8-REAGAN
I had spent eight years with Tate. I never felt as safe and seen as I did with someone who I only knew for five minutes. Something about Fang made my body pull toward him like a magnet, and my words bantered like I wanted to be punished by him.
Without a drop of alcohol, I was intoxicated.
He looked like a man who planned every breath of this night, but the second I tilted my head, I could see the hesitation flicker behind his eyes. That tiny moment of uncertainty made me bold.
“You’re not what I expected,” I said, wanting to push him. I wanted someone with rough hands to show me what it was like to be ruined. Being with Tate was like someone who was savouring a treat. Slowly and with the purpose of pleasing themselves in the long run.
If I were going to end this sexual sabbatical, it would be on my terms, how I wanted it—and with a complete stranger, in a mask, locked up in a cabin deep in the woods. Perfectly normal.
I’d never have to see him again after testing everything I had missed out on.
His jaw flexed, but he didn’t speak. So I pushed my body ever so slightly against him. “All that confidence, all that control… yet you haven’t touched me.”
His exhale was shallow. I could feel his restraint radiating from him, as if he was holding himself back out of respect.
This stranger’s green eyes locked on mine.
Deep-set and intense, emphasised by dark eyeliner that turns his gaze into a spotlight.
His straight brows were slightly heavy, adding to that brooding, theatrical energy.
And that’s all I was given. Everything that made him human was exposed through one hole in a black mask, framed by his black hood.
“I thought you liked difficult,” I murmured, my voice barely filling the space between us. My hand brushed against his chest, testing the man under these clothes. He caught my wrist but didn’t push me away. The hold was gentle, a warning without conviction.
“Daisy,” he said. Soft and strained. The way my fake name fell from his mouth sounded like surrender. I wished it was my real one.
My eyes dissect the fabric covering his jaw, wondering what’s underneath. “You keep telling me to behave,” I whispered. “But what if I don’t want to?”
His fingers tightened slightly, just enough to make my pulse jump. I lifted my gaze to meet his, steady and unafraid. “You caught me, Fang. I’m just trying to see if you can keep up.”
The shift was instant, and his composure faltered. Gone was the hunter, replaced by a man whose edges were blurring. I smiled, slow and knowing as I guided his hand to my waist, watching his self-control crumble in real time. The air between us grew heavy, and electric.
At least he knew what he was getting with me from the neck up. Miles was right, he could be hideous under his mask. I guess that’s what made this better—the anonymity. The Forewarning was safe and controlled.
One hand braced against the door beside my head, the other pushed against my collarbones, finally resting lightly at the back of my neck. “You really don’t like listening, do you?” He said, voice low.
I swallowed. Hooking my fingers through the belt loops at the front of his jeans and gave a slight tug.
“Are you always this reckless, Wildflower?”
“No. This is a first.” I looked at him through my lashes, and my bottom lip slipped between my teeth momentarily before dropping out, glistening.
Fang rolled his neck, dropped his arms and stepped away. I peeled myself off the door. With his back to me, he gave me the space and a second to take in the room.
The floor’s a deep, rich wood laminate. A king bed covered with furs and pillows to the left of the room. Before me, a leather couch faced the decorative fireplace. Dark green curtains hung from the top of the wall to bottom, against a frosted window.
Abandoning my shitty shoes at the door, my feet trailed behind him calmly.
I didn’t expect to feel rushed into this. I didn’t think I would be lusting after someone I had no idea what they looked like. I had to reassure myself that I was doing this for me. I was in control. Not Tate. Fang—a little bit.
I dropped to my elbows as they rested on the back of the couch, observing Fang as he turned to see me perfectly bent over while I stretched my back out. I shot him a look.
“Hm?” The cloth over his eyebrow moved with it.
“Just watching you.” My thumbnail endured the pressure from my teeth.
Fang strode towards me and budded up next to my side. Then, with a quick, sharp motion, he gave me a light smack on the ass. Playful, but deliberate.
Finding myself upright, I gasped, half from surprise, half from the thrill of it. “That— is for being difficult,” he murmured as I turned to him.
I tilted my head, laughing softly. “Difficult? Me?”
“Yes. You. Every inch of you,” he said, pressing me to him again. The sting lingered, and my pulse jumped as he pulled me close.
“I think… maybe I like it when you do that,” I breathed. “Maybe I want to see what other rules you’d break for me.”
