Page 26 of Taken By The Wolves
“You’re safe,” I murmur. “And this is the beginning.”
Then I walk out even though I don’t want to.
My wolf is a growling, ferocious beast who wants to claim what’s his. But I’m a man, too, and this is how you build a bond that doesn’t break.
The claiming will come.
But first, Scarlet has tocraveit.
12
SCARLET
Morning arrives with a warm, decadent haze that softens my edges with the memory of Nixon’s mouth. I blink until my eyes become accustomed to the soft light filtering through unfamiliar curtains. My skin tingles with awareness and my thighs are heavy and tender with a sweetness I haven’t felt in far too long. I lie still, tucked under a thick blanket that smells like the forest, and replay the night in flashes.
Reed, Finn, and Nixon’s voices, low and commanding, teasing out my secrets and revealing theirs. The heat of Nixon’s mouth on mine and his hand sliding between my legs. The way they all watched me unravel, as if they’d planned it all along.
It doesn’t feel real. More like something I imagined in a wine-drunk and lust-dazed state. A fantasy I coaxed out of my deepest, most shameful longings.
But it happened.The orgasm that’s still blooming somewhere deep inside me, like a phantom echo pulsing in my core, and the way I opened myself, emotionally,confessing things I hadn’t even admitted to myself. Things about my past, my loneliness, my hunger for more. I told them truths I’ve held locked behind my ribs like fragile glass, and they didn’t laugh.
And God, the way Nixon touched with patience and devastating confidence, then walked away, leaving me aching for more. It undid something in me. It shifted the axis of whatever I thought I wanted, replacing it with desire for more.
I swing my legs over the edge of the bed and pause, stretching, still half-expecting my body to ache from too much tension or not enough sleep. But I’m loose like my bones melted eight hours ago and haven’t yet knitted themselves back together.
When I open the bedroom door, the warm, homey scent of bacon and brewed coffee curls through the air, but what makes my breath catch isn’t breakfast. It’s the single red rose lying on the floor outside my door.
A perfect bloom, the color of unripe cherries, wrapped at the base in rustic twine. And a note.Something scarlet for Scarlet.
My throat tightens with emotion, and I stoop slowly to pick it up, brushing my fingers along the velvety petals, the scent heady and lush. It’s a gift more intimate than any I’ve received before, this small gesture, thoughtful and precise.
I hobble down to find Reed and Nixon in the kitchen, dressed in jeans and rumpled shirts, casual and maddeningly handsome in the way only men who don’t try to be handsome can be. Reed leans against the counter, sipping coffee, while Nixon stands at the stove flipping bacon with determined precision.
They both glance up when I enter.
Reed grins and crosses the room in two strides, pressing a kiss to my cheek like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Nixon, who’s less overt but no less present, brushes a hand along my spine as I pass, and then kisses my lips so softly, I find myself leaning in for more when he pulls away. His palm warms through the fabric of my shirt.
They’re affectionate, but it’s like they’re deliberately pulling back, giving me space to think. But Reed’s gaze lingers, and Nixon’s fingers graze mine as he passes me a cup of coffee, and need inside me coils tighter.
“Sleep okay?” Reed asks, voice thick with insinuation, one brow raised as he watches me from across the kitchen island. “You look... relaxed.”
I arch an eyebrow, already reaching for the creamer. “Better than expected, considering I slept in a stranger’s bed.”
“That bed’s not a stranger anymore,” he says with a wink. “And neither are we… especially Nixon.”
Nixon makes a low sound that’s probably meant to be disapproving, but there’s a ghost of a smile tugging at his mouth, like he’s remembering the way I taste, as he sets a plate of eggs and toast in front of me.
“This is too much,” I say, overwhelmed by the portion.
“You need to keep your strength up… give your body a chance to heal.”
“And…” Reed grins, “for energy.”
Energy? Jesus.
“You have a good appetite?” he asks, more seriously. “You’ll need it.”
“We’re heading out to the lumberyard today. You’re welcome to come if you want to finalize your order. But tonight—” Nixon glances toward the window, where thetrees sway like dark sentinels in the morning breeze. “—we thought we’d grill. Eat outside if the weather holds.”
