by Sylvia Frost
He bent over, scooping her up bridal style and cradling her close to his chest. He was going to take her. Her vision swirled with kaleidoscopes of stars when his hands made contact with the Band-Aid concealing her mark of hairs. It wasn’t painful exactly, Cynthia realized as she tried to steady her breathing. In fact, it felt really, really good.
She surrendered completely to the sensation, resting her head against the crisp fabric of his soft dress shirt. Her fingers tiptoed between the buttons lazily, but she wasn’t able to focus enough to undo them. Her core throbbed.
The hundred feet between the bedroom and the patio were a blur. All she remembered was smiling when she noticed he had left the wineglasses on the table. Which was strange because she usually hated mess. But in the world of perfect control Rex had, somehow dirty dishes were reassuring.
The bedroom, however, she remembered vividly.
Rex pushed open the door with his back, carrying her bridal style over the threshold. Where the rest of his house was designed to be opulent without being fully intimidating, his bedroom held nothing back.
The wood was a darker grain more ebony then cherry, the bed massive, and the headboard larger still, taking up half the wall. There was so much here that her eye didn’t know what to follow. The walls must’ve been thicker too because the sudden silence, other than their breathing, was oppressive.
Instinctively, Cynthia clutched at Rex’s neck tighter, as if he could protect her. This was a mistake. Rex chuckled darkly, the sound vibrating through his chest and tickling her nipples. “Frightened, Princess?”
“No,” she lied.
She was terrified.
She was just more turned on than afraid.
“Good,” he said. Then he dropped her.
Her heart soared into her throat and her mouth popped open in shock even before her back made contact with the bed. White fabric from her dress fluttered upward before falling back down to pool around her limbs, the sequins a scratchy contrast against the silk sheets. But that wasn’t the only reason her skin prickled.
She couldn’t see Rex in the dark, but she could feel him. Coiled. Ready to take what was his. To take her.
Then his body was slanting over hers. He had taken off his shirt, so his feverish bare skin warmed her own. His finger flirted over the hard ridges of his naked abs.
“You look perfect on my bed,” he growled.
“I don’t know how—”
His mouth swooped down and captured her lips in a brutal kiss. Her tongue met his stroke for stroke, and she felt him start in surprise. No doubt all the models he’d dated didn’t know how to kiss. Girls who made a living solely on their looks never did. Why bother when guys would cut off their balls just to touch you?
But Cynthia knew how to work, and her tongue was no exception. She pulled him down further, her tongue teasing his taste buds. His weight forced her down into the mattress, trapping her, and his shock soon ebbed.
Once he was finished plundering her mouth, he spun her over onto her stomach. The sensation of waiting was even worse like this when she couldn’t see him. He knew it, taking his time with her, making it clear how very much she was at his mercy.
Something wet brushed against the back of her neck, and then the fabric of her dress began to give way. It wasn’t until her gown was already halfway off that she realized he was undoing it with his teeth. When he pulled the dress down over her feet, lifting her up to remove it, she didn’t resist.
“One thing you’ll learn about me, Princess, is that in bed—I’m in control. And tonight…” He ran a finger along the hem of her sheer bikini-like panties. She didn’t need to see him to feel the casual ownership in his touch. “I’m going to spank you.”
Fuck, that shouldn’t have made her as hot as it did. Her core tightened as if that could contain the wet wanting. Her hard nipples pushed against the silky sheets.
“Say no if you don’t want me to.”
She bit her lip. Her throat was closing now too. She couldn’t breathe as afraid of saying no as she was of saying yes. She couldn’t think. She wanted —
Smack.
His cupped hand made contact with her ass. Hard. Radiations of pain flowed through her, pleasure on its heel.
“Y-you actually spanked me,” she stuttered finally. Or she meant to stutter. It came out as a moan.
He hooked a thumb underneath her panties, pulling them to the side, exposing her reddening butt to the sting of fresh air. “You like that, don’t you?”
“I—”
His hand squeezed her left cheek. Sticky wetness dripped onto his comforter. It was messy. This was… “Do it again.”
