by Callie Rose
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 cock.
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 cock 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 nipples go hard. “I was too fuckin’ wound up, you know what I mean?”
He strokes his cock again, and even though I’m trying so fucking hard not to look, my gaze flicks down to watch him swirl his fist over the crown of his dick 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 pussy is offering to help. As if it wants to be the thing that slicks his cock.
Fuck.
No, Amora. Fuck.
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 cock, 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 vagina does. She gets even wetter, and my clit 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 cock.
It’s fucking mesmerizing—the slow glide of his fist, the way his dick juts outward from his body, the way his thumb grazes over the crown, spreading more precum over his smooth, dark skin.
My clit throbs again, hard enough to make my breath catch, and I wrench my gaze back up to Malix’s face.
“Fuck, 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 cock, and he groans deeply as cum erupts from the tip, spilling over his hand and onto the ground. He keeps stroking himself through the orgasm, 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 cock. 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 cum. Then she wants to drop to her knees and do the same for his cock.
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.
Chapter 18
My heart’s still hammering in my chest when I heave myself back through the living room window. The angle is awkward, and I manage to slip my upper body over the sash. But I’m still off-kilter, still breathless, still not really in my right mind after what I witnessed. So before I can get a leg over the edge to gracefully climb to the floor, I crash headfirst instead.
I catch myself with my elbows instead of my face, which is better than nothing. Score one for Amora. My legs slide the rest of the way in, and I tumble forward in an approximation of a somersault, landing splayed on the living room floor.
Right at Kian’s feet.
He’s sitting on a large chair in the dark, a liquor bottle resting on one knee. Somewhere between the time he left me and now, he lost his shirt. Even the darkness can’t hide his chiseled torso or the almost metallic ring of gold in his eyes. His dark hair is sticking out everywhere, and the scruff on his face gives him a dark, deadly look that makes me weak.
He looks inhuman. Impossibly beautiful, like a devil that could tempt me to sin in the worst ways.
He arches a brow at me. “Anybody ever tell you you’re graceful?”
“Why are you here?” I snarl, embarrassed for him to see me like this. I’ve tried so hard to make sure he knows I’m strong and capable and not fucking afraid of him, not ruined by what he did to me.
Only to fall at his feet like an ungainly pup.
He takes a drink from the bottle, then leans forward, his elbows on his knees and the bottle dangling between his legs. The position puts him entirely too close, hovering over me, in my space. His whiskey and woodsmoke scent wafts around me. At this point, I don’t know if the whiskey is him or the bottle in his hand, but it wounds me anyway.
I remember when I decided I loved the smell of it. Before he abandoned me and made me want to break every bottle of whiskey I ever saw after.
I hate these conflicting feelings I have for him. I hate the way just his presence is enough to ratchet my body temperature. The unsettled desire I’ve been feeling since I left Malix only intensifies.
Kian inhales, long and deep. His nostrils flare, and his pupils dilate. If he wasn’t so close to me, I might not have even seen it.
But I know he smells the arousal on me.
“Fuck off,” I snap, shoving at his face with one hand.
Kian growls and grabs my wrist, hauling me off the floor as he surges to his feet. The movement brings us closer together, with his face only inches from mine as he stares down at me. I scramble to get my feet beneath me as a mix of fury and desire course through my body.
“Don’t push me, Amora. Next time you do, you’ll lose the hand,” Kian warns, his voice low and husky. There’s an undercurrent of something I don’t understand in his voice. Something raw.
“Let go of me.” I attempt to sound angry, like I’ll bite his face off if he doesn’t release me, but instead, my voice comes out breathless.
What the fuck is wrong with me? These men are nothing but monster
s. I’m here to destroy them and save the world. And I just spent the whole fucking night drinking and partying it up with them, then watched Malix jerk himself off in the desert woods, only to come in here and be so dominated by Kian that I’m ready to climb him like a goddamn tree.
I can’t find my footing with them. Any of them.
Kian releases me abruptly. I fall backward but manage to catch my balance before I land on my ass, then immediately straighten my spine so that he’s no longer looming over me.
Not as much, anyway.
“You’re a fucking asshole,” I snarl at him, planting my hands on my hips.
