Page 18 of Blood and Trouble

The unmistakable sound of moaning stopped me as I entered the space. The dimmed lights barely illuminated the scene in the suite’s living area.

Lycan stood in the center of the room wearing a black Henley, sleeves pushed up to his elbows, his black jeans hanging loosely on his hips. A naked man knelt on the floor in front of him, his hands tied behind his back in thick dark ropes, laddered across his arms to hold them in place. Angry welts lined his shoulder blades and his ass, hinting at what must have happened earlier in the night. His head bobbed in front of Lycan’s pelvis, loud slurping sounds interspersed with groans and gags.

Gray eyes met mine, and a pale eyebrow shot up his forehead. But he didn’t stop. Nor did he try to hide what was clearly going on.

My heart pounded. My muscles tensed, rooting me to my shameful spot at the end of the hallway. I didn’t know what to do. I wasn’t meant to see this. I wasn’t meant to be in Lycan’s room. I knew better. Scalding embarrassment rushed through my veins, urging me to look away, to shield my eyes, but the visual was so captivating I could only stare at the details.

Lycan’s delicately flushed cheeks. The hooded glint in his eyes. The thick veins on his forearms as he grabbed the man’s hair. The predatory way he thrust his hips, simultaneously claiming the man and his own pleasure.

What would it be like? To have Lycan’s hands on me like that? To have his cock in my mouth, my hands behind my back, unable to stop whatever he wanted to do to me? To hand over my control, my consent, my trust, so completely?

A wet, sticky warmth hit me between the legs, and I clenched my hands to keep from touching myself to relieve the pressure.

The man moaned, pulling me back to reality.

I shouldn’t see this.

I shouldn’t be here.

“I—” I squeaked, taking a step back. The man realized I was there and stopped to peer over his shoulder at me.

“Who’s that, Luke?” he asked.

“I didn’t tell you to stop,” Lycan said, grabbing the back of the man’s head to encourage him to continue. The man went back to work, and I blinked, taking another step toward my door.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered. Adrenaline and horror overtook my muscles as I scurried to the door, slamming into the wall hard enough to make me lose my grip on my wineglass. It tumbled to the ground and shattered, but I barely noticed. As I raced for my room, I stepped on a piece and gasped as a shard sliced through the arch of my foot. My foot slipped in my blood, and my weight slid out from under me, sending me tumbling onto the carpet. Scrambling to my feet, I slammed the door behind me and leaned against it, heaving for air, trying to reconcile what I’d just witnessed.

I knew Lycan was a playboy. He’d admitted as much to me on several occasions. But that?

My heart thundered in my ears, my body hot and my skin tight. My cunt clenched around nothing, suddenly so very empty and desperate to be filled. I wanted to hide in my bedroom and shove my fingers between my legs. I wanted to go back into Lycan’s room and watch the rest of it play out. Or maybe shrink into myself from embarrassment, from my thoughtless interruption of such a private moment.

I closed my eyes and counted to ten, focusing on the way my ribs expanded as I inhaled and contracted as I exhaled.

What were you thinking?

I remembered the way Lycan had looked at me the first night we’d played poker, when he’d called my mouth venomous and I’d lost the filter between my brain and my mouth.

“My mouth is good at a lot of things.”

His heated gaze had dropped to my lips, hunger dancing perilously close behind it. He’d kissed my cheek before he left and called me Trouble. Since then, it had become an inside joke between us—a pet name that twisted girlish joy through my insides whenever he used it. It made me feel special. Unique. Like he saw something in me no one else had.

But there he was, getting his cock sucked by some stranger in the middle of the night.

Of course he is.

Not everyone is a stuck-up prude.

Not everyone thinks sex is intimate and personal.

Not everyone blushes and runs away at the first sign of intimacy. I can’t be that for him. I can’t be that for anyone.

The stabbing pain from my foot refocused my attention, and I stared at the growing bloody patch that spread all over the white carpet.

“Great,” I mumbled as I grabbed my phone and limped to the bathroom, leaving a trail of crimson stains behind me. After slumping on the edge of the tub, I crossed my injured foot over my other knee and assessed the damage. A piece of glass stuck out of the wound, and I braced myself, preparing to count to three and yank it out.

Just as I gained enough courage to do it, a door closed down the hall and drew my attention.

Oh, no.