Malcolm couldn’t explain it, but Trixie’s lips tasted of a southern summer—of sweet tea and smoked watermelon and long hours spent in the heat until he was spent for the day. Summer warmth felt like a long-cherished memory in the cold cabin air. And that’d been before he’d buried his tongue in the wet, wanting folds of her cunt and felt the heat of her against his chin.
Fuck, she was exquisite. Tangy. Sweet. Smoky. He couldn’t get enough.
Even though he knew she’d break him.
Malcolm’s hair fell into his face, draping over his forehead as he ate her, the heat of the fire warming them both. He could drown himself in the taste of her pussy, eat her any time she wanted him to—for days and he’d never tire, so long as she allowed it. Oral sex had always been his favorite, pleasurable enough that it made him want to give instead of receive. Hell if he hadn’t imagined licking Trixie so many times before, and now that she’d taken their little game of cat and mouse to the next level…
He wanted to fucking play.
To revel in her.
No matter how much it made his fucking heart ache.
His tongue probed and dipped inside her, circling back to the taut bead of her clit, until he found a steady rhythm of giving and then taking away. She bucked her hips forward, whimpering and keening for him to return with each delicious, edging tease. Those sexy-as-hell stiletto boots, covered in dirt from the trail, dug into his shoulder blades. Her hands tangled in his hair. She tugged and fisted at his scalp, his nape, anything she could get her polished, manicured hands on. It gave him a slight tinge of pleasure-pain, enough to take the edge off, let himself enjoy the moment instead of being so swept away he couldn’t control his emotions.
How many times had he imagined those same nails scraping his chest, his back? He’d give whatever she was willing to take. Anything to ease the ache.
She’d severely underestimated him the moment she’d leaned in for that kiss, and he was going to make her pay—in pleasure and flushed red flesh. He threw back his head, falling back on his knees again as he licked at the wetness she’d left on his chin.
“Look at you,” he purred, only pulling away enough that he could whisper warm, heated breaths against her center. Her folds were blushed with color, a deep, wet pink that made him want to lay her bare, spread her wider. “I want you to see yourself.”
Without warning, he stood from where he’d knelt on the marble floor. His knees had started to ache from placing all his muscled weight there. He wasn’t built for submission, no matter how much he enjoyed pleasuring her.
He crossed the room to the closet, where a nearby floor-length mirror hung to decorate the space. Wrenching it from the wall, he accidentally took a nail and a bit of wood with it, but he didn’t give a shit. Not when Trixie was still lying on the bed waiting for him, her mini skirt flipped up over her hips giving him perfect, easy access. He’d pay someone to fix it.
It’d taken him all of two seconds to snap the lacy, barely there material of her red G-string. He’d buy her another, if she even cared. She’d dressed as if she’d known the night would lead them there. And maybe she did. He wanted her and she’d known it—wanted her bad enough that it had made him hate her for it, made his chest ache.
Enough that the sight of her open to him was overwhelming. Gorgeous perfection.
More than enough to destroy him, if he let it.
Heading back toward where Trixie lay, Malcolm propped the mirror up against the adjacent wall, her most intimate parts open for him. In the dimmed lights, the mirror framed her in a stunning display. He might have resigned himself to the whims of fate, to letting her cast her spell on him until his need for her felt beyond his control. But it wasn’t. He couldn’t let it be. He needed to control this. Bend it to his will before he allowed it to break him. He knew it would if he didn’t.
As he stepped away from the mirror, she didn’t close her knees, didn’t flinch at the way he’d put her on a pedestal there. Trixie ate that up, being on a stage, having all eyes on her. He’d watched her do it more times at the bar than he could count.
For everyone, but him especially.
“You like that, don’t you?” Malcolm stood beside her open legs, admiring. “Being put on display?” It was a crass question, but Trixie reveled in it.
Her tongue darted over her ruby-red lips. That lipstick would look as sexy as it was cheap wrapped in a ring around his cock. She smacked those two red curves together like she knew what he was thinking. “It’s novel. I’ll give you that, sugar.”
Malcolm shook his head. “Don’t lie to me.” He bent down, getting on his knees again before he sat beside her. He draped one of her legs over his left shoulder, turning so that he could bring his hand up from underneath and touch her while still meeting her eyes in the mirror. “Look at you.” He slipped a single finger inside her pussy. She was soaking wet, silky. “You’re dripping for me.” Malcolm eased in another finger and she pushed down into his hand wantonly. He’d never admit it, but he fucking loved that she wasn’t ashamed of her desire, that she was bold, brash, brave. Even if it drove him insane. “Do you like that idea? The thought of other people watching you?”
The mounds of her breasts lifted, still clothed but tantalizing all the same. Her breath visibly quickened from where he played with her. “When it’s you, I do.”