The anger on his face has been replaced by his usual brooding. He tosses back a swig of liquor. “And you smell like Malix.”
“I haven’t touched Malix,” I snap, irritated. But I was near him. I was only a couple yards away from him when he came, and that scent would leave a trace on the air. A trace that could be on me.
I don’t know how much Kian has guessed about what I saw or what I was doing out there in the dark. But he knows his brother’s scent well enough to know Malix was there too. When Ridge’s mate ended up forming a mate bond with three other men, it took all four of them time to come to terms with it and to get past the initial jealousy of sharing.
Is that what this is?
A slow, almost cruel grin turns up the corners of my lips. “Are you jealous?”
Kian throws out an arm, hurling the half-full bottle of whiskey against the living room wall. The thick glass explodes violently on impact, and shards rocket back out into the living room, slicing my arms. And his. The sharp, smoky scent of whiskey fills the room, and the silence is absolute.
And I’m… turned on.
I’m bleeding from half a dozen small scratches on my left arm, and I’m an inferno of lust. Kian’s chest rises and falls with his breaths, and his presence fills the room, overtaking my senses. His anger is a drug, and stoking that fury gets me fucking high.
“Yeah,” I say, keeping my tone cool and even. “That’s what I thought.”
He doesn’t respond. He just stares down at me with those eyes that burn like fire, like he’s daring me to say something else. To do something else.
But I don’t.
I leave the living room on shaky knees, doing my best to hide it. Not that I can hide the way Malix made me feel. Or the way Kian makes me feel. My body is a puddle of need as I stalk upstairs and slip back into the dusty bedroom I chose earlier.
Can Kian really be jealous?
The question rolls around and around in my head as I remove my boots and sink down to sit on the edge of the mattress. Dust wafts up around me, and I sigh, standing again to remove the blankets. I lie down atop the mattress cover, which is slightly less dusty. I check on the status of the cuts on my arm—shallow, superficial. Not even bleeding anymore.
It doesn’t really matter whether any of the men are jealous of each other. Not really. They’re not interested in being my mates, and despite the way my body aches for them, I don’t want them as my mates, either.
But… the pull is intoxicating. More intoxicating than all the whiskey in the world.
Malix claimed he couldn’t sleep, and now I’m fucking positive I won’t be able to either. My body is buzzing, as if there’s an electric current beneath my skin or a thousand bees trapped inside my veins. The small cuts from the broken bottle are healing, but they still sting slightly, and adrenaline churns in my system, mixing with the remnants of the alcohol I drank earlier.
It all combines into a potent cocktail, and rising above it all is a deep, almost painful arousal. My clit pulses, and my pussy feels swollen and empty. I shift my position on the mattress, trying to get comfortable, but it doesn’t relieve any of the ache inside me.
Goddammit. I need to sleep. I need to focus.
I clench my jaw rhythmically as I try to talk myself out of what I know I’m about to do, then I finally give in and let the hand that’s resting on my stomach slide lower. The space between my legs is wet and hot, and when I press two fingertips lightly against my clit, the sensation is so powerful that my back bows off the bed.
Fuck.
I haven’t let myself do this since Kian left me all those years ago. I mean, I’ve touched myself plenty of times—a girl’s gotta pass the time in lonely hotel rooms somehow—but I haven’t let myself think of him while I do it.
Now that he’s back in my life, though, now that he’s in my space every day along with my other two mates, I can’t fucking take it anymore. If I don’t let myself have this one little moment of release, if I don’t take the edge off, there’s a chance I’ll break down and do something incredibly stupid. Something that will endanger my entire mission, risk my heart all over again, and complicate this already messy situation even more.
So really, touching myself while I think about my mates is the lesser of two evils. It’s a hell of a lot better than touching any of them.
My fingers move over my clit as I let my imagination run wild, going to all the places I’ve refused to let it venture since Kian, Malix, and Frost crashed into my life. I imagine doing what the reckless and untamed part of me wanted to do back there by the tree—striding up to Malix and putting my mouth on his cock, lapping up his release and stroking him until he’s fully hard again.
