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“That’s it. Take all of me. Ride my cock.” He guides me to roll my hips in a gentle motion that feels like I’m flying high above the forest outside, blanketed in a starry coat gifted by the night sky. Raven coaxes me and lets out low, smoldering groans that vibrate from his chest through into my body. Throwing my arms around his neck, mouth tucked in the crook of his shoulder, I give everything over. He slips one hand between us, rubbing my clit, until we both come again on a slow, undulating wave. One that picks us both up and tosses us over the cliff together at the same time.
I don’t know how long we stay entwined, but he seems content to leave his cock buried deep inside me. Surely after that, I must look like a complete disaster between my blood and his cum, but I couldn’t care less as my body slumps over him in a boneless heap.
Meanwhile, I’m completely ignoring any concerns as to whether he might loathe my clinginess. Right now I crave being held. Warm palms rest over my hips, holding me in place. He doesn’t exactly caress me, or cuddle, but seems uninterested in permitting me to move off him either.
The pain from earlier has completely melted away.
Maybe my wolf’s has, too.
“Did you actually bite a man’s ear off tonight?” I mumble against his throat, my body nestling itself into his torso.
Even though I can’t see his expression, the faintest hint of a laugh ghosts through his lungs beneath my ear.
I want to bottle the sound and keep it tucked away somewhere precious. This man might as well have given me the keys to the golden kingdom.
Every inch of me knows I can’t allow myself to catch feelings. Not for someone who barely speaks to me and hasn’t attempted to kiss me.
He is murderous, aggressive, and if I was in my right mind, I would run a mile from his particular brand of psycho.
And while it absolutely shouldn’t, hearing Raven Flannaghty laugh makes me more than a little giddy with delight.
Like the pathetic fool I am.
40
My anxiety has been ready to spike through the roof of this private jet for the past twenty minutes.
Firstly, having Thorne Calliano issue me with all of five minutes' warning earlier today that he’d already packed a bag for me, and that we were going to be leaving, that was enough to have my blood pressure rising.
Secondly, he wouldn’t give me any details about where we were going, or why, or for how long.
And now we’ve sat seemingly waiting here on the tarmac for some unknown reason, and the tension is enough to make me feel like a boiled frog.
Just as I’m ready to climb the walls, I spot movement out the window. Sleek black vehicles almost identical to the ones owned by my men pull up. Three are in a cavalcade, and two muscular-looking security or armed guards—it’s hard to tell from here amidst all the black they’re wearing—jump out, one from the front vehicle, another from the one at the rear.
Out of the middle, a third equally serious man exits from the driver's side. The three talk together for a moment before opening the back door.
I gasp, because a short figure is bundled out wearing a black hood over their head and what looks like ill-fitted black track pants and a hoodie.
“What the fuck?” I say out loud. Silence greets me, and somehow, I didn’t even notice that none of my men are within earshot.
In fact, when I glance up, the cabin is empty.
That’s when I notice them all having a fucking murderers anonymous reunion outside on the tarmac, with whoever their hooded victim is, clutched by the arm.
Crap.
I’m no idiot. I know they’re in deep with whatever fucked up shit they’re required to do for the Anguis, but it flips my stomach to think this prisoner might be destined for a bullet through the back of the head and a shallow grave somewhere on the outskirts of this private airstrip.
Unease rolls through me, and I chew the inside of my cheek.
Then the unthinkable happens. My men part, and the hooded figure is led, or more aptly, dragged toward the steps to the jet.
My eyes widen, and I start to squirm in my seat. Rubbing my palms against my dress, I can’t drag my eyes away as they draw closer.
My heart starts to jackhammer as the two figures hit the stairs, and I’m caught, not knowing what to do, ending up frozen in place in this luxury leather seat as they enter the cabin.
Straight away, muffled sounds of protest—a woman’s voice—come from beneath the hood. Oh, god, whoever that is under there, the person is also gagged for some reason, and my stomach turns queasy.
