8. Ren
8
REN
M y Scarlet.
Mine.
Walking around a fucking college party wearing practically nothing.
What does she think is going to happen? She should know what always happens to girls who play with fire—they get burned.
Something close to rage ripples through me.
Nobody gets to see her this way. Only me.
Mine. The word blares inside my skull.
Months of following her, watching from afar, checking out her apartment when the guards Xander assigned are tailing her to and from class, is nothing compared to the thrill of holding her against me. Finally .
After all this time, she’s back in my arms where she belongs.
So much time has been wasted. Wanting, longing, and existing at the periphery of her life has left me hanging on the edge—never secure enough to back away, never quite so insane with need to fall over into the abyss of madness in the absence of her. I’ve kept myself sane for two years by catching little bits of her whenever possible.
The scent of her pillow. A pair of underwear swiped from her dresser.
The sight of her walking across campus while I watch from a distance. The pleasure of hearing her light tinkling laughter when she’s with Tessa, but that’s it. Otherwise, when she’s alone, there is no laughter. And no other friends that I’m aware of.
No men, either. That’s for the best, for many reasons.
I wouldn’t want to have to kill some dumb bastard for having the audacity to come anywhere near her when she belongs to me and always will.
She knows she’s mine, too.
Why else would she have saved herself for me all this time? Two years since that night in her bedroom, and she’s gone without the touch of a man ever since. You know why? Because no other man will ever compare to what I’ve given her, so why bother trying.
Scarlet. My angel.
Clearly, she needs to be reminded of what happens when she lets her guard down. She was stumbling through the crowd, lost, like a fragile rose about to be crushed in an unforgiving fist.
I had no choice but to react. To save her from herself, which at the time meant saving her from the situation she put herself in. Years of yearning for the feel of her skin, her petite body, left me helpless against the impulse to take hold of her.
And the desire that exploded in me when I did. It was indescribable.
Here she is. So close to me, with nowhere to go. She’d have better luck breaking through a brick wall than pushing her way past me.
I’m not losing her now. Not when she feels so fucking good pressed against my chest, nestled into the spot where she belongs, her blond halo reaching my chest. Fuck me, she smells so good—even with this stupid mask on, I can smell her perfume, her shampoo, her skin.
Lavender. Clean. Calming.
It’s not enough. I know how good she smells elsewhere. The scent has been imprinted on my mind for two years, and nothing has ever come close to the effect it has on me. The way it makes the constant noise in my head go silent. It’s the only thing that does.
I suppose that’s what I’m needy for now. More than release from the agony of being unable to touch, kiss, and taste.
She’s my peace. My solace. I’ve gone too long without her.
I lean in, pressing her into the corner, my hands on her arms. I’m crowding her, pushing her past her limits. I know this, but I can’t help myself. It’s like I have no control; my only goal is to satisfy the need inside me.
It’s selfish and fucked up, but I’ve waited so long for her. It’s all that’s kept me going in those moments of agony.
I’m a split second from grinding my aching dick against her warm body. From giving in to two years of pent-up need when a whisper of a noise meets my ears.
“I…I… I’m…scared.”
I barely hear it over the insanely loud music threatening to burst my eardrums. Reading her lips is all that solidifies the soft sound into something real.
She’s scared. I’m scaring her. It’s the last thing I want, especially after being away for so long.
Still, what kind of man does that make me? To know that I’m turned on, even while she is afraid. That, had I not heard her speak, I would’ve pushed forward? My grip loosens before I make the conscious decision to do it.
How did I not see the terror on her face? The way she’s trembling, too. Her short, shallow breaths. Did I frighten her this badly? Much more of this, and she’ll hyperventilate.
The impulse to tear off the mask and show her she has nothing to fear is almost as tempting as the idea of fucking her here and now. Nobody would even notice; they’re too busy drinking and partying to pay attention to a couple in the corner. Hell, I doubt we’d be the only people engaged in such an activity.
No, dammit. That’s not what she deserves. I’m not going to take her this way, no matter how my body aches for her. I need my fix. I need her.
But not this way.
Instead of burying myself in her pussy the way every fiber of my being demands, I take a deep breath that fills my lungs to capacity.
Understand me. Breathe. I’m not going to hurt you.
I doubt she’d hear if I spoke the words out loud, but I don’t dare take that chance. I can’t let her know it’s me. Who’s to say she doesn’t hate me after the years I was forced to stay out of her life?
I take another slow, deliberate breath in hopes of getting through to her. This time she follows suit. Her body begins to relax—I didn’t understand how tense she was until she started to loosen up. She was ready to fight or run. A scared little rabbit in the grip of a wolf. A lost angel in need of protection, solace, and comfort.
I’m glad I found her when I did. I’m who she needs.
One breath at a time, she softens. She’s beginning to trust me. I won’t ravage her the way a wolf would. She’s in no danger with me. It’s the rest of the world she needs protection from.
Her eyes, still beautiful and shining in the dim light, move over my mask. Eyes burning with something I’ve seen from her before.