He growled his approval, the gold of his wolf eyes flashing in the cabin’s dim glow. “I’m going to finger-fuck your pussy now, and you’re going to watch as I do it.”
“You going to ask if I want you to?”
“Do you?”
She nodded as she bit her lower lip. She was a goddamn tease. She’d only meant to stall him. Toy with him again. She knew what it did to him.
He placed his free hand on her hip, anchoring her near the edge of the bed. “Brace yourself, baby.” He plunged his fingers into her, rough and unforgiving. In, then out again in a fast, heated rhythm. From where his tongue had warmed her, she was more than ready for him. He slipped inside easily. Trixie threw back her head, blond curls bouncing as she let out a pleasured moan. He loved watching the pressure build inside her, seeing her draw closer to climax in the mirror.
“Tell me what you see, Trixie,” he growled.
Still propped on her elbows, her eyes shot open, chest heaving as she breathed in ragged pants. “I see that I want you.”
He growled again. “More specific.”
“I want you bad.” She was riding him hard, needy.
He shook his head. In response, she smiled slightly. She wasn’t behaving like she was supposed to and she knew it. She was challenging him. He increased pressure, curling his fingers up and in slightly in a way he knew would undo her. She gasped, her cunt clenching around him.
“You’re not getting off that easy. You’re riding my hand like you haven’t been fucked hard in weeks. Tell me what you see,” he demanded.
Trixie let out a pleasured little whimper. “I see that she’s hungry for you, that she’d let you bury yourself deep if you wanted to.” She being her pussy.
Malcolm let out a rusty chuckle, shook his head again as he smiled playfully. Who was she kidding? “Who’s she?” he teased, increasing the pressure again.
He could go on like this for hours.
Until one of them would break.
It wouldn’t be him.
If there was one good thing about being a shifter, it was that the strength and stamina for a good, hard fuck came easily. Regardless of whether it was his dick, his hand, his tongue. His muscles were far from weak. Hers, on the other hand, were becoming more pliable by the second. She melted for him, turning molten in his hands.
“Who’s she?” he growled again when she didn’t answer.
“Me,” Trixie finally keened as he brushed his thumb over her clit. “Me.” She was panting now, skirting the edge of her orgasm and riding him greedily. “I want you.”
From the fire in her amber eyes, she wasn’t pleased to admit it.
“And?” He lifted a brow expectantly. He loved hearing her talk dirty, whisper nasty, naughty things into his ear. His cock twitched eagerly.
Her eyes darted to his in the reflection of the mirror, where he sat underneath one of her legs, fingering her from beneath that too-short flipped-up skirt. His own legs were sprawled out before him, biker boots holding them in place, claiming the space beneath her like he was a fucking king.
“I like being put on display,” she said brazenly.
She was exquisite. Fierce, wanton, sexy.
A woman who didn’t try to hide her desire and who would tread over any man who said she should. Good girls be damned.
Malcolm’s cock gave a heady throb against the fly of his jeans. He’d been hard before but now he was fucking granite. Flesh made steel. His balls tightened with need. “What do you want, Trixie? Tell me now and I’ll finish you.”
“Everything.” She moaned again. “All of you.”
He snarled, pleased but still demanding more. He expected perfection. Nothing less. He wouldn’t release her until she gave it. “More specific.” He increased pressure again. More speed.
She arched against him. “Your cock,” she nearly shouted into the quiet of the cabin. He could feel her climax nearing, but it was beyond her reach—until he gave it to her. From the wild look in her eyes, she didn’t care if anyone heard them. “Fuck, I want your cock, Malcolm,” she snapped. Her eyes narrowed, jaw clenched in sweet, frustrated agony even as her mussed hair fell into her face. She was daring him, daring him to take his hand away from between her legs and see what happened. “Give it to me.” Witch or not, she let out a little growl of her own.
Malcolm grinned. He’d known she had it in her. Trixie’d never truly be unsatisfied, because she knew how to take her fill, make demands. Every show was her own. He was simply lucky to be a willing participant.
“Good enough, I suppose.” He grinned from between her legs. “I think I’ll take pity on you. For today, that is.” He angled his hand up and in, driving toward that sensitive spot while his thumb rubbed over the nub of her clit.
His cock twitched, eager to break free. But this was about her.
Trixie shattered against him, coming on a wave of wet heat and pleasure. Her walls clenched around him, leaving his hand soaking in the smooth silk of her desire. She was all feeling. Clawing. Keening. Writhing in the firelight. As raw as he felt each time she teased him. She bucked and moaned, taking her fill of him until with one final, full-body shudder, she collapsed back on the bed, hot and sated. Fuck, she was breathtaking.
Pure sex on display.
