Page 33 of Taken By The Wolves
15
REED
I’ve dreamed about this.
Not only the way she tastes, though fuck me, that’s already written into the back of my throat, but the way she moves. The way she surrenders, like she’s been waiting for someone to give her permission to fall apart her whole life. And now she’s in my hands, red hair like lava and breath soft as prayer, and I know I’d burn to ash to give her what she needs.
Scarlet’s scent rolls through me like a fever, rich and warm and dizzying, and my wolf claws against my chest, hungry to take over. But I don’t let it. Not yet. Not when I have her open and gasping. Not when I still have control, and my alpha is watching, not objecting as I taste the treat of our mate before we claim her.
She arches when I tease her nipples again, that sweet little moan punching straight through my gut. I circle one with my thumb until it’s a tight little peak, then duck to take it into my mouth, sucking gently. She writhes, her fingerstwisted in my hair, and when I glance up, her eyes are half-lidded, and her pupils are blown to dark pools of want.
I should be careful. Nixon’s plan was patience, the long game, a slow seduction to draw her in with control. But maybe Nixon didn’t kiss her like this or has more restraint than I do.
He’s watching now, and I know he’s seething in that quiet way of his, because I’m off-script.
I don’t care.
Scarlet isn’t scared. She isn’t second-guessing. Her body’s telling me everything I need to know, reeling me in with tendrils of scent that wrap around me, stealing my free will.
I unfasten her jeans and ease them slowly over her hips, giving her time to change her mind, but she doesn’t. She lifts her butt instead, her hands sliding to help me, thighs inviting. My wolf growls below the surface, demanding the claim.
She’s wearing lace. It’s pale pink and already damp, the scent of her slickness hitting me like a brick wall at seventy miles per hour. I groan, low and guttural, as my mouth waters like a slathering dog. If I were less of a man, more of a wolf, I’d rip the damn fabric off with my teeth and bury my face between her thighs, lapping with my rasping tongue until she comes undone.
Instead, I leash that wild thing in me and lay my palm against the heat of her as she grinds into my touch like it’s instinct.
“You’re soaked,” I murmur, half reverent, half wrecked. “Fuck, baby. You’re perfect.”
She whimpers, hips rocking, and I press a kiss above the lace, then another. She jerks when my tongue traces a stripeover the fabric, and I hold her steady with a hand on her hip. Then I pull the panties aside and finally taste her, slow and deep and thorough, until her thighs shake and her nails bite my shoulders.
Behind me, I hear movement.
A footstep. A breath caught.
It’s Finn who steps forward, kneeling behind her, brushing her hair off her face, and whispering something so quietly, I can’t make it out. Whatever he says makes her tremble.
He kisses her jaw, her cheek, her temple with gentle, anchoring kisses that give her something to hold onto while I drag her closer to the edge. His fingers tease her nipples, as she pants and writhes as two of us work her over.
Scarlet clutches at Finn, moaning louder now, helpless against the rhythm of my tongue and the weight of his presence behind her. Her body undulates, mouth opening on a soundless gasp, and when I slip two thick fingers inside her and curl them, she comes undone like we planned it that way all along.
Her cries echo through the cabin, raw and full of need as she pulses around me, every tremor lighting me up from the inside.
I lift my head, mouth slick with her pleasure, and meet Nixon’s eyes.
He’s still sitting, still watching, but his jaw is tight and the heat behind his stare is feral. He wants to be next, even though that wasn’t his plan.
I stand to defer to my alpha, but before I can say anything, Scarlet surprises me. She shifts forward, slipping from Finn’s arms, breathing ragged and eyes glazed, and then she reaches for me.
Her fingers find the buckle of my jeans.
And suddenly, this night changes shape entirely.
Her eyes stay locked on mine, wide and golden, dazed and burning.
My shoulders tense, body bracing for what’s to come.
Scarlet’s kneeling at my feet, fingers brushing along the waistband of my jeans because she wants to. Because she’s choosingme. The rough, laughing mess of a man who never thought this kind of softness would belong to him.
I brace one hand on the back of the couch and reach out with the other to cup her jaw, my thumb brushing along her cheekbone as she leans in and presses a kiss above my zipper. The heat of her mouth bleeds through denim, and I can’t hold back the groan that rips out of me. She unfastens my jeans slowly, her movements unhurried. The reverence undoes me.
