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that witch
Silvan gave the blonde’s ass an encouraging squeeze, and it was all she needed to hasten her stride. Her tits moved in almost annoyingly perfect circles like she’d practiced the motion to impress men. Hewasimpressed but not enough to remember her name, which was either Flora or Fauna or… fuck, it was probably neither, but if he didn’t stop thinking about her fucking stupid name and inconceivably gyrating mammaries, he would never come.
And he needed to come so he could kick the albeit perfectly pleasing ladies out of his room andthink.
Red hair lashed him in the face. He spat to expel it from his mouth, startling the blonde, whose tits settled down with her slowing stride.
“What’s wrong, love? Doesn’t it feel good?”
Silvan slapped her ass and grunted through his frustration, losing his focus… losing the climb to the climax he needed.
The hair had been in his imagination, and he knew who it belonged to, and it was fucking unacceptable.
Un. Acc. Cept. A. Ble.
There was no reason awitchshould be tickling his libido. Even attending a High Council meeting made him need a shower. The highbrow bitches who had no respect for men, for anyone, really, because at their core, they believed they were at the helm of the council because they were better than all the other races. Only a few remained who hadn’t forgotten exactly how the witches came to and kept their undeserved power.
“Fine,” he growled. His mouth and jaw barely moved. Fucking witch. “Just like that.”
The blonde, unlikely named either Flora or Fauna, returned to her fevered rocking, but now she glared at him like he was insane. Well, he probably was because he could still feel that witch’s hair on his lips, and even worse, he wanted to devour it, devourher.
“You’re so hard, daddy.” The blonde lied because he wasn’t hard, not at all, and he was never, ever going to come like this. He could still taste her on his mouth—he might walk away satisfied from this ill-fated tryst, but she sure hadn’t—and suddenly, he saw the witch’s slit parting, glistening forhim,and then he was hard as a fucking boulder.
No. No, fucking no, no, no, no, no.He grunted and forced the witch from his mind.
Andromeda. That was her name. Andromeda Delacroix. But they’d called her something else.
“Are you sure you’re up for this…?” The blonde slowed again.
“Romy.” He growled the name hard enough to rumble the bed, causing the other two women who were glued to their phones to look up.
“Who’sRomy?” the blonde asked. She stopped altogether, and he knew then that even if she shoved his cock straight down her esophagus, he would never come for her.
“Her name is Farren,” the redhead said, rolling her eyes at the other girl. “Never were good with names, though, were you, wolf?”
“You.” He harnessed the raw fury rippling through him, clenching through the most gentle lifting he could manage, and set the blonde aside as easily as a doll. She pouted through every second before bouncing off the bed. Her high, pert ass was nearly perfect, and on any other day…
Fucking Andromeda Delacroix.
Yes, that’s what I’d like to be doing right now.
Silvan ran his tongue over his lips and waggled his fingers at the redhead whose name healsocouldn’t remember. “You.”
“Again?” She laughed and stood, stretching her long, lithe frame. She didn’t look like the witch, not really, only the hair was similar, but she’d do.
He pulled her up onto the bed, flipped her over, and slid into her still-wet pussy with only seconds to spare before he exploded. Finally.
“Should I take that as a compliment or an insult?” she asked. Still on all fours, she looked over her shoulder with both brows raised.
“Take it however you want,” he panted and rolled onto his back. Romy’s wide eyes haunted his soul. He felt the pinch of her shoulder blades as he lathed his tongue between them on his way down to—
“Sil?”
“That’s all for tonight, ladies,” he managed to get out before falling into a dead sleep.
It waspast midnight when he woke up. The distant and near calls of the pack hadn’t been what stirred him, thoughthosewere another reminder of what he should be doing—ripping, tearing, feasting in mourning for a man he had loved more than his own father.
No, another nightmare had roused him.