Malcolm brought the hand that’d been in her to his mouth, licking her pleasure from his fingers despite the fact that she was no longer looking at him. Unlike her, he didn’t need the show. He wanted to savor every part of her. Her pleasure could feed him for days. Rising to his feet, he stood over her, still clothed and invulnerable, despite the smell of sex and sweat that hung in the air. He wouldn’t be much longer, if that was what she wanted.
Though he thought she might have had enough for today.
He needed to keep his distance, maintain control.
He watched her for a long moment as she lay there, strung out in a postorgasmic glow. She’d ridden high and she wasn’t ready to come down yet. Finally, when she opened her eyes, she stared up at him, dark lashes half-lidded and sultry. He had no idea how the fuck a woman who was a natural blond had lashes so dark, even after the mascara she caked on each morning had long since faded away, and to think he’d always thought her hair color came from the inside of a bottle. The joke was on him, he supposed.
He was vaguely aware that where it concerned her, the joke would always be on him. Unless he got in front of this. Like a bronco, he needed to take the reins and control it before it controlled him. She’d top from the bottom if he let her. He couldn’t allow that. This wasn’t permanent. It never would be.
Even as much as he craved it.
“Are you into kink?” he asked matter-of-factly. He needed to know to make a plan moving forward. He took one of her high-heeled boots in his hand, slowly unzipping it. The arches of her feet had to be aching after bartending all evening, though he supposed by now she was used to it. He’d never seen her wear anything but heels.
“I can be.” She shrugged a little. “If you’re into it.”
“I don’t care what you think I want to hear.” He moved for the other boot, stripping it off. “Tell me what you want.”
She stared up at him then, amber eyes assessing. He wanted the truth and she knew it. She laughed. A harsh, callous sound that pierced through him. He didn’t know which was worse. That she’d laughed at the question, like a man who truly wanted to know what pleasured her was an oddity, or the knowledge that came with it. The sudden awareness that, based on her reaction, all her previous partners had been selfish idiots. Unwilling to give and only wanting to take.
By his guess, some had probably still been good lays, because she knew what she liked and how to communicate her needs, but they’d never been considerate. Not from that amused look she was giving him like he was a novelty, strange. When it came to assholes, the world had plenty and so had she. He’d already known that and yet…
Suddenly, it angered him that she’d let anyone treat her that way.
That he’d treated her that way before all this.
“With you, kinky things sound amazing…” she said, though her voice trailed off.
“But?” he prompted. Her eyes were growing heavy, and he understood it. Her life had been threatened, and when someone was hurt that way, the only thing that proved useful was rest.
Or therapy, if he asked Blaze. The other shifter was like an evangelical convert when it came to discussions of feelings these days.
Not that Malcolm was ever going to fucking try it.
Trixie sighed. “But I think I’ve had enough for one day.”
“Then we call it a night.” He may have wanted control, to get in front of this situation between them so he could get a hold on it, but he wasn’t a monster. Never in that way. “You’re in charge of what we do and don’t do, Trixie. I don’t want to do anything you don’t want to. That doesn’t appeal to me. If you aren’t one hundred percent interested, I don’t want to participate. So if the answer is no, don’t hesitate. But when we are playing, I’m in charge. Understand?”
She nodded. “Understood.”
“Consent matters to me. Authenticity too.” It was more honest than he’d been with her to date, straightforward and direct. He expected perfection, but that didn’t mean he didn’t anticipate disappointment. He still remembered every slight against him too clearly. With him, old wounds didn’t fade. They simply festered into open, gaping holes inside his chest. But if they were going to do this, they needed to lay down the ground rules, make expectations clear from the start. “Don’t ever lie to me.” He held her gaze, eyes cold, harsh, cruel. “That’s my one rule. You do and we’re through. I want honesty or I don’t want it.”
Trixie sat up, flipping her skirt down to cover herself and attempting to right the mussed look of her hair. She met his gaze. “Got it, sugar. Truth is my middle name.” The side of her lips curled as she cast a coy smile at him.
Teasing enough to frustrate, considering she’d taken her pleasure and hadn’t wanted to reciprocate. Not that he expected her to, but the oversight wasn’t lost on him.
Malcolm grabbed his Stetson from the floor where it’d fallen when she’d thrown herself at him. He shrugged on his leather jacket after that. It’d be a long, cold ride to Wolf Pack Run, especially after that. His blood was still boiling in need of her. But they needed some distance for both their sakes. “I’ll call and check on you in a few days,” he said as he made his way toward the door. No need to linger. “To make sure your safe.”
“And if I’m not?” she called after him.
Standing at the door, he glanced over his shoulder at her. The wool blanket on top of the bed where she sat was barely rumpled. Next time, that’d change. “You will be,” he promised. He tilted his Stetson as he made his way out the door. “I’ll make sure of it.”