“Other rules?” His head shot back. “What rule have I broken?”
“You really think I didn’t hear Smoke curse at you as he ran by the moment your hands were on me?”
He smirked, leaning in so close I could feel his warmth brush over me. “Okay, you really want to play dangerous?”
“I do,” I said, letting my hands find the sides of his neck. “And maybe you’ll need to teach me a lesson for it.”
He exhaled, then laughed low and warm, shaking his head. “You’re in luck,” he murmured, pressing just an inch closer. “I like a little trouble.”
The air between us was charged with anticipation.
Time between us stopped. Neither one of us was ready to surrender, and both dared the other to act first. My breath hitched when he rotated me around him, laying me on the bed.
Fang’s arms boxed me in as he dropped closer to me.
“How can I fulfil the little fantasies inside that head of yours, Daisy? What do you want that you’re too afraid to ask someone for?
” His green eyes studied mine, and his fingertips trailed along the side of my face.
“I haven’t been choked in a while.”
“You’re talking about during sex, right? Because I’m not sure I could do that without my dick inside you.”
A chuckle passed my lips. “Yes.”
“Noted for when we get there. What else?”
I wanted everything Tate stopped giving me. Everything he never gave me in the first place. “Attention.”
“Well, lucky for you, you have my undivided attention for the next twelve hours. You want to talk for seven hours straight? You want me to learn every mark on your body or the sound of your breathing? You want both at the same time? Whatever you want, Wildflower, I’m yours.”
God, the way he focused on me. His gaze was unwavering, tightening my core. His hand gingerly at my hairline as he dissected my every move. His sigh was muffled by his mask. “Why did you sign up? Just to sit and talk? I need to know where to take this.”
“We can start there.”
Fang’s weight shifted as he rolled to his side. We faced each other as if we hadn’t just met. He gave me a quick shake from his palm on my hip, rocking me loose.
“So, tell me about you. Do you have some childhood trauma to unpack?”
My lip lifted, “No. Unless you count your twenties as childhood.”
“Hmm, I don’t. But what happened then?”
Fang’s eyes stayed locked onto mine, no matter how many times I dropped my stare.
Unsure whether it was too much to spill or even matter, I opened up.
“I dated and married someone who couldn’t emotionally keep up.
I’m not talking about mood swings or me throwing him through a loop.
In the end, he did not want to grow up. I couldn’t face another Friday night wondering how much he was going to drink or which one of his friends I would have to babysit. ”
The fabric of my dress shifted as I adjusted my weight onto my elbow before continuing. “I wanted more grown-up things, and he did not. So, we got divorced. Actually, I’m still waiting for him to sign the papers. No shocker there.”
His eyes flickered with interest, and the long pause made me second-guess spilling that part of my life.
In the end, I wouldn’t see him again, and it was nice to tell someone what I was feeling besides the basics to my mom and Miles.
Miles was my best friend, but he was still my brother and would give me shit about my life choices.
“Hm.” Fang huffed, swinging his legs over the edge as he stood upright.
“Excuse me while I take my jacket off. It’s a little warm in here.
” He faced the wall, removing each arm in turn.
Carefully, he pulled it over his head, over his mask, while tugging it with him.
Not enough to remove it. Just enough to make out the dark hair at the nape of his neck.
He maneuvered it back into place with both hands.
His traditional-style tattoo sleeves didn’t quite surprise me.
I had noticed knuckle tattoos but hadn’t made out what they said until now.
One said ‘work’ and the other said ‘luck’.
Some main artwork on his left arm was a horseshoe and a stallion.
On his right, axes, a skull on fire, both completed with filler pieces.
His dark grey shirt hugged his chest tightly. His arms pulled tight on his sleeves. Who would have thought he was hiding all that under his hoodie?
Fang mirrored me on the bed. Knees slightly tucked, facing the other person while propped up on an elbow. My hand rested on the duvet, helping ground me.
“How would it have worked out perfectly in your mind?”
My lips pursed to the side before dragging my bottom lip across my teeth. “I don’t know. I mean, we were together for years. I was hoping for the typical date, then marry. After a few years of being married, I was ready to have kids. Nothing crazy.”
“He sounds like an idiot.”
“I feel dumb telling you all of this.”
“Why?”
“Because, why does it matter to you?”