Rejected And Claimed By Her Trio Alpha Mates

chapter 48

I don’t know what they want from me. How they feel about this storm of need. They obviously don’t want me as a mate, but they’re just as attracted to me as I am to them. I can feel it.

I can’t deny the heat between us.

It’s suffocating.

I back up against the stairway railing, which is as far as I can go to get away from them. Not far, unfortunately, and the combination of their scents is still stifling me.

“This place is huge,” I mutter, looking out over the dark foyer so that I don’t have to look at them. “There are plenty of places we can sleep without having to share.”

Malix grins when I turn back to face them, just a s***h of white in the gloom. “We always share.”

Oh Jesus.

The double entendre has been noted.

“Well I don’t,” I say with a shrug, struggling to keep my voice even. “I like my space.”

Malix opens his mouth to speak again, but Frost hits him in the arm.

Part of me is dying to know what he was going to say.

Instead, they split off and head down the inky hallway, while I disappear into the first bedroom I find.

I close the door and lean against it, sucking in deep lungfuls of air, hoping that each one is the inhale that will let me stop breathing them in. All three of their distinctive scents still linger in the air, as if they’re embedded in my clothes or clinging to my skin.

Dim illumination comes through a window across from the door. It’s a modestly sized room with a four post bed, a matching set of armoire and dresser drawers, and a small fireplace tucked beneath a carved marble mantle. More fitting for a rich man’s country house than a shack in the desert.

I wander over to the bed and brush my fingers over the maroon and gold coverlet. Dust rises in wisps, and I cough, waving a hand at the clouds. Why did Erik need a house this big? This room obviously hasn’t been touched in years.

I cross to the dresser, where an old-fashioned mirror hangs from a carved frame. It’s old, covered in dust and speckled by rust between the layers. I swipe a hand across it and stare at myself in shock.

I look… rough. And not because I just drank the equivalent of a gallon of liquor. Maybe it’s not even really something physical, because my skin looks fine. My hair is just as thick and long as usual, and my green eyes are clear, albeit a little bloodshot.

It’s more something I can’t see with my eyes. I see it with my soul.

The poison. Eating me from the inside out.

Between the lingering arousal in my body from the stairwell conversation and seeing this—the effects of the poison on me, the poison that’s going to kill me—I need some air.

Downstairs, I bypass the broken door, since there’s no way in hell I want to deal with trying to finagle it back into place. The living room window is still open from our impromptu drinking party, so I slip over the window sill and drop to the dirt.

Most of the land around Erik’s shack is wide open desert, dotted by sparse shrubs and rocky outcroppings. I don’t want to go too far into the wilderness, but about a mile away, I can see a dense, green copse of trees near a natural rock formation that rises from the ground like a small mountain.

The cold air feels good on my skin. I turn my face to the sky and close my eyes as I angle toward the trees. The heat in me fades, and the sick feeling in my stomach over the poison gradually diminishes.

Trees thicken as I close in on the rock formation, and I trail my fingers over smooth, white bark. Not evergreens like in the woods back in Oscura. Something more scrubby, more desert-like. Too bad one of these can’t be the Tree of Life.

I circle around the edge of the outcropping as I gaze up at it against the night sky. The craggy rocks look like jagged teeth biting the stars, darker than the sky itself. I’m still staring up at the rocks when I realize I’m not alone.

Malix is leaning against the trunk of a thick tree, his upper body resting against it and his head tipped back a little. His eyes are closed, his feet are planted wide, and his pants hang off his narrow hips as he fists his c**k.

My heart jerks, slamming so hard against my ribs that it hurts. I make a startled, strangled noise in my throat, and he opens his eyes, his violet gaze focusing on me.

He doesn’t look the least bit embarrassed or even surprised. And he doesn’t let go of his c**k as he grins at me, his teeth bright against his dark skin.

“Couldn’t sleep?” he murmurs, dragging his hand up and down his shaft once more.

I don’t answer.

I don’t move.

“Yeah. Me neither.” He chuckles, and the sound ends in a husky sort of groan that makes my n*****s go hard. “I was too fuckin’ wound up, you know what I mean?”

He strokes his c**k again, and even though I’m trying so f*****g hard not to look, my gaze flicks down to watch him swirl his fist over the crown of his d**k before sliding down again. The smooth, veiny skin glistens in the moonlight, and I wonder if it’s precum or spit or both.

A gush of wetness seeps from me as if my p***y is offering to help. As if it wants to be the thing that slicks his c**k.

Fuck.

No, Amora. f**k.

Malix laughs softly again, speeding his strokes up a little before slowing them down again, like he’s teasing himself, trying to draw it out as long as possible. He squeezes the base of his thick c**k, and I clench my jaw, swallowing hard.

“You don’t just have to stand there,” he murmurs, resuming his steady, even strokes as he watches my face. “You can touch yourself too, if you want. Are you wet?”

I don’t answer that question either.

But my little betrayer of a v****a does. She gets even wetter, and my c**t throbs angrily, demanding friction, pressure, something.

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 c**k.

It’s f*****g mesmerizing—the slow glide of his fist, the way his d**k juts outward from his body, the way his thumb grazes over the crown, spreading more precum over his smooth, dark skin.

My c**t throbs again, hard enough to make my breath catch, and I wrench my gaze back up to Malix’s face.

“f**k, 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 c**k, and he groans deeply as c*m erupts from the tip, spilling over his hand and onto the ground. He keeps stroking himself through the o****m, 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 c**k. 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 c*m. Then she wants to drop to her knees and do the same for his c**k.

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.