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He relaxes under my touch, but not enough for my liking.
There’s plenty of time before sunset since we left a buffer in case of flight delays, and I’m worried he’s going to spend that time spiraling with fear and stress.
“Will it help if we go over the game plan again?”
Nathan releases a long exhale. “Yeah, maybe. But only if you let me hold you while we do. My wolf is already getting…needy.”
I slide my hands down the front of his button-down t-shirt, letting my nails scratch him lightly and humming in pleasure at the thought of what’s to come. “Poor baby,” I purr. “You can touch me as much as you need.”
His head tilts back, and his eyes flutter shut for a moment as I tease one of his nipples. “That’s not me touching you, that’s you touching me,” he grumbles through a mix of a purr and a growl.
I let out a throaty laugh as I move around to drape myself on his lap. He settles as I lean my head against his shoulder, his hand soothing up and down my thigh.
“I’m going to collar you.” My words send a shiver through me. I’ve always been curious about collaring in BDSM, though I never imagined I’d have that level of commitment with someone. I also assumed I’d be the one wearing the collar.
It feels as important as an engagement ring, but even more vital because it both symbolically represents the immense trust required with this sort of power exchange and literally is what will allow me to be in control.
“Once the collar is on, you’ll be mine to command. If I tell you to wait, you’ll wait. If I tell you to stop, you’ll stop. If I can’t speak, mental commands will work as well. I won’t give any other commands, and if I ask you to do something that goes past your limits, you won’t be compelled to obey. Do you understand?”
We’ve already had this conversation a few times, each one becoming more like a ritual than an actual discussion. Nathan’s raspy “yes” and the hardness under my lap tell me his slipping a little into subspace already.
I place a hand gently on his throat where the collar will rest, and his breath hitches. “Recite my hard limits.”
He swallows hard. “Nothing that causes wounds that require stitches. No heavy impact play. No choking.”
I press a light kiss to his lips. “Good boy. And what are your hard limits?”
“What limits?” he asks, his lips twitching.
I snort. “Look who’s feeling sassy. I didn’t know you had any interest in being a brat.”
“Well, you seem to have so much fun with it, so I figured it must not be so bad.” The grin he flashes me has the knot in my chest easing, knowing that he’s not too anxious to joke around.
I nip at his earlobe, and he gasps. “We all have limits. Remind me of yours unless you want me to torture them out of you.”
Nathan chuckles and relents. “I don’t want to be fisted. Using your tail on me is fine. No sounding. No humiliation or more than light degradation.”
I stroke his cheek. “Thank you. As a reward, I’ll tell you all the things I want you to do to me tonight.”
The sun is setting. The collar is in place, and I’ve headed into the woods, glancing up every few minutes to check the color of the sky. It’s eerily quiet, as if everything around me has fled because they know a predator approaches, and my heartbeat picks up as anticipation rises.
If I’d had my way, I’d be back at the cabin with Nathan for his transformation so he doesn’t have to deal with the discomfort of his mate not being there, but he didn’t want me to witness that. At least not this first time.
So I’m waiting here in the woods like a sacrificial lamb, arousal dripping down my thighs as I touch my spellmark tattoo and shift into my succubus form.
A phantom breeze rustles the tree branches and catches the hem of my thin dress, sending a shiver down my spine. I look up to the heavens and whisper a half-prayer, half-incantation with what feeble magic I possess, calling on the goddess of the moon. Asking her to guide Nathan through this. Pleading with her to be gentle with him. To let her glow help cleanse the decades of trauma and shame, and allow him to move into a new chapter in her, and my, embrace.
The wind whips up, stronger, the light cloud cover parting as something in the air shifts. My breath catches a split-second before a plaintive howl echoes through the night.
He’s coming.
On pure instinct, I run. Adrenaline, not fear, floods my veins as I flee, and when he howls again, the crash of heavy footfalls approaching, a laugh bubbles out of me.
He’s going to catch me. There’s no way I can hide or outpace the monster behind me.
“I can smell you, mate.”
The rumble of his monstrous voice makes me gasp, and I stumble, slowing down. He’s on me in an instant, and I squeal as a furred arm snags around my waist, hauling me up into the air and against his heaving chest. With one sharp claw, he shreds the front of my dress down the middle, his tongue lapping at my pulse point.