I think she’s completely aware of whose arms she’s in.
I have broken my back the past two years to avoid discovery, only for her to find me out now. It shouldn’t be such a surprise. I always knew our connection was strong. That it wouldn’t fade even in the face of time.
Why would it? She’s all I’ll ever want, all I’ve wanted, even when I knew she was the one woman in the world, I couldn’t and shouldn’t have.
Because I can’t shake her. I’d have better luck forgetting my right arm than I would have forgetting her. There’s something between us which time and distance and every law known to man cannot break.
She is mine. She knows it.
Only the thought of her knowing the truth keeps me from lashing out when she places a hand against my chest. If I so much as imagined her touching a man other than me, there’s no saying what I’d do. I’ve been certain no man has got close to her, even in my time away.
No. She knows it’s me. She feels it, even if she doesn’t understand where the feeling comes from. I have to believe that. When her hand slides up my chest, and over my shoulder, she knows she’s touching me. The man who’s made it his life’s goal to protect her no matter what it takes.
The thumping of the music reverberating through my body is nothing compared to the pounding of my heart. I’m hungry, so fucking hungry for her. The slightest touch is nearly enough to break every last bit of my resolve. My body tenses, anticipating more. Demanding it.
Without words, I show her how I need her.
Pressing against her, nearly crushing her in my desperation to be close. To touch all of her, feel all of her on me. She gasps, the sound lost to that of a drunken party. I feel it in the way her chest expands, shoving her tits against me. Tits that already look good enough to eat in that dress on display like she’s offering them up.
Offering them to me. No one else. Only to me.
If I were truly a wolf, I’d be licking my chops and threatening to blow her house down.
As it is, I have to settle for running a hand down her arm, over her hip. She doesn’t so much as flinch, much less push me away. No, she leans into it, tilting her hips forward. Inviting. Her lips part, and my god, I want to kiss her. To share breath, taste her, and hear the soft sighs lost inside my mouth when I invade hers with my tongue.
It’s torture, but I wait for the impulse to pass before allowing my hand to slip lower over what there is of the rest of the short dress. In no time, I’m touching bare thigh, soft and supple.
The memories this brings back. They sweep over me, and suddenly, there’s no party. No idiot college kids bumping into me from behind. No floor sticky from spilled drinks. It all goes away until there’s only the two of us. In her bedroom. It’s her birthday again, and I’m the one opening a gift.
Discovering her, exploring.
Trying to ignore the painful erection threatening to bust my zipper. That much hasn’t changed.
Neither has the softness of her skin. The firmness of her thigh. The way she leaps to life at my touch. She must know it’s me.
Who else could set her on fire with the slightest caress?
She arches her back, her mouth falling open when my greedy fingers work their way between her legs. While she doesn’t part them easily, she doesn’t clench them shut, either.
She’s too busy hanging onto me, an arm around my neck. I’m her life raft on a stormy sea, stormy thanks to the way my touch takes the strength out of her legs. She needs me if she wants to stay on her feet. She needs me.
I feel like a king the instant before I cup her mound. Desire threatens to consume me, but I fight my way through the dizzying waves of heat, ignoring their sizzle in favor of making her burn.
Fuck. She’s already halfway there, moisture beginning to seep into her panties, the flesh beneath them hot and plump.
She slumps a little, her body all but melting into the wall, legs parting farther to leave room for my entire hand to cover her center. The heel of my palm lines up with her mound, and I press in, rubbing in small circles. Her chest rises and falls so rapidly that I’m positive she is panting. Her nails sink deep into the flesh at my neck.
I relish the sensation, one that rides the thin edge between pain and pleasure. If I have my way, she’ll break the skin by the time this is over. I’ll consider this a failure if blood isn’t running down my back by the time I slip out of her life again.
But not really. I never will entirely.
Fuck, I need more. This isn’t enough.
Leaning down, I touch the side of my face to her temple. I wish we were skin-to-skin, but at least now I can inhale her light, floral perfume. There’s a hint of vanilla beneath the lavender, and all it does is stir the mental image of devouring her. Not only her pussy, but all of her.
If it meant absorbing her sweetness and carrying it with me always, that’s exactly what I would do. I need her that badly. She’s that necessary in my life.
The sounds she makes, audible now that her mouth is close to my ear, could drive a man to his knees. She’s purring like a kitten.
“Oh… oh god,” she moans, making me increase the pressure over her clit. It’s nowhere near what either of us truly wants, but it’s good enough for now, enough to make her bear down on me and grind that pretty little pussy against my hand.
Take it. Take what you need .
There’s so much I want to give her, almost as much as I long for what I know she’d give me. Her fingers in my hair. Her sweet, soft kisses. The way she moans my name—no one has ever said it the way she does, turning it into a prayer.
The best I can do is imagine it, replaying in my head the sound of her coming apart thanks to my tongue against what she’s now grinding on me.
