reminded they can say no. But I need to know that he knows that turning me down is an option.
Roderick still doesn’t look at me, keeping his dark eyes fixed lower, where my nipples press against my thin T-shirt. His gaze as heavy as a caress.
“Don’t stop,” he growls. “Use me.”
I shiver. Sounds like enthusiastic consent to me.
I reclaim Roderick’s stern mouth, licking when I want to lick, sucking when I want to suck, biting when I want to bite. As his length wedges against the apex of my thighs, my hips ache to rock. To grind.
He said I could use him, didn’t he?
To test that offer, I press forward, teasing myself with the pressure of him.
Roderick’s breath hisses out, his head falling back with a thunk against the leg of my kitchen table. The position puts his strong neck on display, and I experiment with pressing kisses down the tense muscle. Somehow, he grows harder between us.
My entire body tingles with aroused nerves, feeding the urge to utilize this delicious man to reach a level of ecstasy I’ve only fantasized about.
I’m not scared. I’m not anxious. I’m finally feeling in control, and it’s euphoric.
My hips rock against Roderick, the rhythm strong and steady.
This is nothing like being with Cory.
I hate that my ex still lingers on the edge of my thoughts. Even until the very end, I found a twisted kind of pleasure in our encounters. Cory knew the spots on my body to touch to bring on a physical response—there was no avoiding that.
Whenever he held me close, I couldn’t help thinking, Does he know how much I hate him? Does he see it in my eyes? Can he tell from the way I clench my teeth instead of moaning his name?
Then he’d demand my climax, the way he’d done hundreds of times before.
And I’d ride the pleasure, despising him all the while, coming down from the high to settle in a pool of guilt.
Was something wrong with me? That I could hate a man but still feel that way when he touched me?
Now though, I want to sob in relief. With the realization that there’s not just one way to feel good with a partner. Whatever pleasure I had with my ex was hollow and terrifying.
But this, right now, fills me with warmth and power.
I’m not panicky or looking for a quick finish. I’m heavy in Roderick’s lap. Weighed down by the hot, lusty blood in my veins. Encouraged by the grunts forced from deep in his chest and the way his palms cup my ass, applying pressure in time with my movements.
I don’t want the experience to end, but I do want to know what this orgasm will feel like. One where I drive myself to the finish. I’m almost frantic for the sensation, to prove I can have something different. Something more.
There are points of pressure against my ass, and I realize Roderick’s fingers are digging into that fleshy part of me, encouraging me to rock harder against his cock. My tempo quickens, but I hang on the precipice, needing more stimulation to push me over.
As I tongue his strong jawline, I drag my touch down his biceps, his forearm, to his wrist. I grip him and demand control. With a slight reluctance, Roderick releases my butt. Then his chin jerks as I shove his palm under the edge of my shirt and guide him to cup one of my boobs.
“Touch me,” I command. All the while, I continue rubbing my core against him, the soft cotton of my shorts soaked with my arousal.
Roderick mutters a curse that kind of sounds like a prayer before leaning forward to bury his head in the juncture of my neck. There, he sucks on the hot skin stretched tight over my pounding pulse, even as his fingers caress and tweak my nipple.
“Keep … doing … that!” My command is disjointed, all my concentration on maintaining a steady rhythm. Why change perfection when it’s getting me exactly where I want to go?
Then his callous thumb drags over the peak and draws me to the pinnacle.
Pure, decadent pleasure.
All I can do is clutch Roderick close as my orgasm breaks through me, shattering my control like a rock through glass. I sob and clench my thighs so hard that I swear his hips will bruise. Black dots flash on the edges of my vision as the rush of blood through my ears blocks out all other noises.
Through it all, Roderick wraps his body around mine, keeping me together when I’m sure I’ll fall to pieces. His mouth stays on me, the swipes of his tongue against my skin compounded by my now-sensitive nerves.
Hell …
This was better.
All our clothes are on, and still, this was better than the reluctant pleasure I forced myself through in the past.
As the afterglow dissipates and hearing returns, I catch what Roderick has been whispering against the damp spot he made on my neck.
“My Juliet.”