Chapter Twenty-One #2
“Don’t move,” he says against my skin.
That results in you know exactly what—my immediate movement. I lean back, putting just enough space between us for me to look down at our bodies. What I see makes my very minimal ab muscles tense. Nothing about him has changed except for one long, hard, pointy thing.
“Is that a claw, or are you just happy to see me?” I tease, unable to look away from the claw extending from his pointer finger.
I should probably be more freaked out than turned on, but when do I act as expected? I don’t.
So instead of panic making my stomach tight, it’s wanton desire, hot and needy and so desperate to see where this is going. He is a werewolf, after all, and I’m the one who told him to let his wolf loose.
He flinches and drops his gaze to the cave’s floor. “I won’t hurt you.”
“I know that.” When he doesn’t say anything, I cup his face and force him to look me in the eyes. “Darius, I know that. So what do you want to do? I might be into it. I just need you to let me in and tell me what you’re thinking.”
“I want to take your clothes off.”
“Using your claws?” I ask, my voice breathy with anticipation.
He holds up his finger with the six-inch razor-sharp claw extending from it. “Just the one.”
“So the idea is that you shred the only jeans I have, my favorite pair of underwear, the sweater that my uncle Amon knitted for me, and the most boring bra I own before we have the best sex of our lives?”
His pupils are dilated with lust, and I swear I can feel a hint of his wolf rubbing up against my skin. He nods one single time.
“Guess it’s a good thing I’m a witch and can magick up a new outfit.”
Is it wrong to say that he gives me a wolfish grin before dropping his hand and hooking his claw around my jeans? Because, really, it’s the only way I can think to describe such a dangerous, tempting smile.
“Don’t suppose you can poof a red velvet cape into existence?”
I can’t help but chuckle. “Are we going to enact your Little Red Riding Hood fantasy?”
“Someday, but not tonight,” he says with a demanding, rough edge to his tone. “I have other plans for you.”
He tugs the denim waistband, and my top button pops off.
That’s followed by the sound of the material ripping as he slices in one parallel motion to my zipper like the tough denim is as solid as warm butter.
He squats down and follows the line of my inseam with the point of his claw, then repeats it with the other side, leaving only the three inches of still-sewn-together denim covering my crotch intact.
Darius hesitates.
I’d be lying if I say I’m not holding my breath at this moment—but maybe not for the reasons you’re thinking.
Honestly, I’ve done a lot kinkier shit than this, but I’m not sure Darius has.
I don’t think he’s ever let himself just go with his wants before.
The man has stuffed so many vital parts of himself down deep and refused to accept them as being a part of who he is that I’m not sure he’s ready for that.
Darius’s jaw is clamped shut so tight it could be a bank vault, and his whole body is rigid with the effort to control whatever is about to happen. Part of me just wants to snip the material for him with a snap of magic, but I can’t.
It has to be his call, because only he gets to decide who Darius Aetos really is.
He runs the back of his claw up the inside of my thigh so deliberately that I have to fist my hands to keep from arching my hips in encouragement.
The tip of his claw slides behind the denim covering my pussy.
I bite my bottom lip hard enough to hurt to stop myself from saying all the dirty encouragement I can come up with—and I can think of a lot.
And as if being quiet and still isn’t hard enough already, Darius tugs the material taut and then pauses and looks up at me.
The lust in his eyes sucks all the oxygen out of the cave, and if I weren’t about ten seconds from begging him to just do it and me already, I probably would be gasping for air.
“Yes?” he asks, his voice barely above a whisper, as if he’s afraid of losing control if he’s at regular volume.
I nod because it’s all I can do at this moment.
One side of his mouth goes up in a sexy grin, and then he slices through the last seam holding my jeans together.
The denim drops to the stone floor like yellow leaves letting go of the tree branch.
He goes faster on my sweater, thank the Fates, carving through the heavy knit from V-neck to hem.
Unable to stay still any longer, I shrug off what is now a cardigan, and it joins what’s left of my jeans on the ground.
I’m standing there in only my least favorite bra and my favorite pair of panties, and the big jerk takes a step back.
Eyeballing me from toes to tresses, he scratches his chin with his claw, as if he’s trying to decide whether to go north or south next.
“Either way, you win a prize,” I tell him, surprised I’m able to form words in this situation.
“True,” he agrees, taking a step forward and sliding the point of his claw under the top edge of my bra.
“But if I go here, I get to see my favorite tits in the world. I can lick them and cup them and suck on the hard nipples.” He traces a sharp line down my abdomen to the scalloped elastic waist of my panties.
“But if I go here next, well, that’s the whole game, isn’t it?
I could spend days in that sweet pussy of yours.
” He steps back again. “It’s not an easy decision. ”
I have unleashed a beast and I fucking love it—and judging by the self-satisfied look on his face and the hard length of cock pressing against his jeans, so does he.
“Don’t suppose you have a coin I can flip,” he asks, drawing out the moment in the worst, best way.
I pat my bare hips. “All out.”
He lifts an eyebrow in suggestion.
“Fine,” I say with a roll of my eyes, playing along with his game.
A quick whispered spell and the scent of honeysuckle sweeps through the air along with a quarter. He grabs it before it can float past him and flicks it upward. It tumbles end over end several times before landing in his palm. He flips it over onto the back of his hand.
“Tails,” he says without even bothering to look at the quarter.
“So the fix is in,” I say.
Or at least that’s what I was going to say before he makes quick work of cutting through my panties and bra in a flurry of movement that leaves me naked without even the tiniest of scratches.
Darius steps back and admires his handiwork. There’s something about his cocky confidence that makes me want to both laugh and tease him. So I do, letting a chuckle escape as I wriggle my fingers and make all his clothes do a disappearing act.
“What’s good for the goose,” I say.
“Is good for the wolf?” he shoots back.
I might have had a comeback to that, but Darius goes into speedy shifter mode, and he’s got me pressed against the cave wall, kissing me like he’ll never get enough, before I have the chance to come up with one.
I’m not mad about it.