His hand left her ass. “Do what again?”
“I’m not going to say it—”
“You’re right, Princess. You’re not going to say anything.”
Smack.
This time, he hit a little harder, enough that it should’ve hurt. And it did. The force of the blow send her thoughts skittering and her her heartbeat boomed so loud it drowned everything else. Her lips felt too swollen to speak.
Cynthia could feel him winding back, readying for another hit, but there was nothing she could to stop it. She’d have to accept it. She wanted to. She closed her eyes and furrowed her brow in sweet anticipation. But it never came.
“You’re going to beg,” he growled. “For every last dirty thing I to do you tonight. You are going to beg me.”
Cynthia gritted her jaw, even as she yearned to dip her finger into her center and give herself the friction she craved. “In your dreams, Rex,” she hissed.
Still facedown, she felt more than saw Rex move to the foot of the bed. He parted her legs, groaning. No doubt because he saw what a mess she had made of his bedspread. Cynthia frowned against the lush silk of his pillow.
Something wet and warm tickled the edge of her center, and Cynthia jolted backward. His tongue.
She didn’t get far as Rex’s strong hands grabbed her thighs and dragged her back to him. “You don’t move a muscle, Princess.” His lips tickled the curls of her pale landing strip. Then, to punctuate his command, he took her labia into his mouth and sucked.
Cynthia’s hands shot back behind her, digging her fingers into the leather upholstered headboard. “O-or what?”
His lips left, leaving her heart pounding and her core suddenly cold. “Or I leave you wanting.”
Cynthia scooted her hips back toward his mouth. Words were far away. Everything but him, and her need for him to be inside her, was far away.
“Oh no.” He chuckled. Cynthia found herself picturing what he looked like as he stared at her, amused at her sexual frustration. Totally in control. “I told you, you would have to beg. That’s exactly what you’re going to do.”
The image only stoked Cynthia’s need. “Please?”
Gently, too fucking gently, he licked her once. “Please what?” His breath was hot against her inner thighs.
“F-fuck me,” she said, although the words almost got lost, muffled against the pillowcase as they were.
“What did you say?” His hands roamed her body, claiming every curve they came into contact with. She let him.
“I said fuck me, Rex West,” Cynthia said, louder this time. He may have been disciplined, but even a disciplined man had a breaking point. But that wasn’t his.
His voice was still even, controlled, even though it was rough and needy. “I didn’t hear a please.”
Smack.
Open palmed, his hand connected with her ass once more. Pain, pleasure, and then the sensation of his thumb plunging into her from behind, hooking upward right to her G-spot, melded. An orgasm sparked at the edges of her consciousness, but it didn’t catch.
“Please, fuck me,” Cynthia yowled. “Oh God, I’m begging you. Please!”
“Fuck yes I will, Princess,” Rex said. He turned her onto her back with a grunt.
To her dismay, Cynthia noticed that he still had his pants on. She lunged toward him to rip them off
, and he let her. He tilted his head back, all of his perfectly formed muscles flexing as he leaned into her touch including the deep v pointing down towards his cock. Her fingers flew and struggled around his belt. Rich Italian leather.
He caressed her cheek, and then tugged down his pants with such force that it should’ve ripped the seam. Instead, it just unlatched the belt buckle. Cynthia stared in open mouthed wonder as his cock burst free of his clothes. He was huge. Almost inhumanly large. A knife of anxiety pierced her bubble of pleasure.
How would he fit?
But sex with Rex was like a rollercoaster; by the time she was able to see how dangerous the fall was, it was already too late. A second later, Rex was pushing her back toward the headboard, spreading her legs further as he went.
Then in a single, long thrust, he plunged into her.
“Fuck!” Her entire body parted, shifting to give way to his hardness. It stretched her wide open. He didn’t make any concessions, didn’t slow down. Instead, he planted his arms on either side of her, slamming into her again and again in thrusts almost mechanical in their regularity.
