“Stop it.” I sound menacing. I’m not sorry. She silently called me out here. She’s gonna get what she gets. I advance on her like a fucking predator.
She backs up. She must sense how dangerous I am right now. How unhinged.
“Was it because of me?”
Of course it was because of her. But I’m not going to say that. That shit isn’t her fault.
Instead, I growl, “Stop crying for me.”
Her big brown eyes are wide. I wonder how well she can see me in the dark. Not nearly as well as I can see her.
“Stop it,” I command. “I’m the one who got the beatdown.”
“Cole.” It’s a broken syllable. Small and quavering. So much emotion packed into one sound. Apology. Pleading. Desperation, even.
My control snaps. I snatch her face up to mine with a hand behind her head and devour her mouth. It tastes like all the emotion I heard.
Except more.
I savor gratitude and soft, supple generosity. Pent up anger. Grief.
Desire.
I scoop my forearm under her ass to pick her up and slam her back against the tan stucco of her house.
She opens her lips for me, lets me in. It’s not how I imagined it.
It’s better.
More raw. Sweeter, even though I’m fucking brutal with my attack. Her lips twist over mine with the same intensity, her nails claw into my bare shoulders. I shove the bulge of my cock in the cradle of her legs, even though I know it will probably scare the shit out of her.
I keep kissing, fucking her mouth with my tongue. The cut on my lip reopens and blood seeps into the kiss.
Good.
Let her taste how I bled for her. I’m going to make her bleed too. Need to taste it on my lips. Have it smeared over my cock. Maybe not tonight, but I’m going to get it.
I shift to grab her ass with both hands, squeeze and knead those firm globes. I catch skin with one of my fingers and lust ratchets higher. I thrust against the thin fabric of her panties, rubbing my cock over her clit.
The sweet smell of her arousal fills my nostrils.
She wants it.
I break the kiss and drop my head into the crook of her neck, biting down on the flesh there. I stay like that, my body mashed up against hers, a slow grind at the juncture of her thighs. We’re both breathing hard.
I need to put her down. Send her back inside.
I know she’s not ready for all the things I want to do to her. And my control is shit right now.
Need sky high.
But instead of letting her go, I go dirty. I let my fingertips trace along the seam of her ass. She gasps and squirms, her inner thighs tightening around my waist as she tries unsuccessfully to squeeze her cheeks together.
Yeah, baby. I’ll take that too, eventually.
But I’m not that big an asshole tonight.
“You’d better get back inside, Pink,” I breathe against her neck. My lips brush her skin. She tastes so fucking good.
She whimpers softly but doesn’t move.
I realize I’m torturing her. Her body’s turned on, revved up to go and now I’m going to send her in.
It’s a torture to me, too, but I can take it. A teen wolf my age has already been fighting this shit for at least four years. At least the moon’s not full.
I give her another hard kiss. I go in boldly for her asshole this time, rubbing firmly as I thrust my cock against her wet panties and suck on her lips.
She bucks a little.
Fates, did she just orgasm?
I think she might have.
That nearly tears me apart.
Like my eye color probably changed and I have to stop the very wolf-sounding snarl from coming out of my throat.
I force myself to set her feet down, but all the while I’m stroking her ass, squeezing, kneading, loving it up with both palms. All the while, I’m kissing the hell out of her.
She tastes so fucking good.
“Get inside,” I growl. My voice sounds three octaves lower than usual, and rough as sandpaper. “Before I fucking ruin you.”
She’s trembling. Her whole body’s shaking, and she has to hang on to my forearms to stand on her feet.
“How do you know I’m not already ruined?” She sounds breathless.
I let out a mirthless laugh and lean my forehead against hers. “I know. Because I’ve already decided I’m gonna be the guy to destroy you. Now get inside.”
She doesn’t move. Her breaths are short. Her body still trembles. “You're still holding on to me,” she says.
Ah. So I am. My hands are still cupping her delicious ass. I still have her trapped between my body and the house.
I ease back, biting back the groan of disappointment at losing contact.
And then, because I can, because I want to, I catch her wrists, turn her slowly to face the house and press her palms flat against the rough texture of the stucco.