Ren… Ren… I close my eyes, giving myself over to the memory. The fantasy. She knows it’s me, the only man who’ll ever touch her this way. None of the useless pricks dancing and drinking and fucking around could do this to her. They wouldn’t know where to start.
Because they don’t know her.
Not like I do.
“Please… don’t stop…” she whimpers over the music, over the roar of blood in my ears.
My teeth grind, and I almost have to bite my tongue to keep from encouraging her. To stop myself from whispering her name and telling her how sweet she is, how fucking hot it is when she grinds her hips, shaking, clinging to me. She’s seeking out her release as best she can.
How powerful this is. Undoing her. Making the angel’s halo hang crooked—even the silly costume halo is askew now. Somehow that bit of imperfection only makes her more perfect. More mine.
This isn’t enough. If I can’t drive my tongue between her lips and lap up every last drop like it’s the last thing I’ll ever taste, I’ll at least have her on my fingers. At least I’ll leave this party carrying her on me.
She arches against me when I shove the panties to the side, practically peeling the sodden fabric away from her plump lips to allow my fingers to probe her slit. A shudder rolls through me —so wet, dripping, and all because of my touch. My command of her body.
There’s something dangerous about this. Illicit. As illicit as the desire that’s plagued me all these years. It’s the danger that makes everything hotter.
More intense.
Like the intensity of Scarlet’s reaction when I touch her bare skin. Her slick, sensitive folds. How I’d love to sink my fingers into her, drive them deep and fuck her while the party rages on.
With conscious effort, I shove the idea away before it takes root and takes us down a road she hasn’t traveled yet. She’s still a virgin; she has to be. There hasn’t been a man but me in her life.
Still, playing with her clit isn’t enough. I have to give her something she’s never experienced yet. When will I have this chance again?
Her tight gasp—almost a squeal—upon my circling her tight entrance fills my ears and leaves me biting back a groan. My cock will snap in two if this goes on much longer. If I can make her come again for me after so many nights spent jerking off to the memory of eating this juicy pussy, it might be worth it.
I don’t care either way.
For her, there is nothing in the world but me. The dark, silent stranger who once scared her is now teasing her virgin hole, skimming the very outside before barely breaching to keep from hurting her with the violent thrust instinct demands. All thought, sight, smell, hearing, everything else in her consciousness has boiled down to the tip of my forefinger and what it makes her body do.
Soon, it’s my entire finger, slowly working its way through her insanely tight channel while she gasps in time with every steady thrust.
What she’d feel like around my dick—precum drips from my tip at the thought, and I have to growl like the wolf I supposedly am.
It’s too much. I don’t know if I can get through this without?—
“Ren, yes, please!”
She said my name. For half a second, I’m stunned.
Fuck, yes, she needs me to be good to her, to protect her. To be strong the way I’ve been all this time, keeping as far from her as I can even when I’m sure it will kill me. I would die for her. The least I can do is let her come without giving in to my basic instincts. I’m not a good man. I know it. She knows it. Everyone knows it, but I’d do anything to be good for her.
She’s lost in her pleasure, writhing in the tight space between the wall and my chest. Yes, angel. Let go. Come for me . Her nipples become stiff peaks, and I can feel them through the thin material of her costume. Turned on is the understatement of the year. I’d say she’s on fire.
My fingers are slick, and I can’t help but wish the music would go silent, that everything would freeze around us so I could soak in the wet, sloppy sounds I know I’d hear along with her sighs. Moans. Silent to everyone but me—as they should be. They belong to me like every other part of her.
Closing my eyes, I inhale as deeply as I can, holding her in my arms while her nails drag across my back from shoulder to shoulder. She’s as crazed as I am, the darkness in her bursting free in these final moments. I thrust my finger faster, my palm slapping against her clit with every thrust. The added pressure makes her even more frenzied.
“Fuck, Ren. I’m going to come,” she whines, straining against me.
All I can do is smile, working her faster, driving her higher and higher, knowing what the reward will be.
The world goes still as her body does. Everything stops. A shiver ripples through her, and her muscles flutter around my finger, squeezing me tightly.
Mine.
And she knows it. I have to believe she knows it now, quivering against me after giving me her orgasm while she coats my fingers with her honey in one spasm after another.
What I wouldn’t give to have her on my dick, here and now. Always.
I raise my head and find her sagging against me, her breaths labored.
Her gaze is dreamy, her consciousness hazy in the wake of something so explosive. Those blue orbs meet mine through the mask and touch something deep inside me. The part only she can touch.
Yes. She knows deep in her soul.
That’s enough for me, enough to make me take one final breath, one last indulgence in her before I have to leave her again. I straighten her dress, careful to leave her covered. No one gets to see her or enjoy her body. No one but me.
She opens her mouth when I back away, a haunted expression on her face, but anything she says or might say is lost to the party that’s gone on all this time.
“I won’t be far away,” I tell her before turning my back.
I don’t think she heard me, but it’s a reassurance to myself. Xander should be thankful I’m keeping such a keen eye on her. Against every fiber of my being, I slip back into the darkness, leaving my angel until next time.