Chapter Two
1097 Words
The night air still clung to Talia’s skin as if the woods hadn’t let her go. Her limbs ached, not from exhaustion but from the strange, silent tension that curled around her like smoke. Even with the heat of the bathhouse still lingering, the scent of pine and moss was locked under her skin. She didn’t try to scrub it off. She wanted it there. Maybe needed it there.
Jarek hadn’t come for her. Not after the bath. Not before it. Not since that moment in the forest when she’d tried to make sense of him pressing her into the earth, holding her down like she belonged under him.
She should have been furious.
Instead, she was wet.
She lay back on the furs, alone in the Alpha’s den. The space was big enough for ten wolves to sleep side by side, but she’d been left alone with the silence and the weight of her thoughts.
It wasn’t silence for long.
The sound of footsteps came low, padded, purposeful. She didn’t have to turn her head to know who it was. His scent hit her like a low growl before his body did smoke, skin, sweat, something deeper.
Jarek stood in the doorway, bare-chested, wearing only the loose hunting trousers that sat low on his hips. His arms were dusted in bruises from training. His eyes were fixed on her with something that wasn’t softness.
It was hunger.
“You left me in the woods,” she said without looking at him. Her voice was steady.
“You walked away.”
“You let me.”
He stepped forward. “I let you decide. That’s what you wanted, isn’t it?”
Her mouth tightened. “Don’t twist it like you’re doing me a favor.”
He didn’t answer with words. Instead, he knelt beside her, slow, like he didn’t want to spook her. His fingers brushed her ankle and slid up her calf. She didn’t move.
“You’re not scared of me,” he said flatly, reading her expression.
“No.”
“Then tell me to stop.”
She didn’t.
His hand was on her knee now, then her thigh. The heat of his palm soaked into her like a brand, making her breath hitch. She kept her gaze on the ceiling, forcing herself to be still, even as her stomach flipped.
His fingers reached the hem of the tunic she wore. One tug, and it bunched around her hips.
“Tell me you didn’t think about it,” he murmured. “When I pushed you down.”
She swallowed. “You didn’t give me time to think.”
“Don’t lie.”
His mouth was at her knee now, kissing the inside of it, slowly, like he had all night. She could feel herself pulse, feel heat bloom between her legs. He moved up an inch, then another, nuzzling against the skin, letting his stubble scrape over her tender flesh.
“Tell me no,” he said again, more insistently.
She turned to him, breathing hard now, chest rising under the tunic.
“I can’t,” she said.
Jarek grunted. Not satisfaction something sharper. His hands gripped her thighs and pushed them apart, settling between them like he belonged there. His head dipped.
She gasped when his tongue slid over her slit. No teasing. No soft beginning. Just a slow, deliberate lick that made her back arch and her hands fist in the fur. She hadn’t expected it felt to be taken like this, without permission or preamble.
He groaned against her, the sound vibrating through her, and she realized he was enjoying it. He wasn’t doing it to please her. He was doing it because he wanted to taste her.
“f**k,” she whispered, hips twitching when he circled her c**t.
He didn’t stop.
She heard the wet sound of his mouth moving towards her, felt his tongue draw tight strokes over her again and again until her vision went black at the edges. Her thighs clenched around his head, and he groaned again, as if he wanted her to crush him.
She came hard, biting her lip to keep from crying out, her whole body jerking against him.
He didn’t stop.
She came again, the second time louder, messier, her hands grabbing at his hair, pulling, holding him where she needed him. She was dripping now, the inside of her thighs sticky with her own arousal.
Only then did he rise.
His mouth glistened with her. He licked his lower lip, eyes locked on hers.
“Now you can say stop,” he said.
She didn’t.
Jarek grabbed her waist, flipped her onto her stomach like she weighed nothing. She gasped, not from fear just shock. She was face-down, breath heaving, cheeks pressed to fur.
Then she felt his c**k between her legs. Thick. Hard. Ready.
He slid it between her folds without pushing it in, dragging it along her slit, coating himself in her slick.
“You still want this?” he asked, voice hoarse.
She nodded.
He grabbed her hair, pulled her head up. “Say it.”
“I want it.”
He thrust her.
She screamed. Not in pain in relief. Like her body had been waiting to be filled. He didn’t stop, didn’t go slow. He gripped her hips and slammed into her, every stroke brutally and deep.
She clawed at the floor, gasping, her breasts bouncing against the furs. The noise of him fleshes on flesh, his grunts, the slap of his body against hers filled the room.
He reached around, found her c**t again, and rubbed it hard. Her thighs shook.
“Come again,” he said.
She did. Loudly.
He kept f*****g her through it, no mercy. Her body gave in, every nerve lighting up.
Then he pulled out, flipped her again, and plunged back in while looking in her eyes. His hand grabbed her throat not choking, just holding her there, making her feel it.
Her legs were wrapped around his waist.
He kissed her deep, wet, tongue-f*****g her mouth while he f****d her p***y.
She moaned into him.
He broke the kiss and looked her dead in the eye.
“Mine.”
“Yes,” she gasped.
He came with a growl that sounded more wolf than man. She felt him pulse inside her, hot and thick.
He collapsed beside her, panting. Sweat slicked both their bodies.
She didn’t move.
Neither did he.
The air between them crackled. Not with romance. Not yet.
With something old. Something dangerous.
And maybe something inevitable.
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