Revenge of the Wronged (Werelock Evolution Book 3)

by Hettie Ivers

  Suddenly I couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t move. And despite the growing burn in my lungs and the sensation of being crushed, somehow the greater awareness engulfing me was that of another violent orgasm approaching—born merely from the delicious pressure of his weight and heat against my voracious, throbbing little button; the feel of his unforgiving cock flexing and expanding to claim every ounce of space within me.

  And then he moved.

  It was a fraction of a thrust—barely a half-grind—but it was precise enough upon its mark to pitch me over the threshold and send my body careening into euphoric convulsions all over again as I jerked and twitched within his constrictive embrace, emitting all sorts of unladylike noises as bright spots formed in my vision.

  Then I saw a glow as warm as the sun floating above me amidst my darkening, narrowing line of sight as Alex released my mouth and my lungs filled easily with oxygen, almost as if moved by a will of their own to do so.

  I heard more growling, and a commanding voice telling me to let go. Trust. To relax and let Alex give me what I needed. It took me a moment to realize the voice wasn’t coming from the outside, but from inside. And a second longer before I acknowledged that it was coming from me—from my own wolf.

  I recognized the subtle, telltale tingling sensation of Alex’s internal healing touch running up and down the length of my spine, coursing out in all directions, spreading more heat to my midsection and pelvic region, the vibrations soothing my stuffed, contracting sheath, while gently inflating my lungs with pure, life-giving, mind-clearing oxygen.

  As my vision returned, it was a feral Alex I spied gazing down upon me, his irises burning bright amber, his canines prominent as he murmured soft words, combing his fingertips through the hair at my scalp.

  I couldn’t quite read his expression as he studied me. Though he hadn’t moved an ounce of his weight off of me, I was breathing easily enough now, although not of my own volition, I noted with some measure of embarrassment. When I furrowed my brow, he informed me, “You panicked. You stopped breathing.”

  Nice. Real sexy, Milena.

  It registered then that I had at no point actually been in danger of being crushed physically by Alex’s colossal frame, which made my little panic attack all the more mortifying. And I was forced to admit that maybe … maybe there was some merit to my inner wolf’s babbling and that it really was my irrational fear of being crushed emotionally—figuratively—that had caused such a crippling panic within me that he’d had to intervene and assist my very breathing. Still just as mortifying.

  “It’s not irrational, baby. You’re okay. You can feel anything you want to.”

  Despite his assurances, immediately I felt defective. When I’d anticipated sexual healing a moment ago, I’d hardly imagined it would manifest itself like this.

  My confusion and mortification only increased as I felt his healing vibration spread past my lungs to encircle my heart, enfolding and wrapping around my chest like a protective cocoon, easing my erratic heart rate.

  He didn’t interfere with my emotions, though. He sent no calming mojo my way as Alcaeus was apt to do. No, it was a carefully executed, precise physical safety net alone he provided, while still allowing me to feel every single one of my bizarre emotional reactions as they surfaced and washed through me, the urge to cry heightening with each passing breath.

  “I don’t—don’t know why I’m like this,” I attempted to explain-apologize, my voice barely carrying past the tightness in my throat. Good Lord, not now. Please, please, not now …

  “I don’t know why I’m like this either,” he echoed. I felt the smile on his lips as they meandered across my forehead. “Must mean we’re perfectly matched.”

  For just this once, I wished Alex would revert to being more invasive and interfering and hold my tide of perplexing emotions at bay for me. Because I was suddenly desperate not to look like a weepy fool in front of him. Not now. Not after he’d just caused me to orgasm simply by putting his cock inside of me and settling in like he owned the place! Now more than ever I wanted to come across as so much better than the nervous, awkward schoolgirl I always was.

  This was supposed to be the part where the guy began mindlessly thrusting, as if singularly possessed. Bethany had told me so. It was so not the time for me to be breaking down emotionally once more as latent abandonment fears persisted in surfacing.

