Page 50 of The Wulver's Bond
Moss released a scream of near-agony. His tortured cock sprayed Arran’s fur, catching the underside of his chin. Arran’s cock bucked, close to release.
‘Look at you, wolfie,’ Moss breathed, gulping air. ‘All unfettered and everything.Good dog.’
‘Not now, Moss,’ Arran responded raggedly. He fought his instincts, He was so fucking close. So close to sinking his teeth into Moss’s neck and knotting him up to his guts.
Moss looped his arms round Arran’s neck and purred in his ear. ‘Can I have your knot, this time?’
‘Not my knot,’ Arran gritted out. He managed to bring his thrusting hips to a standstill, cajoling his thudding cock into a slow retreat.
Moss pouted and rocked into him, chasing Arran’s cock. ‘I want you to own me.’
‘You don’t know what it means to want that.’ Arran finally eased himself free, holding Moss back at arm’s length. His blood thumped deafeningly in his ears.
‘I know what I want, wolfie.’
‘Do you?’ Arran snapped impatiently. The beast flashed its claws, eager to pound Moss into the rock until he screamed and came again. His cock was still very much on board with the idea. ‘Do you actually know what you want, Moss? You hate being a slave but you beg me to treat you like one. You push your body so far with me that even your mind starts to break. Do you want me to knot you just so you can have another panic attack on it?’
Too far. Too fucking far.
Arran clamped his jaws shut, though the snarls continued to spill through his fangs. Moss’s glare of blistering betrayal burned into him.
Arran turned and ran for the rain.
He crashed into the storm and howled at the sky. His rage exploded, thrashing his limbs at the vines, the dirt, the rocks around his cave. His claws left marks in all of them.
This was where the werewolves got their bloodthirsty nature from. It was all from him. His animal fury was blinding. Fuelled by a boiling cauldron of self-loathing in his heart. There was no room for anyone else to inhabit it.
Arran beat his wrath into the earth until his muscles were finally drained.
Behind him, Moss’s voice cut through the haze. ‘Guess that’s what happens when you suck at being honest with yourself, huh?’ His tone was sour. ‘You don’t want to admit that you like using me, right? I bet you even got off to fucking me so hard I had a nervous breakdown on your dick.’
Arran couldn’t yet force his guttural growls to form words. He suspected Moss was in no mood for apologies, anyway. Instead, he crawled to face Moss and sat on his haunches, scowling up at him while his body calmed down under the pelting rain.
Moss was a sight to behold, proud and defiant, framed in the mouth of the cave. The wind whipped at his hair and coat, an embodiment of the fury in his emerald eyes.
‘You may not want to own me. Oradmitthat you want to,’ Moss said. ‘But I am allowed to own my pleasureandmy pain the way I want to. You said so yourself, that we’re complex. We’re made of contradictions. I’m allowed to hatebeing forcedjust as much as I’m allowed to lovegiving into you. I’m allowed to hate being used when it’s against my fucking will, and I’m allowed to adore being used when I fucking. Choose. To. Submit.’
Moss spread his arms wide and took a mocking half-bow. ‘Look, I learned a lesson from you.Boundaries.’
He turned on his heel with a flourish and disappeared inside the cave. Arran panted through his nose, claws raking the mud.
Good, he told himself. This was good. Moss’s roots had been worming too close to his heart, and it was good to have them ripped away. Good to be reminded that it was so easy to hurt people. He’d promised to never hurt Moss.
He’d promised Flòraidh the same thing.
Arran lifted his face into the rain. If only it could wash away sin as easily as it washed dirt from his fur.
For his beast to crave ownership of Moss was one thing. It was instinct, desire, a base need that called to be filled.
But for his heart to start craving the same? That was even more dangerous, for both of them. It meant Arran was more likely to surrender. To let Moss talk him into submission, even though Moss didn’t realise he was asking for a new set of chains to be fastened on him. Arran was afraid of what it meant to want Moss so badly.
Moss excited him, thrilled him, matched him.
He had to go. Before Arran caged him here forever.
His resolve gathered into a decision. He would take Moss to see the Walker witch, like he’d meant to do weeks ago. Arran knew he shouldn’t have delayed so long. Moss deserved to be free.
Chapter Eighteen