“Ah!” Cynthia cried, tossing her head back. All her worries, her fears, were burned to ashes. Nothing, no matter how messy or complicated, could be her fault now. For just this second, she was his.
“Come for me,” Rex cried.
Her orgasm dawned over her whole body, not just from her center, but all the way down to her ankle. She was splayed open, shaking for him. Her soul unfurled, bleeding into her every nerve, until the force of the orgasm rocked her whole being.
It was the best thing she had ever felt.
It was fucking terrifying.
The sensation ended quickly, like a sparkler being plunged into water, leaving her feeling naked on the bed, even with Rex’s warm body hovering over her. He slipped out of her, and she watched him go, trying not to wonder what he was thinking.
How good it had been a second ago only made the moment after all the emptier. He rolled over and flipped on the lamp, shining light on the mess of the room. Her once glamorous dress was discarded on the floor like laundry day gone wrong. In the reflective surface of the polished cherry wardrobe, Cynthia caught a distorted version of her reflection. Her elegant updo looked more like one of Lucille’s ill-advised poofs.
Cynthia turned onto her side, clutching her knees to her chest in a fetal position. Her stomach was cushioned up against her boobs, and the feeling of her own softness was comforting, but not enough. Her heartbeat hadn’t calmed.
Oh, God. What have I done?
Rex curled in behind her, his hard, unyieldingly chest more terrifying than a turn on at this point. His body was so different from hers. He was so different from her, and she had just let him do whatever he wanted.
“Princess?” He stroked her spine, managing to find her bones under her flesh.
“Mmm.”
“I…” His finger stopped on the third vertebrae up from her neck. “Are you all right? What we did was intense.”
Desperately, Cynthia’s hand reached out and squeezed the one not touching her back. “I’m fine.”
His hand relaxed in hers. “Good.” He nuzzled into the small of her neck, smelling her more than kissing her. She sighed in response as his rich leathery scent sank into her skin. His body fit around hers perfectly.
Too perfectly. The way he had fucked her was the best sex of her life, but it also didn’t feel real somehow. As if he had tried to make love to her the way he should, the way he had to, instead of the way he wanted to. She may have let go, but he, she was absolutely certain, hadn’t.
Eventually, after a little more cuddling, he fell asleep. She wasn’t sure how long she lay there next to him, only that she counted the tolls of a faraway grandfather clock twice and he didn’t rouse either time. With every deep, even breath he took, his grip on her became looser and looser, until finally, she felt calm enough to scoot toward the edge of the bed. She looked over her shoulder at him.
He was a beautiful sleeper. His geometrically square jaw was made more human by the softness of sleep, his forehead unwrinkled. She wanted to touch the sensual bow of his lips, but that would wake him up.
All he asked you to do was stay.
For tonight. But how could she trust him when it seemed like he didn’t trust himself? He was so tightly wound. Eventually, that kind of tension had to release. Explode. Or worse, what if it didn’t? What if he unraveled slowly, consumed by the obsessive desire to work? Or what if he found another woman, someone could get him to let go?
No, better to leave now. If she did, she could keep the memory of this safe inside of her, unchanged. Perfect. Clean. Simple. So Cynthia smiled ruefully and brought two fingers to her lips, blowing him a silent kiss. Then, slipping back into her dress, she tiptoed out of his apartment, holding her heels tightly in her hand.
Chapter 13
Rex West couldn’t remember the last time he had a good night’s sleep.
Like any werewolf who had found their mate, but not completed their bond, Rex had the luxury of replaying the same nightmare over and over again—the moment his mate ran away. It didn’t matter how many pills he took, his immune system was resistant to human medicine, and sleep was something no amount of money could buy.
But that morning, Rex woke up slowly. With his eyes still closed, he smiled. No, grinned like an fool. Last night, he’d had his first dreamless sleep in twelve years, and his whole body hummed with energy. Especially his cock.
The citrus scent of his mate and their mating filled his sheets and lingered on his skin. Rex opened his eyes and rolled over, ready to gather Cynthia close to him where she belonged.
But she wasn’t there.
