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I let out a shaky breath. There’s no way in hell I’ll let Malix see everything he’s doing to me, no way I’ll give in and touch myself like he told me to. But despite that resolve, I can’t quite bring myself to leave either. My feet feel rooted to the ground, and my gaze flicks back and forth between his face and his hand on his cock.
It’s fucking mesmerizing—the slow glide of his fist, the way his dick juts outward from his body, the way his thumb grazes over the crown, spreading more precum over his smooth, dark skin.
My clit throbs again, hard enough to make my breath catch, and I wrench my gaze back up to Malix’s face.
“Fuck, I like watching you, kitty,” he murmurs roughly, his bicep tensing as his hands moves faster. He licks his lips, his eyes glittering in the dim light. “Do you want to know what I’m thinking about? Should I tell you what I’m imagining?”
Yes.
No.
Fuck.
I don’t answer, clenching my jaw so tight that my cheeks ache. My hands curl into fists, and I think it’s because if they don’t, they’ll reach for him. There’s still too much booze in my system, my shifter metabolism unable to process it fast enough, and even without Malix telling me what he’s thinking about, a dozen filthy, illicit images flash through my mind.
My lips stay sealed shut, but it’s like Malix can read my thoughts on my face anyway. He lets out a tortured groan, his hand moving faster as his hips arch forward. The wet noise of skin sliding over skin fills the air, punctuated by the musky smell of arousal and the sharp, staccato sounds of our breaths.
Malix grunts, his upper body coming away from the tree a little as his abs contract. His fist is a flurry on his cock, and he groans deeply as cum erupts from the tip, spilling over his hand and onto the ground. He keeps stroking himself through the orgasm, coating his fingers in his own release, and I stop breathing. My body feels like it’s burning up from the inside out, consumed by desire. By pure, senseless need.
With a shuddery breath, Malix straightens, finally releasing his grip on his cock. His fingers are slick and shiny, and the smell of him teases my nostrils.
His pupils are dilated, his chest rising and falling as he tries to catch his breath, but that teasing, taunting smile reappears on his lips as he holds his hand up.
Offering it to me.
My stomach clenches as the basest, wildest part of me reacts to the sight. The she-wolf inside me doesn’t care that this man is my enemy—that he could destroy the whole world without regret. All she sees is one of her mates, a man who is hers.
She wants to walk over to him, wrap her lips around his fingers, and lap up every drop of cum. Then she wants to drop to her knees and do the same for his cock.
My skin feels like it’s on fire, and for a reckless, stupid moment, I sway toward Malix, my weight shifting as I almost take a step closer to him.
Then I jerk to a stop.
Anger at myself morphs into anger at him and back again, and I let my fury give me strength as I turn on my heel and stride quickly back toward the house.
Chapter 18
My heart’s still hammering in my chest when I heave myself back through the living room window. The angle is awkward, and I manage to slip my upper body over the sash. But I’m still off-kilter, still breathless, still not really in my right mind after what I witnessed. So before I can get a leg over the edge to gracefully climb to the floor, I crash headfirst instead.
I catch myself with my elbows instead of my face, which is better than nothing. Score one for Amora. My legs slide the rest of the way in, and I tumble forward in an approximation of a somersault, landing splayed on the living room floor.
Right at Kian’s feet.
He’s sitting on a large chair in the dark, a liquor bottle resting on one knee. Somewhere between the time he left me and now, he lost his shirt. Even the darkness can’t hide his chiseled torso or the almost metallic ring of gold in his eyes. His dark hair is sticking out everywhere, and the scruff on his face gives him a dark, deadly look that makes me weak.
He looks inhuman. Impossibly beautiful, like a devil that could tempt me to sin in the worst ways.
He arches a brow at me. “Anybody ever tell you you’re graceful?”
“Why are you here?” I snarl, embarrassed for him to see me like this. I’ve tried so hard to make sure he knows I’m strong and capable and not fucking afraid of him, not ruined by what he did to me.
Only to fall at his feet like an ungainly pup.
He takes a drink from the bottle, then leans forward, his elbows on his knees and the bottle dangling between his legs. The position puts him entirely too close, hovering over me, in my space. His whiskey and woodsmoke scent wafts around me. At this point, I don’t know if the whiskey is him or the bottle in his hand, but it wounds me anyway.
I remember when I decided I loved the smell of it. Before he abandoned me and made me want to break every bottle of whiskey I ever saw after.
I hate these conflicting feelings I have for him. I hate the way just his presence is enough to ratchet my body temperature. The unsettled desire I’ve been feeling since I left Malix only intensifies.
