Page 32 of Taken By The Wolves
Even as my hands slip into the sudsy warmth of dishwater, scrubbing away sauce and char from our plates, my thoughts are far from the kitchen sink. They’re focused on the subtle brush of Nixon’s fingertips along my collar last night, and in the way the evening’s wine has made me soft and pliable. They're anchored in the quiet masculinity these men carry so naturally and the way it makes me want to be soft enough to bend to their desires.
Reed’s casual confidence hums in my chest, and Finn’s earlier shy pride makes my skin prickle from the inside out. Nixon’s solid, calm presence and the way he took me apart like he knew my body already, vibrates inside me.
I breathe evenly, despite my heart pounding like I’ve sprinted through the forest. Even when I feel so small between them, the thought of being lost in their arms is one of safety, like I’ve always belonged here.
My mom’s voice echoes in my head.Men know how to get women to spread their legs. They know how to takefrom you, especially when they’re handsome.She has a warning for everything, but strangers and men are at the top of her hit list.
Nixon, Reed, and Finn aren’t strangers anymore. I know what books they like; Reed is partial to comedic sci-fi, Nixon to history, and Finn to artists’ biographies. I know that they’re new to the area and don’t have any family living nearby. I know that Finn likes country music, and Reed prefers seventies Rock. Nixon is more of a classical man because he finds lyrics distracting.
Slowly but surely, I’m creating a layered picture of them that tells me it’s safe to lower my guard.
I push aside questions about the huge wolf-dog and the strangeness of Finn’s sudden disappearance into the woods.
They move around me as we finish the dishes, and my head spins with a torrent of fantasies. Three strong, handsome men, their hands working over my body with those rough, callused palms, sliding up my thighs, cupping me, and teasing me. Their pretty eyes are watching everything. I can almost taste the heat and salt of their skin, hear Reed’s soft chuckle, Finn’s reassurances, and Nixon’s orders. I pinch my wrist to jar me back to reality, but the hum of arousal doesn’t leave me. I keep scrubbing, but my mind is already counting to what comes next.
Reed settles beside me at the countertop, his arm brushing mine, and the sudden warmth sends a flood of yearning through me. He pours another glass of wine without a word, sliding it into my hand, his lids heavy, and I brace, wanting him to touch me. The wine is cold on my lips, sweet on my tongue, and the muscular press of his thigh against mine subtly shifts us from friendliness to intimacy.
Across the room, Nixon leans against the far wall, armscrossed, watching us. Finn stands near the sink, running a dish towel through his hands, his expression gentler, but no less attentive. They’re both quiet, but their eyes are on us like heat on my skin. It should make me self-conscious. Instead, it sharpens everything.
They like to watch.
I take a long gulp, and as I set the glass on the counter, Reed reaches for my hand, his fingertips grazing my skin with a careful boldness that sends a tremor up my arm. “You okay?”
I nod, but words refuse to come. My throat tightens, my mouth suddenly bone-dry. He watches me with that slow, knowing smile, that peels back layers I didn’t know I was hiding behind. Then, without breaking eye contact, he lifts my hand to his lips and kisses each knuckle, one by one, warming them with his mouth.
A tremor shivers down my spine. My skin tingles, tightening with heat. My stomach coils, low and deep, and my thighs clench of their own accord. I’m not thinking anymore, justfeeling. Every nerve ending sparks to life, drawn to him like he’s gravity, and I’m already falling.
Nixon’s gaze sharpens and Finn’s breath catches, but I don’t stop. I don’t want to.
All of this is reckless, but how can it be wrong when it feels so right?
A holiday fling, they’d probably call it. What’s there to lose when there’s so much pleasure to be gained? The idea of forgetting my real life for one night, of setting down the weight of tomorrow and all the ways I don’t know how to shape it, is like a drug I can’t resist.
Reed leads me from the kitchen and onto the sofa. Nixon and Finn follow, sitting in positions around us wherethey have a clear view.
A shiver runs over my scalp and tickles my clit.
Reed plays with my hair first, twirling a red tendril around his finger like he’s discovered fire and can’t decide whether to tame it or let it burn. His eyes dance with that teasing glint I’m coming to recognize as all spark and mischief, but there’s fascination there, too. His lips twitch, curving into the kind of smile that shouldn’t be legal on a man this beautiful. The black ink that coils over his shoulder peeks from beneath his shirt.
My breath is sawing out of me, but he doesn’t rush. He just watches me, patiently letting tension build so that when he finally leans in, his mouth hovers above mine, and the air shudders between us. And when our lips meet, slowly and deliberately, I can taste his warm, wicked smile in the kiss, full of promise.
When he brings a hand to the hem of my blouse, there’s a thrill in knowing it’s him; that voice that teased me is now undoing the buttons on my shirt. I tense on a wave of arousal that’s been building all night.
His fingers slip inside, over lace that’s suddenly too tight and too formal, and he snaps my bra open with the sort of light, expert flick that leaves me gasping. His other hand presses firmly against my lower back, pulling me into him until his heart beats against me. My knees tremble, and I clutch the sofa while the other hand drifts to his shoulders, relishing the shift of hardened muscle under his shirt. He’s strong, and every brush of his skin against mine charges the air.
Somewhere behind us, a soft groan weaves through the air as Nixon or Finn loses a little of their quiet control.
They’re watching.
I don’t know which thought excites me more. That all three of them want me, or that they’d watch me when one of them claims me. I slide both hands up under Reed’s shirt and anchor them at the small of his back, tangling my fingers in the waistband of his jeans, able and ready to tug him closer.
His mouth descends to my collarbone, then, along the smooth curve of my neck, and I arch into it, panting as his fingers brush over my waist. There’s an ardor in his mouth that’s slow, hot, and intense, and I let myself sink deeper into him, emptying myself into the moment.
Reed’s hand finds the edge of my blouse again, slipping beneath to cup the curve of my breast. His thumb brushes lightly over my nipple, a teasing, feather-soft circle that sends a pulse straight to my core. I gasp, barely, and lift my gaze, finding Nixon in the low light. He’s watching from across the room, wine glass forgotten in his hand, his eyes locked on mine like a tether. Just… waiting. Like a wolf on the edge of the clearing, patient and sure that the prey will come to him.
If he asked, I would give it all to them.
And tonight, I think maybe I will.
