Chapter 20 #2
“When I look at your dick…” He looks. And keeps looking. “I feel nothing.”
It’s a lie. A soft, breathy, ridiculous lie.
“Prove it.” I bite the corner of my lip. “Touch me. If you feel nothing, if you show no reaction, I’ll accept your boring heterosexuality and never proposition you again.”
His jaw tenses, mouth parting like he’s about to issue a warning. But nothing comes. Only silence. Breathing. That pulse in his neck.
“Look, I have one good hand, and it’s not going anywhere.” I ease my waistband down with that hand, enough to bare myself to him. My cock stands against the flat of my stomach. “I won’t touch you. Not unless you beg me.”
He stares, unblinking.
“Come on, Wolf.” I fold my good arm behind my head and give him the full show of my body. “Let me be the first. Make a memory out of me.”
Still, he says nothing. But he doesn’t look away, not even when he shifts closer.
His curious fingertips brush my chest, one nail dragging down my sternum, slow and deliberate. A tease of sensation that leaves me gasping. I arch beneath him, dizzy from fever and lust.
He follows the centerline of my torso, down, down, until he reaches the coarse hair above the base of my cock.
Pausing, he meets my eyes. “You will not touch me.”
“I swear it.”
He closes his hand around my shaft, his touch rough, firm, and really fucking unkind.
I moan. Loud.
His smirk is feral as he begins to stroke.
Expert fingers. Vicious grip. Unruly pace. He pulls and strangles and beats my dick like a savage, and I fucking love it. His other hand grips my balls, ruthlessly squeezing.
My back bows. My heels dig into the mattress. My lungs burn, and my fever gives way to an inferno of sweat and desire.
“Fuuuck!” I angle my pelvis, chasing the hellish pleasure of his mastery over my body.
“You’re louder than I expected.”
“You’re better than I expected.” I groan. “So damn mean.”
“You like mean.”
“Fuck you. Jerk it like you hate me.”
“I do.” He twists his wrist, the metal of his stacked rings digging into my sensitive flesh. “I fucking despise you.”
“Then use me harder. Show me your fangs.”
He crawls over me, straddling me, his breath hot on my cheek, his mouth almost at mine as he works my cock like a goddamn animal.
“Admit it,” I pant. “Admit you want me.”
I feel him against my hip, thick and stiff. Hung like a horse. He would hurt me with that thing. If I let him. But I don’t do that. I don’t bottom.
Except I might with him. Right now, I’d let him do anything he wanted.
His proximity overwhelms me, his tantalizing scent of smoke, leather, and untamed carnality clouding my senses. My pulse races as a charged question hangs unvoiced between us.
How far will we go?
“Tell me what you want.” My voice wavers, betraying a truth.
I want him.
Not the game. Not to break him or steal him from Dove. I just want him for the pleasure of… This. Him. Us.
His eyes bore into mine, searching, dissecting every hidden desire, every buried secret. His fist doesn’t slow on my dick as his free hand grips my face, fingers bruising.
“If you touch me,” he snarls against my lips. “This stops.”
Jesus. Did his cabin daddy fuck him up that badly? Pretty thing like him, acting like touch will break him. But somehow, he’s the one breaking me.
Fuck perfect. I want the pieces. The shame. The wreckage. “Don’t stop.”
He releases a panting, guttural groan and crashes his mouth against mine, harsh and demanding, a collision of power and need. Our teeth clash and tongues tangle. Not soft. Not tender. It’s warfare.
And I surrender.
He kisses like he fights, violent, skillful, and punishing. I match him stroke for stroke, sinking deeper, deeper, further into this madness as our tongues battle fiercely.
Urgency detonates between us, raw and intoxicating. My hand flexes above my head, gripping the mattress as I fight the frantic impulse to grab him and restrain him against me.
Above me, he growls against my lips, the sound primal, vibrating electricity through my veins.
“You smell like hunger.” My cock kicks, jabbing into his fist as I climb the high.
“It’s Old Spice body wash.”
“Ah. Vintage daddy issues.”
“At least mine washes off. Yours is permanent.”
“Mine is dead.”
“And you’re next.” Every tendon in his neck pulls tight. Shadows carve down his arms, flexing through the fabric of his shirt, biceps thick and knotted as if he’s trying to hold himself back.
Fuck, he’s beautiful like this. Sex-crazed and cracking. Nothing exists beyond his heat, his hand on my shaft, and the taste of his hunger.
He sucks at my mouth, biting hard enough to break skin. It’s as rough and greedy as his stroking fist. He’s trying to split me open and wring me dry, and it’s pissing him off that I’m not spilling all over him yet.
Good. Let him work for it.
“You’re fucking toxic.” He deepens the kiss, suffocating me with it, pressing in with teeth and tongue.
“Then let me kill you slowly,” I rasp against his mouth, drawing him back in, surrendering fully to this irresistible, destructive force between us.
Our gazes lock as we kiss, sparks igniting, a silent war of wills and desires. The air between us grows hotter, charged with secrets, threats, and unstoppable attraction. I’m everything he despises, and he’s everything I crave.
Blood pounds in my ears as he releases me to shove a hand down his pants. Popping the button, he frees himself. And just like that, his hot, swollen, massive erection is out of the closet and leaking all over me.
He’s frantic with it, his gasps spilling into my mouth, and his fingers fumbling like his body is moving faster than his brain.
