17. Relief
Relief
G reta walked into the wolf’s den—office, she corrected in her mind—wariness hanging off of her. Her back faced him while he quietly shut the door, a soft click of the lock engaging sounded loud to her paranoid senses. She tried calming her suddenly racing heart, but her magick felt feral in Geralt’s presence. The two of them being locked into a room together sent tingles down her spine.
She reminded herself she should feel apprehension, not attraction for one of them . Mother Hecate never answered her prayers when she beseeched the three-fold Goddess for clarity on her status as a Lycan’s mate. Selene and Hecate remained warring sisters since the first Lycan emerged out of a wolf’s skin. The Moon Goddess could not break Hecate’s curse, but she could transform it, gifting the beast the return of his human flesh and a fated mate. It ignited the Lycan’s war on witches.
“How are you settling in?” Geralt asked, soft steps coming closer. Greta kept her back to him. She didn’t trust herself when gazing into his eyes. Her fingers flexed and curled, the memory of waking up alone in her hospital bed souring her stomach .
She whirled on him then, remembering her ire with him. She let him touch her some place she’d never let another Lycan willingly touch, and he disappeared before she awoke. Some part of her knew it to be hypocritical to be upset with him one moment while fighting her growing attraction, but logic fled her when it came to him.
Before she could open her mouth to tell him off, he’d closed the distance between them, banding an arm across her waist. He pulled her into him, claiming her mouth, tongue slipping against her own. She melted into the kiss, rising on her toes for more contact. Both of his arms dropped low to scoop her up, and she wrapped her legs around his hips, eagerly grinding against his hardening cock.
Her anger fled, sparks igniting from wherever they touched. Of their own accord, her fingers wove into his short, dark hair. She pulled him closer, needing him closer, beneath her skin. Her magick flared hot, making her cry out into his mouth.
Geralt pulled back, wide-eyed. Greta’s skin burned, something shifting within her, calling out to a missing part of herself. Geralt’s lips split wide, grinning wide enough to flash his sharp canines.
It’s the bond, he spoke in her head. She shook her head in denial, but realized her hips never stopped grinding against him. Her panties felt soaked, lips weeping for the cock behind his zipper. He walked them to his desk, setting her on the edge.
Her fingers abandoned his hair to grip the edge. Geralt dropped to his knees, bringing her legs up to rest on his shoulders, eyes never breaking contact.
“You want relief, mate?” he asked her meaningfully. She sensed he meant more than just feasting on her. The phantom bond felt more solid with every touch between them, her magick screaming for something she couldn’t provide it. It felt foreign.
She sensed she stood on a precipice. Whatever she decided in that moment, she knew her life would never be the same. Sending up a quick prayer to the Mother, she gave Geralt a definitive nod. Who was she to deny the fates, she thought, shifting her hips up for Geralt to slide her shorts and panties off.
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* ? If you couldn’t tell from last sentence, there’s spice ahead. Skip next chapter to avoid spice.