Submitting to my need, I unfasten my pants and pull out my rock-hard cock with one hand. I stroke my length with an almost punishing grip while the nails on my other hand continue to dig into her door.
A low muffled groan has me wondering if she’s using a pillow or her hand to dampen the sounds. The wavering of the buzzing increases. I’m almost positive whatever she has, she’s driving it into her wet slit.
My hand slides up and down my cock at top speed. My arousal is so tight it gathers at my temples, the base of my spine, and in my balls.
Her gasps and moans can’t be choked down, and I can tell she’s coming.
Like with most women, I buried my face in Red’s shoulder as I fucked her. I don’t care to see my partner come, and I don’t care for them to see me. It’s an unnecessary intimacy. But suddenly I’m desperate to know what Red looks like as she shakes and melts around her toy.
Fuck. I want to know the part of her lips, the arch of her back. I want to wrap my hand around that elegant column of neck and force her to look right at me as I slam her body over the edge with mine again.
My hips jerk as I explode. Release sweeps me away, swirling images of Red in my mind.
When I return to my senses, some of the fire drained from my blood, I realize what a fucking mess I’m in.
Not just because I marked her door and need to clean that up as soon as possible. . .
When I look up, I realize my nails turned to claws at some point and I’ve scratched four long deep gashes into her door. It looks like an animal tried to claw their way in.
They mirror the deep scars on my face.
I might as well have carved my name into her door.
Stepping back, I barely register the buzzing has ceased. For the first time, I seriously consider cutting and running. Zipping up, I tell myself I could walk out the door and spare myself any further confusion, leaving her to find claw marks and a mess on her door.
Could I tell the old man he needs to find another way for me to repay him my debt? Or better yet, tell Jameson to fuck off and forget I owe him anything entirely.
An invisible noose tightens around my neck. The wolf in me is as much made of loyalty as it is of violence and wildness. And the tight collar around me for the rest of my life would only remind me of my unfulfilled duty, and of Red.
No. I need to stick this out. Finish my mission, and then when I leave, I never have to think about the ridiculous magicless witch who wants to live as a human in an apartment with a tilted floor.
I can control myself. I have to.
Chapter12
Mochas & Frustration
RED
Come morning, I drag my ass out of bed to find an equally cranky Brexley already awake in the living room. I wrapped myself in a kimono, in case he was still here. I half expected him to flee in the night. But nope. There he lurks at my window, wearing nothing but low-slung jeans, and looking like he’ll murder the next person who speaks to him.
He’s as sexy as he is dangerous. I want to lick up those ridged abs.
Well, now I’m extra damn ornery.
“What the hell happened to my door?” Claw marks are slashed across it, and part of it, near the door handle, is shinier than the rest. Like someone spot cleaned there.
I go to the fridge to grab a big handful of parsley for my leaping bun babies. Bangs and Bombs descend on the treats as soon as I drop them in their pen. I’m glad to find them unharmed. Otherwise, I’d have to start my morning with murder. And I'm far too busy for that today.
“I had a nightmare,” he growls.
“And apparently I haven’t woken up from mine because you are still here,” I mutter. Oh yeah, I need some caffeine stat. I should at the very least be nervous at how he defiled my door. But no, I'm just pissed off.
His eyes darken and his nostrils flare.
Oooh scary.Whatever.
Doing my best impression of an ice queen, I inform Brexley, “I’m going to the campus café. I need to study and take some practice tests.”