I imagine the taste and feel of him in my mouth, the sounds he would make, the way his fingers would tangle in my hair.
And then, because I’m too lost in my imagination to hold anything back, I add Kian to the picture. In my mind’s eye, he strides up and discovers us, finding me on my knees in front of his friend. He growls, the sound more wolf than man, as he yanks me to my feet and spins me around.
Just like he did downstairs, he towers over me, anger filling his eyes. Except in my imagination, there’s need there too.
His lips crash against mine, devouring me and worshipping me and punishing me all at once. I wrap my arms around Kian and arch against him, kissing him back until Malix yanks me out of his friend’s grip and spins me to face him again.
A wicked smile curves Malix’s lips, such a startling contrast to the hard, angry line of Kian’s mouth. But when Malix kisses me, it’s no less fierce than the way Kian did.
I keep working my clit as the fingers of my other hand slide lower, plunging into my pussy. My legs are shaking, my toes curling, my breath coming in choppy gasps as the scene plays out so vividly behind my closed eyelids that it almost feels real.
Kian and Malix share me, passing me roughly back and forth, and even while I’m kissing one of them, the other man makes certain I can’t forget him. Hands are everywhere on me, squeezing my breasts, pinching my nipples, sliding under my clothes to tear them off.
When they have me entirely naked between them, Frost appears.
As he did in my dream, he stands a little to one side, watching with an expression I can’t read. But just like in my dream, I swear I can feel a world of emotions just beneath the blank, unreadable mask he wears. His blue eyes, which lighten to a color almost like silver near his irises, focus on us intently as Malix lifts me into his arms and thrusts up into me.
I wrap my legs around Malix’s waist, moaning at the sudden intrusion, and then Kian’s fingers find my ass. Like that first night in the hotel room, he doesn’t give warning or ask permission.
He just takes.
Takes what’s his.
His fingers delve into my tight hole as Malix fucks me, and as the pleasure inside me starts to build into a torrent so wild I don’t know if I can contain it, he slides them out and replaces them with his cock.
The stretch steals my breath, and my head drops back as I feel his cock fight for space inside me. Malix is still fucking me, grunting with every thrust, and when Kian bottoms out, I’m so desperately full that I feel like I’m on fire.
Frost is still watching us, still so separate and inscrutable, and in my mind, I beg him to come closer—to join us.
He takes several steps towa
rd us, and although he doesn’t touch me, I watch with greedy eyes as he shoves his pants down and grips his cock. He strokes himself, his gaze locked on me, and as his fist moves up and down his shaft, his entire face transforms. Pleasure blooms across his features, heat and adoration burning in his eyes…
…and that’s what pushes me over the edge.
Lost in all three of them, I come hard. My imagination floods my mind with filthy images as my hips jerk and my clit throbs. I keep rubbing my clit, dragging the first orgasm out into a second, and then a third, as if I’m trying to wring my body out. To purge myself of every fantasy I’ve ever had about these men.
When the last tremors of pleasure finally wash through me, I unclamp my teeth from around my sore bottom lip. I managed to keep myself from crying out, but I’m not sure I was entirely silent either. In fact, I’m pretty damn positive I wasn’t. If nothing else, my breathing would’ve given me away if any of the men are close enough to my room to hear it.
I hope like hell they aren’t.
My muscles unclench, and I sink into the mattress, drawing my hands away from my throbbing pussy as my heartbeat slowly returns to normal.
The buzzing feeling inside me has faded a bit, and I can feel exhaustion tugging at me, urging me to let go and fall asleep. But despite the fact that I accomplished what I meant to, taking the edge off and allowing myself to relax a little, I know I’m playing a dangerous fucking game.
Because even though I tell myself this will never happen again, my body already craves more.
I don’t know how long I’m out for, but it doesn’t feel like much time at all before something shatters my dreamless sleep.
Crash.
My eyes fly open as my heart jumps.
I’m on my back in the fancy bed, staring at the gold fabric draped over the posts. I blink away the grogginess and try to get control of my senses to figure out what awoke me.
Turning my head, I glance at the window. There’s the slightest hint of early dawn on the horizon, though the sky is still dark.
I pause in the silence, waiting.