Rex catapulted to the side of the bed, his heart pounding at speeds that would’ve killed a human. The is maroon duvet was pulled back to reveal cream-colored sheets and only an indent, an impression, of Cynthia’s curvy body. He ran his fingers over it.
There was no need to panic. Cynthia was probably showering or out on the terrace. The fact that her dress was gone from the floor was only a sign of her fastidious personality. She had no doubt packed it up somewhere and was wearing one of his shirts. Rex made the bed with a tug, tucking his sheets into the mattress with more force than was necessary. But he wouldn’t storm the house looking for her.
That would mean that he was worried. He wasn’t.
Not bothering to put on clothes, Rex strolled from the expansive comfort of his bedroom into his master bath. The room was free of steam, although Rex still opened up the glass double doors that led to his three-headed shower. She wasn’t there.
His smooth, dark stone counters were bare of even a toothbrush or water stain, and the place smelled of the lemony disinfectant his maid used. Not her.
Next, he checked the kitchen. Equally as empty. Cynthia hadn’t decided to make herself breakfast, but she had put away the dishes before she left; the bottle of wine sat corked on the counter next to his smart refrigerator.
He picked up the bottle, plucked out the cork, and sniffed. A hint of his mate’s scent mingled with the now slightly oxidized aroma of the pinot noir, but not enough to track her.
“Fuck,” he hissed.
His hand clenched around the neck of the bottle, and it was a testament to his control that it didn’t shatter. He set it down in his granite sink. The rejuvenation Rex had felt from finally getting rest was beginning to fade, and it wasn’t just panic and anger that was replacing it. Pain came too.
The throbbing started in his matemark on his ankle. Like all werebeasts, he had the patch of fur since birth, where his mate had grown hers only after their first meeting. The pain radiating up his hamstring was almost unnoticeable now, but it wouldn’t stay that way for long. It would get worse the more time they spent apart in the early days of the bond. The longer she was gone.
Gone.
The single word shattered Rex’s denial, sending him tearing through the rest of the house. His library, his gue
st room, the dining room, even the secret room located behind a bookshelf, Rex sprinted through them all. His breath felt tight in his chest. Such a trip normally shouldn’t have winded him, but his wolf scratched at his skin.
Finally, Rex burst out onto the terrace. The sounds of car horns and other human chatter assaulted his wolf’s ears, and he braced himself against the balcony, completely naked and not caring, staring down at the streets. The air tasted of gasoline, hot dog vendors, and humans. So many humans. Below him, tiny dots swirled around each other like the worthless, meaningless ants they were.
None of them was her.
He raked his hands through his hair and whirled to pace back inside to his front door. His keen wolf’s eyesight caught the indentation of her heels on his oriental carpet.
How the hell had she escaped? Their mate bond should’ve made it painful for her to leave. More than that. She shouldn’t have wanted to. Not after last night. He knew he hadn’t.
He reached the handle, turned it, and was unsurprised to find it opened with ease. He hadn’t locked the door behind him because he had never counted on the need to keep someone in. Rex’s inner wolf howled, and before Rex could stop himself, he kicked his door with his full werebeast force. It popped off its hinges like it was the tab on a can of soda.
Still, his wolf wasn’t satisfied. There were too many city smells to track his mate through, so instead, it wanted to destroy everything. The entire damn island if need be. Rex groaned in pain as his spine shifted against his will. The change was coming. He had to do something. He’d end up ruining his entire apartment, or worse.
Doubled over in agony, half from trying to contain his wolf, and the other half from the loss of Cynthia, Rex stumbled back to his room and plucked his phone from the charger. He hit the second number on his speed dial. It was his assistant Rose’s cell phone. She picked up on the eighth ring.
“Hi, Mr. West. Hi,” she said, her voice raspy with sleep. It was ten, so she should’ve been at work, but she had a bad habit of coming in late on Sundays. Every day really. She also was known to fall asleep at her desk. Unfortunately, she was the only secretary he had ever hired who was actually able to find typos in his emails and knew the art of a good expresso.
