Moon Spell

Ashwood’s amused eyes grew even more golden if that were possible. “I’ll get on with it, then.”

“Please do.” He smirked. “You’re dragging it out on purpose.”

“You’re enjoying poking fun at me, aren’t you?” He quirked an eyebrow. “I might even guess you’re already feeling a bit better.”

He was grateful Ashwood didn’t tease him about his prick, which was undoubtedly jabbing at him as he moved about.

“Perhaps,” he admitted, but were he to venture a guess, he would’ve thought it more likely from the adrenaline rush of having him so near. It was the lie he would tell himself to get through the intimate onslaught. He shut his eyes and sighed. “Carry on.”

Ashwood began moving down his torso, delivering licks and bites to his rib cage, making Bellamy squirm. Ashwood licked into his belly button, bit the tender skin around it but refrained from moving lower, which Bellamy supposed he appreciated, though his prick was leaking, his entire body thrumming with pure need and want.

Ashwood paused and panted openly, then changed course to the inside of his elbow, where his veins seemed most prominent. He moved downward, and when he reached his hand, he briefly held it in his fingers before turning it palm up and nipping harder. Bellamy’s eyes rolled back in his head as he shuddered. Ashwood reprised the ritual on the other side of his torso as Bellamy groaned and shivered.

When he felt Ashwood pull away, he instantly mourned the loss of his warmth and nearness but was also relieved the torment would finally end.

“There,” Ashwood said, backing away, his face flushed, his eyes wild. “Perhaps that might do it.”

“And if not?” Bellamy asked hoarsely. It was difficult to admit he wanted more. Needed more. But in a different way altogether.

“It depends,” he said thoughtfully. “Sometimes it takes a complete submission.”

His breath caught. “What do you mean?”

“A bite at the neck.”

Bellamy inhaled sharply. “Like the one Kipling delivered to you?”

“Not exactly.” His fingers absently cupped his throat, and he frowned. “That was not submission, not by my standards, at least.”

Bellamy’s stomach throbbed. “Why would submission even be necessary?”

“Because you’re still resisting me. I can feel it, though I know it’s with good reason,” he said, surprising Bellamy because it certainly didn’t feel like he was resisting, except that underneath his wanton desire, he supposed it made sense. “And sometimes it takes a bite right to the heart of the matter if you will.”

Ashwood was panting softly from his efforts, but Bellamy noted small changes in him as well, as if their closeness was also helping him, just as he said it would. The color was back in his skin, making it less sallow, and there was a lightness in his eyes, which now looked more green than gold.

Bellamy pushed aside the idea that he could possibly help Ashwood more. Besides, he’d never allow himself to actually take wolf form, even if the thought sparked a flame in him now. That would mean allowing nature to take its course, which turned his stomach, though being around Ashwood and learning more about their kind had softened him somewhat.

No, he needed to leave as soon as he was able. He didn’t want to fall further under Ashwood’s spell, the exact thing his mother had warned him about.

Ashwood said, “I think it’s best if I sleep beside you the rest of the night so that our skin is touching and there’s warmth between us.” His tone was perfunctory, but his trembling hands gave him away. Bellamy felt relief that he was not alone in this, whatever this was. “I’m sorry. I know this is overwhelming for you. As it is for me.”

“No, it’s all right. And…I’m sorry too.”

Ashwood dipped his head, a flush still coloring his cheeks. “Are you feeling any effects yet?”

“I might be.” He felt tingly all over, and not necessarily from having Ashwood so near. Like tendrils of warmth were joining together inside him, providing energy and strength. It didn’t seem possible. None of this did.

“We’ll see how you feel in the morning,” Ashwood murmured as he stood to remove his wrinkled breeches, revealing his undershorts.

Bellamy could only nod, afraid his voice might betray him. He could see the outline of Ashwood’s prick, which no longer looked painfully stiff, and thankfully, neither was Bellamy’s.

Ashwood sank down on the mattress near his legs, then shifted so he was behind Bellamy, his back to Ashwood’s chest.

Bellamy sighed. This felt too good after not experiencing it for so long. Not that he hadn’t been with other men, but this was something altogether different. This was his mate, the man he still loved deep down, and whom he knew intimately. Or thought he did at one time.

He resisted squirming, though he was desperate to fit flusher against him. But he knew better. It would only add to the suffering and regret. After all, his heart was still shredded from the man. Ashwood was right—Bellamy was still holding himself back, and he hoped it didn’t impede him from healing properly.