13. The Devourer #2
My eyes roam over her body as her shirt peels off to reveal a deliciously small bra. The ruby caps of her nipples are halfway visible, and my mouth practically waters. I want nothing more than to suck them into my mouth—to bury my face in her cleavage.
I don’t.
But I also don’t look away as her enraged gaze demands I do.
No.
I won’t touch her.
But I’ll watch her.
“Keep going,” I whisper, well aware that my cock’s as stiff and tall as a flagpole right now.
It stays that way, harder than the granite I chip away at to create new sculptures the entire time she bathes and brushes her teeth. The sun slides down across her figure, letting shadows emphasize every one of her curves.
My damn cock stays that way as she dries off and slides on the form-fitting, thin-strapped, white gown Zeelof brought out.
Watching but not touching her is the most beautiful torture I could imagine, and my mind itches to paint every moment of it, to capture the feeling inside my chest—the feral beast trying to break free, the vixen who lets water droplets kiss her lips but scrambles back from my touch.
I long for her, and she’s only five feet away. Physically, at least.
Emotionally, she’s on another continent.
And any fantasy I have of grabbing her, impaling her on my thick, swollen length and bouncing her until every water drop flies off her skin is just that—a fantasy.
Fuck.
Goddamn it.
I have to swallow a roar that would terrify her, and it nearly chokes me.
My dick gives another aching throb, and my instincts overpower me; they can’t be fought any longer.
I shove aside the image of filling her up with so much of my cum that I have to use my fingers to stuff it back inside her gaping little pussy, but I can’t resist reaching for her and pulling her into me.
I don’t let myself do any of the base, dark things I imagine.
She’s not ready for that. But I need to touch my mate.
I sit down with her in my lap, relishing her soft skin against me, the damp brush of her long bicolored hair, the narrow feel of her waist underneath my palm. I hold her in place as she struggles to get back up.
Lately, I can’t quite tell if I admire her fight, her tenacity, or if I abhor it.
Perhaps it’s a combination of the two. I know my body lights up whenever she shoots a withering glare in my direction, my cock hardening, but my heart also buries itself in the ground at her feet, desperate to remain safe from her ire.
“Shhh…you’re dressed,” I whisper, trying to soothe my little vixen. “Why would I have let you slide on this silk if I were going to tear it off again?”
Despite my easygoing words, the thought tempts me. Tempts me so much that I leak precum onto her pretty skirt. Sporadic jolts of pleasure radiate through my body, and I have to make a conscious effort not to dig my clawed hands into her hips.
“Monsters can’t be trusted,” she grits out. The tiny hitch in her voice leads me to believe she’s speaking from experience.
What has my little mate been through before she came to live with me?
I want to know everything about her—from her past to her deepest desires to her darkest fears.
Unfortunately for me, she doesn’t seem willing to just hand over that information, to divulge her secrets to a beast like me.
Maybe one day, she’ll learn to trust me, though I have a feeling that “one day” could be an eternity from now.
But mates are forever, so we’ll have eternity.
“Mmmm,” I murmur. For the most part, I agree with her. “Well, this monster does have plans for you.”
She stiffens in my hold, which makes her ass rub temptingly along my cock.
I have to bite down on my tongue to suppress a growl I’m sure would scare her. We got off on the wrong foot the other night, when I assumed she’d want to solidify our mate bond the same way I did. Clearly, she needs a little bonding of another sort first.
I skirt my hand gently over her thigh as I lean forward. “My plans include brushing this beautiful hair and then feeding you dinner,” I whisper against her ear.
Her lips part, and I can smell the toothpaste on her breath.
There’s something so intimate about that.
Something I never would have thought of before I saw her.
Never would have appreciated. But now, my snout wants to skim the edges of her blood-red lips just so I can smell it again. Inhale her life force.
Because she’s mine.
This little mate might not know it yet, might be scared of the draw between the two of us. But soon, she won’t be.
I’m going to declaw this little kitten.
She’s going to purr for me.
Soon.
I just have to be patient.
It’s hard for me to grip her tiny little human brush in my claw when I’m huge and hairy, so once I feel her heart stop racing and her grip on my arm goes from tense to resigned, I begin deep breathing.
After about a minute, I feel my hair start to recede and my body start to shrink. I go from twelve to seven feet, from halfway to a wolf to halfway to a man.
Of course, Aliana has to try to take advantage of that.
She shoves at my arm and tries to bolt up. I simply clamp down harder and force her to sit on my crossed legs, pleased at how perfectly she fits into that little nook.
“Goddammit,” she grumbles.
“Shhh, little kitten, just let me pet you.” I pin her with one hand and use the other to run the brush through her hair gently.
She smells delicious, though I can’t pinpoint what her explicit scent is. Flowers, perhaps? Fuck if I know. I’ve never been the type of guy to keep candles around his house to sniff.
“Fuck you, motherfucker. I’m not a goddamned animal.” She scratches at my naked thighs, which only makes me chuckle.
“Are you sure? Because it seems like you’re trying to use your claws,” I retort.
She twists around in my grip, making the comb tangle in her hair as her sultry blue gaze burns through me. “I am going to shove a red-hot fireplace poker through your stupid eye socket.”
“You thinking about shoving things inside of me? Because I’d definitely like to shove something inside of you.
I wasn’t thinking about fireplace pokers though.
” Damn. I’m hard just thinking about it—something she can no doubt feel as she wiggles on top of me.
I swear this infuriating female is moving so much just to torture me, to bring me to complete and utter ruin, the same thing she thinks I will do to her.
“You. Will. Never. Touch. Me.”
“Already am.”
“Gah!” She beats against my chest, her little fists pummeling me as hard as she can. But she’s tiny. Human. It feels like a massage at best.
To my inner beast—the one she’s awakened… It feels like flirting.
She’s panting, her breasts heaving, her nipples erect beneath her dress in the chill of the early evening air.
I lick my lips and lean forward, every inch of my skin buzzing with awareness, her soft, warm heat on my lap driving me to distraction as I imagine what it will be like the first time we come together.
It’s going to be explosive.
The very thought sparks a fuse in me, one that heats and glows like the lit end of a cigarette as it skates down my spine toward the stick of dynamite in my lap. I’m going to detonate if my mouth doesn’t touch her.
Claim her.
Mark her.
A stolen kiss isn’t too far, is it?
But her slap hits my face just as Filia’s voice echoes across the courtyard. My servant stomps angrily across the grass and calls out, “Sir! The Grotesque is here to see you.”