  Neither was Alex supposed to be acting this peaceful and relaxed while his monster prick was squeezed up inside of me. He was pressing sweet kisses to my forehead as he worked his magic fingers against my scalp. How was it even possible for him to be so damned calm while I was quickly working myself into a state of emotional and sexual meltdown?

  Why wasn’t he mindlessly thrusting yet?

  “W-what are you doing?” I blurted.

  “Mmmm …” he hummed, leisurely trailing kisses over my face. “Getting comfortable in my new home.” He punctuated this edict by flexing that hard cock that was lodged inside of me, nudging at my womb.

  My own inner muscles rippled and clamped down upon his pulsing, swelling phallus in reaction, as much in response to the physical sensation as to the quietly commanding, proprietorial insinuation behind his words.

  “Milena … Milena”—he groaned and licked the shell of my ear—“thank you for making me feel so welcome.”

  The more serene his demeanor, the more patience and care he displayed with me, the more subnormal I felt. I wanted to come across as wildly sexy to him our first time together, not like some emotionally displaced basket case.

  “Baby,” he said with a chuckle as his teeth lightly raked my jawline, “you are wildly sexy.” His hand moved from my scalp to encircle my thigh, edging it higher around his waist as he settled himself impossibly deeper within the cradle of my spread limbs. “Even when emotionally displaced.”

  The man was inside of my head. He was holding my very heart in his gentle healing embrace. And he looked so damned happy about it! So unfathomably content just to be inside of me as he waited for me to collect my runaway emotions—gently teasing me as if my behavior was perfectly normal and not completely interrupting and ruining the moment. I shook my head, unable to share in his easy humor.

  I had never been anyone’s “home” before. Never experienced anyone wanting me with such … intensity. It stirred feelings in me I was hard-pressed to identify, much less reconcile. Growing up, none of the titular male figures in my life had ever seemed to want to be a part of it. And beyond my own experience, I’d seen from my mom’s and my aunt’s lives how men didn’t settle in, didn’t just assimilate and fit themselves into a woman’s world. If they did, it was temporary. They never stayed.

  Yet Alex was acting as if I was his entire universe. As if all he wanted was to settle in and to build his life around mine. The prospect scared me witless. Although not as much as the giddy, vulnerable little seedling of fatuous hope I felt taking root. Hope that this might prove real. That Alex would in fact stay and dispel all prior notions and truths I’d held about men and women in relationships.

  But I couldn’t let myself think about things like that now. It was the surest route to an uncontrollable, and totally unsexy, waterworks display at the most inopportune moment ever.

  “I don’t want to cry, Alex,” I confessed. Please don’t let me? I silently implored, hoping he would understand, that he would heed the thoughts I knew he could hear inside my mind without me actually having to say them aloud and request that he either do something to manipulate my emotions or temporarily disable my tear ducts so that I could handle this increasingly terrifying level of intimacy without turning into a blubbering idiot.

  But he merely grinned like a besotted fool and whispered, “Then don’t cry, my beautiful universe.”

  Damn. He was not going to control my emotions for me. And I was barely a breath away from ugly-sobbing at his “universe” remark. Yet somehow the pressing tidal wave of tears instantaneously evaporated, eclipsed by utter stupef
action, when out of nowhere, Alex shocked the fucking maudlin straight out of me when he commenced singing.

  Singing!

  I could scarcely imagine what goofy, clueless, bewildered guppy expression took hold over my features as Alex proceeded to croon softly in Portuguese, as if it were the most natural thing in the world—as if he’d sung to me like this hundreds of times before.

  While I didn’t understand any of the words, the gentle, lulling melody managed to quiet my skittish heart more so than even Alex’s magical healing touch had.

  And I’d thought he held my heart in his hand before? I was mistaken. My heart melted in his grasp now, along with my body and all of my carefully erected walls of self-preservation as I listened, utterly entranced.

  I was done for.

  No man had ever sung to me. The only other person who had ever really sung to me at all had been my mother, and she’d most often done so in this very bedroom. I would’ve been a goner had he barely displayed an ability to carry a tune and chosen to sing happy birthday. But as it was he proved to have a beautiful baritone singing voice—one so resplendent in its natural emotive resonance that a want for literal translation of the lyrics to the song he’d chosen seemed almost petty.

