Chapter 17 #2
He towers over me, the top of my head only reaching his chin, and I’m trapped. The rational part of my brain shrieks at me to fight, to run, but my body has other ideas, caught in some chemical response that has nothing to do with self-preservation.
“I didn’t—that wasn’t for you.”
Black ink peeks above his collar. I trace my eyes upward, over his neck and the hard line of his chin, until I’m looking into the wolf mask.
Up close, the metal of his mask looks expensive and custom-made.
It’s flat but looks three-dimensional, with intricate etchings that give it texture and depth.
What little I can see of his face only makes him more intimidating.
His jaw is strong and angular, covered with dark stubble.
His mouth—the only feature fully visible—curves in the barest hint of amusement, as if my fear entertains him.
Those lips look dangerous, like they could whisper sweet promises or devastating threats with equal ease.
His dark hair is longer than I’d realized, the ends just touching his collar where they escape the mask’s coverage.
It’s thick and tousled, as if he’s been running his hands through it.
The contrast between the sleek metal covering the top of his head and those unruly dark strands makes him look like some ancient god of war.
But it’s his sheer size that makes my body shake in terror, the chilling grip of fear seizing me.
From my bedroom window, he looked tall, but up close—God—he’s massive.
I press my spine harder against the door, trying to melt into it.
His body promises destruction with every breath.
Mine whispers of how easy I’d be to break.
He’s hard against my stomach. Fire races under my skin, and my heartbeat slams into my throat.
My hands find his forearms, muscles like steel cables under my palms. I grip them, torn between pushing him away and pulling him closer.
His fingers sink deeper into the curve of my hips, anchoring me in place.
The heat between us could ignite the air.
My breathing comes in short bursts, matching the chaos in my chest. His grip tightens, possessive and demanding, as if he knows the war that rages inside me, the battle between fear and something darker and more dangerous that whispers I should let him have me.
“Please,” I whisper, not sure what I’m begging for.
He ignores me, his warm palm sliding over my hip, as he leans down, bringing his masked face closer to mine.
His scent wraps around me, flooding my senses.
Rich leather and smoky firewood, wilderness and danger, and something clean and male that makes my head spin.
I want to press my face against the crook of his neck where the scent is the strongest and breathe him in.
The air between us thickens. With each breath I take, my lungs fill with him until I can’t tell where his presence ends and mine begins.
“You leave your curtains open for me, Dr. Foster.”
My name on his lips unravels me thread by thread.
I dig my fingernails into the leather of his jacket in a futile attempt to ground myself.
His mouth travels the line of my jaw, then down the column of my neck.
Cold metal from his mask’s edge drags across my skin, leaving goosebumps in its wake.
My head tilts without permission, offering him the vulnerable curve of my throat.
His lips find that tender hollow where my pulse beats wild and exposed, and my breath catches and holds.
“It’s an invitation, Luna.”
My first name, in that low, gravelly tone, sounds even better. The syllables roll off his tongue with an intimacy that shouldn’t exist between us.
Heat pools low in my belly as the sound echoes in the narrow space between our bodies. I’ve heard my name spoken a thousand times, but never like this. Never like a secret. Never like a promise.
His hand drifts down, a whisper between our bodies, before sliding beneath my robe. Terror floods my veins. I twist away, but the door blocks my escape. His other hand locks onto my hip, fingers branding my skin through the fabric.
His fingertips find the edge of my sleep shorts and slip beneath the silk. My breath dies in my throat as he sweeps his fingers through my soaked core.
“No.” My voice cracks, but my body betrays me, yielding to his touch.
His fingers move against me, tracing patterns against my swollen clit that make the world narrow down to just his hand, finding spots that make my vision blur.
Heat spreads through my pussy with each stroke.
My legs tremble, and each breath comes ragged and desperate.
I sink my teeth into my lower lip, trying to hold back the moan building in my chest, hating that my body responds to him this way.
His teeth scrape across my clavicle. I whimper, hips lifting against him.
Then he sinks his teeth into me, biting hard enough to bruise.
The initial pain makes me gasp before it twists into a dark, desperate, clawing hunger for him to hurt me more, to use me harder, to take whatever he wants.
Tremors ripple through me, each one pulling me deeper under his control.
