Chapter 16
Leeva
The fog from my migraine medication has finally worn off, and I slowly sit up in bed, testing whether that excruciating, vice-like pain will return. When it doesn’t, I sigh in relief that I had caught it early enough with the medication to keep it from ruthlessly hanging on.
My stomach growls loudly, reminding me that I hadn’t eaten anything yesterday. I swing my legs over the side of the bed, not moving too quickly, so my body has time to adjust. But I pause with a frown.
Why does the side of my neck hurt? It stings like the skin is irritated.
And my breasts, upper chest, neck, and face all feel like I have something on my skin. When I run my hand over the areas, though, I don’t feel anything.
“Maybe a weird side effect of the medication? Great,” I grumble, and stand from the bed and pad across the room to the ensuite.
Still light-sensitive from the migraine, I wince at the brightness when I turn on the lights, dimming them quickly.
Padding across the marble heated floor, I go to the mirror. My hair looks like a feral cat attacked it while I slept. Smoothing it down, I study my neck in the mirror.
My eyes widen as I see the patch of skin that’s red and inflamed, looking irritated as hell. Okay, so that wasn’t some phantom side effect of the medication. But are those…scratch marks?
I lean closer to the mirror. Those are definitely small scratches on my neck, right over where Guerilla’s tattoo used to be before I got it removed.
It isn’t the first time I’ve clawed at my skin in my sleep, wanting to remove his mark and claim off me. It used to happen more often before I got the tattoo removed.
The red and irritated skin is new, though.
As I stare at my neck, a wave of relief washes over me, knowing Guerilla’s tattoo is gone. Just like Keifer said, it’ll be the equivalent of handing him divorce papers when I finally see him. I’m giddy at the thought of telling him to go fuck himself.
I’m not ready yet to face him, though, but I promise myself I’ll be ready soon.
Soon, Leeva.
Hayes’ voice whispers, sounding so lifelike, as if he’s actually here, and I whirl around, expecting him to be standing behind me.
There’s no one there, of course. But my heart thunders as I rush out of the ensuite, needing to make sure he isn’t in the bedroom or anywhere else in the suite.
He’s not here, though; no one is. But those words, said in his voice, sounded so real.
Is my medication causing mild hallucinations as a lingering side effect, especially since I didn’t eat yesterday?
Rubbing my forehead and shaking my head at myself, I return to the ensuite and turn on the shower. I let it warm up before stepping in and close my eyes as the water from the rainfall showerhead cascades over me.
With the steam and heat swirling around me, a musky smell fills the air.
It can’t be my arousal from having the best sex of my life at Hedon because I showered yesterday morning.
And there’s a distinct musky male smell, but I must be imagining or hallucinating that.
Even if I hadn’t showered the morning after going to Hedon, my masked wolf wore a condom, so there’s no way I’m smelling his cum on me.
But the smell—imagined or not—throws me back into that room at Hedon with visions of what he promised he would do to me and what would’ve happened if I hadn’t run.
Me riding the Sybian Saddle, choking on the masked man’s beautiful cock, and then him covering me with his cum.
In my mind, the spurts of cum cover my face, neck, and breasts, and then he rubs it into me.
My sex pulses at the fantasy of cum play.
I grab the shower gel and liberally apply it to my body. But it’s like that smell is ingrained in my nostrils, reminding me again of all the pleasure I experienced at Hedon.
‘I’m going to cover you in my cum. Paint your skin with it. Would you like that?’
His words, his promise, make my pussy thrum with need.
“I can’t go back there,” I sternly remind myself, suspecting my mind is making up the male scent on me, trying to convince me to go back to Hedon to live out the kinky fantasy of him coming all over my skin. Even though the warning is logical and the wise thing to do, I feel my resolve weakening.
“I just need an orgasm.” I’m desperately trying to turn my mind away from thoughts of going back to Hedon tonight.
Leaning against the wall, I dip my hand between my legs. My needy pussy is happy for something to fill it, even if it’s not what it truly wants.
Which is my wolf’s big, thick cock.
Pleasure rolls through me as I sink two fingers into myself and use my other hand to play with my clit. It would be so much better if it were him, but this will have to do.
I masturbate, leaning against the wall as my mind fills with memories of Hedon.
The way I sensed his stare across the room.
The way my entire body tingled with alertness when our eyes met, and his gaze raked over me.
The way I suddenly knew he’d be the one to introduce me to exploring what my body had been craving.
The way we had approached, then stopped to watch the group sex on the sofa.
My pussy clenches around my fingers, remembering the scene. Discovering that I liked watching people have sex.
Check the voyeurism kink on my list, please.
The main room of the club had been filled with people doing sexual acts; some one-on-one, some with groups of various sizes. The main stage had almost twenty people up there.
But when the masked man and I stopped to watch the group on the sofa—so close to hear everything, so close to touch—I could see the subtle shifts of expression as they found their pleasure in such hedonistic ways.
The man in the wolf mask had pressed against my back, his rigid cock impossible to ignore, and he curled his hands around my waist. I wanted him to play with my breasts and pussy while we watched.
