Chapter 7
Seven
ANYA
Oh my god, I’m literally covered in cum.
My ass and the back of my thighs are sticky with Marcus’s cum as I quickly strip off my dirty clothes and hop into the shower.
I stand under the scalding water, letting it pound my skin as the memory of being bent over a golf cart, humped by a man built like a brick wall, fills my mind.
Marcus’s beard left a red scrape on my inner thigh where he ground his face against me like a starving dog.
My pussy is still swollen, the lips puffy and wet even after soaping them twice.
I gingerly press my fingers against my slit, and a jolt of pleasure mixed with a wonderful ache makes me shudder against the tiles.
“Fuck,” I whisper. There’s still sticky stuff between my ass cheeks, a mix of his cum and my own wetness. I have to dig at it with the loofah, and even then, the smell of sex clings to my skin, musky and sweet.
I’m so mad at myself.
I came here to get my shit together, not become a walking fuck toy for a pack of lunatics who think they’re werewolves. But my pussy doesn’t care about my plans. It’s pulsing again, empty and aching, and when I rub at the sore spot on my ass where Marcus spanked me. Now I’m wet all over again.
Hot water streams down my body. As I scrub, I remember how I begged him, how I cried out for release, how good it felt to be filled up and manhandled. The memory makes my stomach clench and my thighs squeeze together.
I press my forehead to the glass, breathing hard. I need to escape this place, I remind myself. I can’t let them do this to me again before it’s too late, and I end up pregnant because I couldn’t control myself.
But then I picture Marcus’s face when his eyes lit up after sniffing me, how he licked my ass like it was icing on a cake. My hand slips between my legs without thinking, and I rub myself, just once, to see how it feels. It doesn’t feel the same.
I need to stay in control. I need to keep my head clear so I can sneak off this island before they turn me into their baby factory.
I’m not some omega. I’m not.
Showered and barely holding it together, I wrap myself in a plush white bathrobe and stumble back to my bedroom. Every step reminds me of the throbbing between my legs, the soreness in my ass, the raw scrape along my clit where Marcus’s tongue worked me over.
I collapse into bed, still damp, not even bothering with underwear.
I’m so tired I can’t keep my eyes open, but every time I close them, I see his face, his mouth, the way he looked at me as I came apart on his tongue. I clench my thighs and groan, furious at myself for being so weak.
I need to rest. I need to make a plan. But I drift off to sleep before I can think up any kind of plan.
I’m naked in a huge white bed, the sheets soft as silk, the room filled with golden light. The five men surround me: Ryker, Rex, Marcus, Alaric, and Lorenzo. They’re all naked too, cocks jutting from their bodies, faces hungry and intent.
Ryker kneels between my legs, his hands gripping my ankles. He spreads me open, and I whimper, exposed and vulnerable. His tongue is hot and soft as he licks a stripe from my clit to my asshole, pausing to circle the rim with lazy, taunting flicks.
Lorenzo is at my side, his mouth on my breast, sucking my nipple until it’s hard and aching.
Rex grabs my wrist and brings my hand to his cock, making me wrap my fingers around the thick shaft. He’s so big I can barely close my hand around it, the skin silky and hot. He strokes himself with my hand, grunting in satisfaction.
Alaric leans over me, his blond hair spilling onto my chest. He kisses me, slow and deep, his tongue sliding into my mouth, tasting me, claiming me. When he breaks the kiss, he bites my lower lip, tugging it until I moan.
Marcus is behind me, cupping my ass, spreading me open.
I feel his beard against my skin, his breath hot as he nuzzles the crease of my thigh.
My pussy gushes, slick pooling under me, soaking the sheets.
I can’t control it, can’t hide the need.
The five of them close in, hands and mouths everywhere, touching, tasting, claiming.
“I’ve been thinking about this tight little ass all day,” Marcus growls, leaning down to whisper in my ear. His breath is hot against my skin, sending shivers down my spine. “Going to fuck it until you can’t walk straight. Going to fill it with my knot until you’re dripping with my seed.”
My asshole clenches at his words, my body responding without my permission. I’m mortified by how much I want exactly what he’s describing.
Lorenzo moves between my legs, his handsome face level with my dripping center. He looks up at me, brown eyes twinkling with mischief, and says, “I want to drink your pussy. I’ve been starving for years.”
Then his mouth is on me, his tongue flicking expertly over my swollen clit. I yelp, my back arching off the bed as pleasure sears through me like lightning bolts.