A few clumsy adjustments, and he has both our waistbands shoved past our knees, our lower legs tangled, and our cocks bumping, dripping, and rubbing together.
His long fingers circle our dicks, joining us in the hot stroke of his fist. The feel of his burning hard length against mine sets my skin on fire as he works us into a consuming rhythm.
He’s as thick as me. And longer. With each brutal pump, his grip struggles to keep us fused. I want to help him. I want to take control. But I made a promise.
No touching.
Opening his lips, he feasts on my mouth and swallows all my air. My fever rises to scalding degrees. His thigh painfully rubs my tattoo, and I don’t fucking care.
Bent over me, he gives me the pace I crave, working me with his hand, his tongue plunging and taking.
I’m gone, drowning beneath the coiled power of his body, the wild force of it. He doesn’t even know what he’s doing to me, and that’s the worst part. He’s a loaded weapon, and I’m the target.
We grind together, flexing, panting, and working ourselves up, harder, closer, faster…
“Oh, fuck, yeah.” I feel the sudden, explosive spill of release. His. Mine. We come at the same time, groaning into a sloppy, frenzied kiss.
My eyes roll back in my head, and for a second, I pass out. Until a hand smacks my face, wrenching me back to consciousness.
“Don’t die yet.” He climbs off me and straightens his clothes. “I need answers first.”
Boneless, I can only lie there, arms trembling and vision sparking with aftershocks.
I feel high. Quiet in my head for the first time in forever. No noise. No rage. No guilt gnawing at my ribs. Just floaty and fucked-out, every inch of me humming with the electric shimmers of a really intense orgasm.
He stands over me, trying like hell to pull his pretty mask into place, but it’s useless.
His body gives him away. The shifting muscles, twitching jaw, flushed skin…
It’s all there. His desire to repeat what we did.
The urge to deny his attraction to men. The trauma he doesn’t talk about.
And the ever-present impulse for violence.
He’s a ruthless, sexual creature, and he hasn’t scratched the surface of what he wants. Or who he wants. Men. Women. Pain. Pleasure. He’s tasting it all for the first time and doesn’t know he’s starving.
Breathtaking. Addicting. He’s my new obsession.
Any second now, he’ll erect a wall between us and pretend he didn’t shoot his load all over my stomach.
Except he doesn’t, because nothing about Wolfson Strakh is normal.
Leaning down, he drags his tongue through the mess on my abdomen.
What the—?
My brain blanks. My entire body reignites, and I stare at him, stunned. Fucking stunned.
This isn’t how it goes. This isn’t what people do. Not after they dodge my hands and claim to be straight.
He pauses to lick along the grooves of my abs, and Jesus fucking Christ, I almost come from the shock alone. Then he nibbles upward toward my chest, my neck, the hinge of my jawline. By the time he reaches my mouth, I’m panting and hard again.
He doesn’t kiss me. He touches. Slow, careful palms skim up my sides, and fuck, it feels so fucking good. My skin ripples under his hands. I don’t know this feeling. I don’t know how to handle tenderness.
He works over my ribs, my hips, then settles into my chest like he’s trying to knead the damage out of me. It’s not sex. It’s not aftercare. It’s a goddamn massage.
And it’s wrecking me.
I haven’t felt this loose in years. Maybe not ever. I forgot how to relax until he showed up with these quiet hands and that deep, rumbling sigh.
My whole world shrinks to the caress of his palms and the weight of him hovering over me, not to dominate, not to destroy, but to give me this strange, foreign thing.
Gentleness.
“Goddammit.” I groan, limp and aching. “What the hell are you doing to me?”
“I don’t know.” His brows pinch, and he pulls back, seemingly confused.
“Time to wave that freak flag, Wolf.”
“Um, hello?” He gestures at the smudged guyliner around his eyes and the pearl earrings dangling from his ears. “I’ve been waving that flag my whole life.”
“Love that about you.” I swallow.
“I’m not gay.” He stands, complexion paling.
“Neither am I.”
“I’m not like you.” He flicks his fingers at me. “Bi-, pan-, poly—”
“Don’t put me in a box. My sexual fluidity exists on a spectrum and shifts from one person to the next.”
“Whatever. I’m not into men.”
“Maybe what you’re attracted to has nothing to do with gender or identity.”
“Okay, enlighten me, Freud. What am I into, exactly?”
“Danger.” I flash a smile, all teeth. “But don’t worry. I’ll make sure you enjoy the damage.”
“Cool story, bro.” His lips press into a thin line, the heat and confusion from a moment ago gone as he heads to the door. “I gotta bounce.”
“I’ll be out in a minute to start on the lower part of the leg sleeve.”
Truth is, I feel like I’m going to die. Fever continues to ride me hard, and cold sweat clings to my spine. But I’ll push through it.
“Yeah, you do that, and I’ll get your body bag ready.” The door shuts behind him, leaving silence in his wake.
Shit.
I drop back against the cot, breath shaky, chest rising and falling as if I ran a mile instead of lying here letting him touch me like I’m worth the effort.
I’m not, and he knows it.
It was nothing. It meant nothing. Just a little fever heat between rivals. Happens. It’s fine. He’s not mine. Not part of my plan. Not the one I want.
Dove.
She’s the priority. The line I can’t afford to blur. The only one who counts.
I drag a hand down my face, my lips still tingling from Wolf’s seductive mouth.
Christ, I need saving, but I don’t want that. I want Wolf again, and I intend to fuck his hot feral ass until he’s out of my system.