  Still … I found I was petty. Because I wondered, was it a lullaby he sang to soothe my fears? A love song? Before he’d finished the first verse, I was as desperate for a translation as I was for him to stay forever with me just as he was.

  Inside of my bedroom. Inside of me.

  “It’s a love song, princess,” he said, a devastatingly sexy smile shaping his lips. “The lyrics roughly translate … I adore a brunette, with blue eyes, and pale skin …”

  My insides turned to warm goo. An unfamiliar-sounding sigh escaped me. I was mush beneath him. Clingy mush, it seemed, as I found that my arms had wound about his neck and my ankles had locked possessively around his waist.

  His smile broadened to a rakish grin, and a deviant wave of heat shot through me at the sight of his pronounced canines as I realized that I wanted—needed—him to bite me. Badly. My wolf and I were in perfect agreement on this.

  Instinctively, my hips arched and my head rolled to the side. Was this what trust felt like?

  “Who kills me, bewitches me, makes me weak,” he continued to translate the lyrics, his nose dipping to trace the expanse of throat I was offering him.

  Teeth. I yearned to feel the scrape of his sharp canines along the path his nose took.

  He gripped my open thighs, securing them in place against the mattress as ever so slowly, he withdrew from me, the action causing me to moan and babble nonsensically as his hard heat glided halfway out of my rippling, drenched channel. Oh, good God, he felt divine!

  “Her waist, my God, is delicate,” he crooned, his voice husky in my ear.

  Slowly, he plunged forward again, and I bit my lip to stifle a shout at the sheer joy that erupted within my chest.

  Fuck, this was what happiness felt like.

  “Her bearing is elegant and proper.” He rotated his hips, grinding against me just right before leisurely withdrawing once more, and I knew I wasn’t going to last long. That glorious pressure was building quickly again, so deeply within.

  “There are secrets, it’s said, in that quivering body …”

  Oh, God, the ache! His voice. Those lyrics! It was all too much.

  I shifted my spread thighs wider—eager to grant him greater access. Eager to give him whatever he wanted. Feverish to receive all he was willing to bestow.

  “Fits, sensations … that put our heads to spinning …”

  And give he did—a little harder, a touch faster. Turning up the intensity, even as his lips unhurriedly traversed my face and the column of my throat. I welcomed it all, tilting my face and straining my neck to greet his mouth. My overfull pussy tightened around its prize. Not wanting to let go. Ever.

  So this was what possession felt like?

  Perhaps trust was its own aphrodisiac. Because it was as scary as it was delicious … to feel at once so vulnerable and so safe with someone. So liberated, while so tethered.

  “Oh, brunette whom I love, whom I adore. She doesn’t leave me a single moment to think.”

  He moved in and out. I was lost.

  I was so found.

  And in that moment, I couldn’t imagine ever leaving Alex, leaving this sensation behind. The feeling that we belonged together—that he was meant to be inside of me. Always.

  “We fit, princess,” he pointed out on a sharp thrust—more than a hint of know-it-all in his tone.

  I groaned. Didn’t dispute it. Wasn’t a question, anyhow. We did fit. In this moment, no one would’ve dared deny it. Then again, no one else mattered in this moment. Nothing else mattered. There was only the glide of his unyielding length inside of me. The sultriness of his scent, the heat of his body branding mine.

  I was going to explode. And they’d never be able to find all the pieces to put me together again. Wasn’t sure I wanted to be put back together again.

  “I can take … more,” I told him, flushing in the darkness at the desperate pitch to my voice as I pressed my nose to his, drinking in his warm breath. “Take … harder.”

  “Can you now?” I felt his teasing smile against my own lips and caught his bottom lip between my teeth.

  Screw teasing. He was holding back, and I wasn’t having it. I scored my nails down his shoulders, causing him to jerk his hips, and drawing a muffled “fuck” from the back of his throat.