I jolt awake, the echo of my own cry still ringing in my ears. My heart pounds against my ribs, and I’m disoriented, unsure for a moment what was dream and what was reality.
I clutch at the sheets, breathing hard.
The bathrobe has fallen open in my sleep, leaving my legs exposed to the cool air. I’m covered in a thin sheen of sweat, my nipples painfully hard, my pussy aching with unfulfilled need.
As my eyes adjust to the darkness, I realize I’m not alone.
Lorenzo stands in the doorway, his silhouette framed by the faint moonlight streaming through the windows.
He’s shirtless, wearing only loose pajama pants that hang low on his hips.
Even in the dim light, I can see the defined muscles of his chest and abdomen, the perfect golden tan of his skin.
His brown curls are tousled, like he just rolled out of bed.
“Anya?” His voice is thick with concern. “Are you okay? I heard you cry out.”
My face burns hot with embarrassment as I realize he must have heard me moaning in my sleep. I clutch at the edges of my bathrobe, trying to cover myself, but it’s too late—his eyes have already dropped to my exposed legs, traveling slowly up to where the robe gapes open at my chest.
“I’m fine,” I stammer, my heart racing. “Just had a weird dream.”
He steps into the room, quietly closing the door behind him. The click of the latch sounds impossibly loud in the stillness of the night. He moves toward the bed with that same fluid grace all these men seem to possess, his eyes never leaving mine.
“A weird dream?” he repeats, the corners of his mouth lifting in a knowing smile.
I watch as his nostrils flare subtly, and his eyes darken instantly. He inhales deeply, and I remember with a jolt what the others said about being able to smell my arousal.
Oh god, he must be able to smell how wet I am right now.
“It was nothing,” I insist, pulling the robe tighter around me. “Just a nightmare.”
He sits on the edge of the bed, so close I can feel the heat radiating from his skin. His fingers toy with the hem of my bathrobe where it rests against my thigh. “Are you sure about that? It didn’t sound like a nightmare.”
I bite my lip, trapped in his intense gaze. He’s close enough that I can smell him—that strange, intoxicating scent of mango that seems to emanate from his skin. It makes my head spin, my thoughts becoming foggy and indistinct.
“What’s happening to me?” I whisper, the question escaping before I can stop it. “Why do I feel like this around all of you?”
“Like what?” he asks softly, though the knowing look in his eyes tells me he understands exactly what I mean.
I swallow hard, struggling to find words for the overwhelming sensations coursing through me. “Like I’m burning from the inside out. Like, I can’t think straight. All I want is...”
“Is what?” he prompts when I trail off, his finger now tracing small circles on my exposed thigh.
“To be touched,” I admit, my voice barely audible. “It’s never been like this before. I’ve never wanted anyone like this.”
Lorenzo is quiet for a moment, his nostrils flaring again as he studies me. “We all feel the exact same way around you, Anya. This is what happens between mates. Our bodies recognize each other on a primal level.”
“But I just met you,” I protest weakly.
“That doesn’t matter to the wolf,” he says, his finger still drawing lazy patterns on my skin. “Time is a human construct. The wolf knows what it wants.” He tilts his head, studying me with newfound intensity. “So, what was I doing to you in this dream that wasn’t a nightmare?”
My breath catches in my throat.
I shouldn’t tell him.
I shouldn’t encourage whatever this is. But my resistance is crumbling under the weight of his stare, the gentle pressure of his finger on my thigh.
“You kissed me,” I whisper.
His eyebrow arches. “Where?”
My face burns hotter.
“My... my pussy,” I manage to say, the word feeling foreign on my tongue.
A slow, dark smile spreads across his face. It’s predatory, possessive, and it should frighten me. Instead, it sends another rush of wetness between my legs.
“Why don’t you open your legs?” he says, his voice suddenly deeper, more authoritative. “I can investigate what’s happening to you.”
Something in his tone bypasses all rational thought, triggering that same strange compulsion I felt with Marcus.
I want to resist, to maintain some semblance of dignity, but my body betrays me once again.
I’m weak from sleep, from the lingering arousal of my dream, and from the overpowering presence of the man before me.
Slowly, I allow my legs to part, the bathrobe falling open to expose me completely. I lie back against the pillows, heart hammering so hard I can hear my pulse in my ears.
Lorenzo’s gaze drops to the juncture of my thighs, and his smile widens.
“Moons,” he breathes, voice thick with desire. “There’s slick dripping out of you like no tomorrow.”
“Slick?” I repeat, unfamiliar with the term.