Slick warmth coats his fingers, evidence I can’t hide, and the sound that escapes me is part sob, part moan, and all damning.
“So wet for me.”
His tongue follows the path of the bite, tracing the mark rising on my skin. Sharp pain melts into a low, shivering ache that radiates from the wound, settling deep into my bones.
I wish he’d speak louder. I want to hear his voice.
He slides his fingers lower, sinking two of them deep inside me.
A cry tears from my throat as my back bows against the door.
My body stretches to accommodate him, but it betrays me, clinging to the intrusion.
I’m tight, but I’ve been celibate since I broke up with Caleb.
And this man’s fingers are huge. If his fingers are this thick, what will his…
No! The word slams through my skull. This is assault, not seduction. My body’s physical response means nothing.
“So fucking tight.” His words tumble around me, his voice, now a low growl, setting off a flurry of electric tingles that cascade through me. “But we need to get you stretched, or you’ll never be able to take my cock.”
My body’s reaction to his words is instant, unleashing a fresh wave of slick arousal, amplifying the pleasure of his thrusting fingers.
He groans, a deep, rumbling sound, and I’m lost in the tide of his assault. With each thrust of his fingers, each unyielding push of his thumb against my clit, heat sparks along my spine. My vision wavers, white-hot pleasure colliding with icy terror.
“Stop.”
The word catches in my throat, my body again arching against him, a traitor to my command.
His fingers move quicker and deeper with each plunge, each movement driving me to a point where arousal, confusion, and fear become indistinguishable. My body ripples with feverish heat as it climbs closer to sweet release.
I come with a cry that echoes through the night, muscles clenching in spasms, the orgasm tearing through my body like wildfire.
He holds me there, waves of ecstasy washing over me, his fingers moving, prolonging the ache of my release until I sag against him, breathless and shaking.
A whimper escapes as I turn my face, pressing it against his, the cool mask a balm against my heated cheek.
His fingers are relentless, and the second climax builds before the first one ends, crashing through my already shattered defenses. Reality dissolves as sensation drowns out thought, sight, and sound. Everything but the fire between my legs.
The pleasure turns to agony. My fingers find his wrist and squeeze, nails digging crescents into his skin as I try to drag him away, but he’s too strong.
“Please.” The plea tears free, broken and breathless.
His fingers still. My body quakes with the aftershocks, while my knees threaten to fold. Without him holding me up, I’d melt into the floor.
He lifts his head from my neck and pulls away. I look up at him as he steps back.
“I’ll take you up on that invitation very soon, little doe. So, be ready for me.”
My body trembles from head to toe, shaking everywhere at once, soaked with need that I hate myself for wanting. Confronted with the truth of my own behavior, I look away.
“Did you come on my window while you were watching me?”
The corner of my vision catches his smile, dangerous and satisfied.
“As hard as you just came on my fingers.” He lifts those fingers to his mouth, and my head snaps to look at him. His tongue traces each one with the patience of a man savoring wine, a low growl vibrating in his throat. “Next time I’ll be deep inside you.”
I believe him. God help me, I believe him.
I gasp at the sight of his palm, an angry red burn in the shape of the shotgun barrel scorched into his skin.
“Oh my God, your hand.”
I touched a shotgun barrel once when Grandpa was teaching me how to shoot. The steel can get hot enough when fired to cause third-degree burns. I still have a scar on the inside of my index finger from the first-degree burn I suffered that day.
He smirks beneath the mask. “Worth it.”
I reach for his hand, my instincts as a doctor overriding everything else. “Let me see it.”
He retreats down the steps, his gaze never leaving mine. “I’d endure any burn to touch you again, Luna.”
Who is this man?
“What do you want from me?” I ask again, searching his eyes through the mask.
“Everything.”
My chest tightens, and I swallow, pressing myself harder against the door, desperate to put distance between us.
“I’ll see you again soon, little doe.”
His words are both a threat and a promise.
“Wait!” I stumble forward, my body moving before my mind can catch up, chasing after someone I should run from. “At least tell me your name.”
Moonlight catches the contours of his mask as he turns and heads toward the trees, leaving me trembling on the porch with Shadow’s warm fur at my side and the echo of his touch inside me.
His voice floats back to me.
“You can call me the wolf.”