  He all but swallowed my mouth whole in response, lips and tongue assuming full command of the situation until I was dizzy from lack of oxygen.

  “Playing with fire again?” he taunted, alternating kisses with little stinging bites along my jawline.

  “Never stopped,” I panted back.

  “Good. I enjoy making you burn.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  The mattress rocked and dipped beneath his shifting weight as his hands gripped my ass, lifting it high, securing my lower body tightly up against his as he arose to his knees and pushed forward, the action causing him to hit a tender spot deep inside of me as he scooted me farther back across the bed.

  His fingers squeezed, spread, and explored my fleshy globes, sliding intimately between the juncture of my legs to stroke me from behind as I gushed and twitched and moaned, my inner thigh muscles clamping so eagerly around his waist that they shook.

  “Relax. I’ve got you.”

  He rolled his hips into me. He ground. I died a little more inside each time. The way his body moved was so fluid, so raw and sexy.

  And he was mine.

  He pressed forward. Pulled back. Easily maneuvering my entire body simply by the indecent grasp he maintained on my ass, calmly sliding me back and forth, working me up and down the length of his impressive prick as if I were light as air—and as if he had an eternity to slowly, torturously fuck me. As if I wasn’t already babbling and begging him like my life depended on my next release.

  Because there was just one tiny, key spot he wasn’t quite hitting well enough anymore the way he was presently angled. And he knew it.

  “Now you will touch yourself for me,” he decreed. Or I’ll stop, was the wicked threat left unsaid. I caught the intent in his feral eyes, though, and I didn’t think twice.

  My right hand flew between my thighs, my left to my breast. I would’ve done anything to keep him moving inside of me.

  “Like I’m not watching,” he appended.

  He was pure evil. He was all God.

  And I was his ready puppet. I did as asked, fingers finding and attending my little button with fervor.

  “Fuck,” he rasped, jerking forcefully into me. “More,” he demanded, lifting my hips higher, fucking me harder.

  My cheeks burned, but I didn’t hesitate to comply. Swirling and pressing my fingertips, sliding and circling, dragging and scraping—

  “Ahh … gah … oh … oh, God, Alex … ”

  “So fucking ho
t,” he praised. “So sweet. That’s it … faster, baby. Come hard for me, princess … let me feel your pretty cunt squeeze me—”

  My back arched and my shoulders came off the mattress with the force of my climax. So much pleasure ripped through me that I screamed, and before I could catch my equilibrium, the feeling was suddenly magnified tenfold at the sensation of his thick cock rotating 180 degrees inside of me as Alex abruptly flipped me over onto my hands and knees—without so much as pausing his movement—plowing on, shunting methodically, relentlessly into me through the clenching spasms of my orgasm until I was a quivering mass of highly sensitized, undulating flesh pleading for a moment’s reprieve.

  At the same time, I braced myself for the onslaught to come, as I imagined this just had to be the fated part Bethany had spoken of where he would begin mindlessly thrusting without pause or care. But instead, he did pause.

  He pulled me up against him, my back to his chest, his rigid stalk lodged squarely between my thighs. I closed my eyes as they rolled back in my head, and I bit my lip, squirming a little and mewling at the sensation of having him embedded in me at this new angle. It was so much. So full.

  Cupping my neck in his palm, he drew me tightly into his shoulder.

  He kissed my ear as his free hand roamed my body, massaging my breasts before trailing down my stomach.

  A sheen of sweat coated my skin, and every muscle in my body seemed to be trembling, my entire system on high alert. His cock twitched inside of me, and I whimpered and babbled as his hand traveled down my lower belly just a few inches shy of where I needed him to touch me before trailing back up my midsection.

  “Shh-sh … easy, angel. I’ll take care of you. But we need to clear a few things up first. Open your eyes.”

  I did, and was startled to catch our reflection in my dresser mirror directly in front of me on the other side of the bed.

  Alex was nothing short of pure male perfection looming behind me, his powerful body of corded muscles wrapped around me, surrounding and consuming me, his hard meat impaling me. He might’ve been the god of virility himself.