But I hadn’t felt the desire to join the group; I only wanted to watch with my wolf’s hands and mouth on me, no one else’s.
When he asked me if this was the first time I’d been in a club like Hedon, I didn’t even think to lie. Though it was probably impossible not to tell since my face flushed like a neon sign as I watched, riveted, as a man slid into a woman’s ass.
I’ve only had vanilla sex, nothing like the erotic sex I was witnessing.
My moans fill the ensuite at the thought of my wolf claiming me like that. My orgasm is rising hard and fast, but I don’t want this to end too quickly, so I ease off playing with my clit.
An idea for a fantasy for me to masturbate to takes hold. I’m back in that private room in Hedon, on the bed, while my masked wolf sits in a chair. I’m completely naked, and he’s fully dressed.
“Show me how you like to finger-fuck that beautiful cunt, siren,” he says in my fantasy.
Just imagining him saying those crude words pushes me toward an orgasm again. I slide down the wall to sit on the shower floor and do as he says in the fantasy, imagining that he’s here watching me.
Spreading my legs wide apart, I split my lips with my index and middle fingers, tilting my hips so, if he were actually here, he’d have a front-row seat to everything. With my other hand, I push in two fingers, but I can’t find that trigger button he had expertly homed in on.
Watching me, he pulls out his cock and starts to fist it. The strokes are harsh and aggressive, almost angry that it’s his hand and not some part of me wrapped around it.
I work myself harder, letting the fantasy play out uninhibited in my mind, and my finger on my clit moves faster. He rises from the chair, his hand not missing a beat as he stalks toward me. The broad head of his cock glistens with leaking cum.
“Where should I shoot my cum? Down your throat, deep in your pussy, or all over your tits and neck?”
“All over me,” I moan without thought, craving that debasement. I want him to cover me, including my face.
Deep inside my pussy is actually the last place I want his cum, or any man’s cum. My fear of getting pregnant and losing another child is almost enough to fling me out of my fantasy and dry up my arousal.
“Good fucking girl, siren,” he growls, pulling me back into my fantasy and my pleasure. His cum erupts from his cock, hitting my flesh in spurts that cover my skin.
Pleasure erupts through me as my orgasm hits me hard. In my fantasy, he smears his cum all over me: over my breasts, my stomach, up my neck, and then over my face. He rubs it in until it’s no longer noticeable on my skin, as the last of my orgasm fades.
In my fantasy, he presses his finger into my mouth. “Suck me clean, siren.”
One last jerk of pleasure shudders through me as I come down from my release, sitting alone on the shower floor with water cascading around me.
My hands fall to my side and my head tilts back against the wall. Parts of that fantasy had felt so real, it’s insane.
“You can’t go to Hedon tonight or ever again,” I remind myself firmly.
Not if members of the Havoc Guardians are there. And I definitely can’t entangle myself with my masked man again. The Havoc Guardians logo on his back was enough of a red flag.
I came back here to lay my ghosts to rest, so I can finally completely move on. Cut the ties that bind me here. The ties with Guerilla to have the closure of telling him face to face to get forever fucked. And the ties to Hayes to…
I close my eyes, unsure of Hayes.
Keifer’s words from yesterday about forgiveness for my sake come back.
I know Hayes kept Guerilla’s cheating from me to protect me.
When he found out initially, he had beaten the shit out of him, and Guerilla promised him it was just that one time.
Hayes had always hated causing me pain of any kind.
So yes, keeping it from me was a terrible best friend move, but I can understand why he did it.
I know that if he had proof Guerilla was lying, or knew that, in the future, I would’ve walked in on Guerilla with three Club Pussy, he would’ve told me when he first discovered that his brother was a piece of cheating shit.
Hayes hated him, but he loved me as his best friend.
And if he had any idea that I would lose my child shortly after…
Pain swells within me, and tears sting my eyes. I know Hayes would’ve done anything to avoid that from happening, even though he hated that Guerilla was the father. He was invested in that child because it was mine, his best friend’s.
His platonic best friend.
Yeah, I remember, brain, thanks for always tossing that in my face. Like I could ever forget that’s all Hayes saw me as. That I was only his little dove, the girl he put on a pedestal to protect her purity and innocence from the gritty world we ran in.
He loved me, yes, but as a friend.
But another doubt creeps in as I wonder about Hayes’ reaction to me coming back.
It’s been over a decade since I last saw him.
That’s a long time. People change. He served in the Marines and is now back with the MC he grew up in.
He’s a brother now, a full-fledged member of a criminal motorcycle club.
There was always a darkness in Hayes back when we were younger—I sensed it and knew it was there, even if he kept that part of himself hidden from me.
But with the years between us, with him in the Marines and now fully immersed in MC life, that darkness would have grown.
He won’t be the same boy I knew and instantly fell for when we were twelve.
What would he do when he found out I returned?
Would he be happy to see me? Or would he tell me to go fuck myself, refusing to forgive me for running?
“Soon, Leeva,” his voice whispers in my head again.
But why is that medication-induced hallucination persisting?
And soon for what?
A shiver courses through me, and I’m not entirely sure if it’s from dread or excitement.