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Perfect.
Wolfe’s hot breaths coast over my face and neck as he breathes. I canfeelrather than hear him inhaling my scent. He groans, and the sound goes straight to my already wet pussy. It throbs for him. Craves him. Needs him.
“Fuck,” he grunts. “You feel so good in my arms.” His voice is a deep rasp, somewhere between a choked sound and a whisper, like he’s just as enamored as I am. My core pulses in time with the beat, or maybe it’s my heart pounding against my ribs that has set the tone for the rest of me.
He’s here. My heart squeezes. “Wolfe,” I gasp, saying his name out loud for the first time. Giving myself permission to admit he’s real.
He’s real, I didn’t make him up out of loneliness and depression. He’s touching me. He’s real. He’s real. He’s real.
“I know, Little Fox. I’ve got you, baby,” he breathes, and I know without question that he has me, in more ways than one.
The goosebumps covering every inch of my skin intensify as my body begins to tremble. His hands slowly graze every available inch of me in a way that’s probably inappropriate for the public eye, but I can’t find a single fuck to give. In fact, the reminder that hundreds of people could be watching our slow seduction and getting turned on by it, forced to find their own partners, only turns me on more.
I sink deeper into his body, the warmth of him pressed against me. We fit together like a broken and shattered soul. We’re battered. Bruised. Jagged. But we meld together in a way that I’d be stupid to question. His every sharp angle slots seamlessly into my soft curves.
Perfect.
A loud shout from somewhere near us causes me to jolt. He instantly soothes me, gripping my body tightly and dragging me infinitely closer until I have no idea where he ends, and I begin. Loud cheers follow the shout, dismissing any concerns, but it’s too late. Reality has started to trickle in, breaking the spell. He must feel my body tense because his movements stutter.
“How are you here? How did you know who and where I was?” I ask, swallowing thickly. The goosebumps covering my skin are quickly replaced with an ice bath that sends shivers down my spine.
Why hadn’t I thought of that before? How did I get so caught up under the magic that is…him? He knows I’m from Denver and my name, so I guess it’s not a far cry to figure out exactlywhoI am, but due to the nature of my job I have no social media. Par for the course when working with criminals. Some go to jail, and the last thing I want is an inmate I helped put away, finding me upon their release to enact revenge.
“Don’t,” he grunts, squeezing me painfully. It should terrify me. I should run or scream, but the pressure ofhim, is too much. Too good. His hand travels up my body, this time much faster than before. He finds my throat and collars it, sending a wave of panic through me. “Don’t question me, Little Fox. Don’t push me away just because you can’t rationalize this.”
“Wolfe—” I start but am quickly cut off when he applies pressure. I struggle to breathe, and instinctually, my own hands fly up to peel him away from me. His grip is relentless. I claw and scratch at the small bit of exposed skin on his hand and forearm, causing him to laugh. It’s a dark sound. A frightening one. A beautiful one.
Perfect.
He squeezes once, then gives me a small reprieve for oxygen that I greedily swallow down. Wolfe never skips a beat, doesn’t stop moving to the intoxicating trance song blaring through the speakers. The lights are down low enough that no one would know what’s happening unless they really came close to observe us. To anyone else, we’d look like a passionate couple getting ready to leave the dancefloor to fuck.
I want that.
“Feel me, Rayvn. Feel me against you. We feel so fucking good together, don’t we?” he murmurs, restricting my air once more. His other hand leaves my hip and travels down my body, finding the hem of my dress. My eyes widen, and I squeeze my thighs together as I shake my head rapidly.
“No, don’t,” I rasp.
He can’t be serious. He’s not going to touch me. Not here. Not now. Not when I’ve never even seen his face. Never kissed him. But then, he’s pulling my dress up unabashedly, leaving the tight hem just above my pussy, putting my measly lace thong on display. He wastes no time cupping my cunt in a possessive, firm grip. I scream, but nothing comes out beyond a loud puff of air. I claw at his hands harder, but he ignores me.
“That’s it, Little Fox. Make me bleed for you. Cut me up. I’ll wear every mark proudly. Every time I look at the way you raked your sharp claws down my skin, I’ll remember the way you screamed for me in front of all these people. The way you came all over my fucking hand like the horny little bitch you are.” His growled words have my knees giving out, but he’s there, holding me up by his grip on my neck.
Fear, excitement, arousal, and anticipation replace the numb state the alcohol had granted me. The emotions are so strong, so heady, that I feel high. It’s better than anything else I’ve ever felt in my entire life. Is this how people who do drugs feel? Like they could do anything, be anything? Like they own the world and everything in it? Under Wolfe’s tight, terrifying grip, I feel powerful.
Perfect.
His fingers dance along my panties, which are already embarrassingly wet. Not just from the feel of him but his filthy words. “Look at you,Pet, already soaking wet for your master.”Oh, fuck yes.
He roughly tugs my panties aside and swipes one finger down the center of my core. Even I can feel how wet I am as he chuckles against my skin mockingly. The pad of his pointer finger rubs teasingly slow circles around my clit as he releases his hold on my throat a fraction, once again allowing me the desperate air that I need. I suck in a massive lungful as Wolfe continues to play with my clit as though it’s his own personal toy.
“It’s not October 1st,” he comments, reminding me of our deal that we wouldn’t cross any lines until I felt that I well and truly knew him enough to trust him this way. “Are you going to stop me?” He restricts my air once more, squeezing my throat in a deathly strong grip before I can respond. “Actually, I don’t think it matters. I couldn’t stop even if I tried. Iwon’tstop. Not until you’re gushing all over my hand. I need the scent of you on me. I need to remember that this was real when I go home and use the same fist to fuck myself.”
His words cause an alarming amount of wetness to trickle from my aching pussy. At this point, I think he could do anything he wanted to me, and I wouldn’t stop him. So, I don’t. I close my eyes, resting my head on his chest, and let go. I stop thinking about the burning in my lungs, screaming out, begging me to take a breath. To fill my body with its life force.
I don’t think about the fact that we’re in public, and so many people could be watching us right now as Wolfe roughly shoves two fingers into my throbbing cunt. I don’t think about the fact that my friends could be near, could be seeing me get off with a stranger on the dance floor.
I don’t think about anything except the way that his body moves with mine. The way his fingers feel as they thrust in and out of my body. I don’t think about anything except the way his hand fits so perfectly around my throat—controlling me, owning me, consuming me. He releases his hold slightly, giving me the moment I need to breathe, but never stops fucking me. Never stops playing with me. Never stops torturing me.
Never stops. Never stops. Never stops.
