Chapter 60
Chapter 60
Chapter 60
Rhea
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It feels odd to be here, but not be here at the same time. I’m mean to be down stairs, in the kitchen, somewhere in that part of the pack house, not in this room, not in this part of the house. For the first time, I feel like I have some sort of privilege, even if it’s not really one. It’s not by my own doing. It’s not something that I’m achieving by my will. It’s his.
But still.
Aron has been gone for a while. He left me here, giving me the order to not go outside for any reason. I’m not sure what he is up to, but I can’t shake the feeling that it might be related to his plan.
It’s past midnight now and I’m not sure how I’m supposed to kill time here, especially if I can’t even talk to anyone. Even if it’s Ethel.
I open up the bag that Marcella has packed for me to find clothes to change into. The fire is making the room warm, and it’s making me even warmer. I want to change and maybe go sleep. I’m tired and exhausted.
I shuffle to find something decent to wear, but there’s nothing decent. Nothing. Digging deeper, I find something soft. Something like silk or satin. It’s a nightgown. A short nightgown. There’s no way I’m going to wear that-
The door opens and I turn to see Aron walk inside.
Why would she pack this for me?
I quickly shove it inside the bag and zip it close. Perhaps it’s the sweater that I’ll be sleeping in tonight and pants.
“You’re not changed yet,” he says, taking off his jacket. “Change into something comfortable. You can’t sleep in that, can you?”
“I’ll be fine.”
“No, you won’t. Change.”
With that, he moves over to the table on the other side of the room, where there are two glasses and a bottle of whiskey. He pours himself a drink, taking off his tie and loosening his shirt. I watch him for a moment, unable to break my gaze.
“I’m fine,” I say.
He lifts the glass to his lips, his eyes falling on me. “You will not sleep in those clothes, little wolf,” he murmurs against the rim of the glass, his tone low. “So take them off and put on something else. I’ll turn away if that’s what worries you.”
My lips part and I swallow tightly, my fingers going over the hem of the sweater. I look down at myself and then at him again. There’s nothing I’ve in there to wear, nothing that is decent enough. I can’t wear that short nightgown in front of him. I can’t.
“I’m fine,” I repeat, “Really.” I try to sound reassuring, but my voice shakes.
He takes a sip of his drink before he steps closer to me. My breath hitches as he comes close and my body tenses, unable to move from its spot. I can smell him now. And it’s strong.
He brings the glass to my lips, holding it there.
“I don’t” I start, but he cuts me.
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“Drink.”
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The corner of his mouth lifts in a crooked smile. “Drink.” He orders again, his tone softer yet rough. I can’t disobey him. I shouldn’t disobey him. I part my lips and let him pour the whiskey down my throat. It burns, all the way down, making me choke a little. I cough as the alcohol warms my stomach and spreads through my body.
It’s not that bad. It’s actually quite nice. The taste, the burn, the warmth–it’s all so nice.
He empties the glass before setting it aside and returning back to me. Before I know it, his hands are on my face, his palms warm and rough. He angles my chin, bringing my eyes to his. I can see his gaze, the intensity in them, and the darkness.
My heart pounds inside my chest.
“You’re afraid?” he asks, and I see him bite down on his lower lip. “I can tell.”
“No.”
He smiles at my response. “No,” He whispers, his thumb brushing over my cheek. “Then, you’re not afraid. You’re just nervous. But why are you nervous, Rhea?”
I try to swallow again, but the words are stuck in my throat.
“Tell me.”
“I’m not ” I begin but he silences me with his thumb, his finger tracing over my lips.
“I can feel your pulse picking up,” His thumb moves from my lips to my throat. I can sense the pressure on the sides of my neck, the blood pulsing against his fingers. “And it’s beating fast.”
I close my eyes, taking a deep breath. My body is burning and it’s because of him. I can feel it inside of me. And wearing the sweater when the fire is warming up the room enough isn’t really helping me.
All I want to do is take it off.
His mouth lowers to mine, brushing over my lips. It’s a soft graze, but he doesn’t kiss me. I open my eyes to see him so close that I can see every inch of him. Every inch.
“You’re not saying a word,” He says. “Is it because I’m close? Because you want me to kiss you?”
There’s a small laugh that escapes his mouth. He doesn’t wait, he does it anyway. Without any warning, without any signal. His mouth crushes against mine and he kisses me. He kisses me hard. There’s no restraint or reluctance. His mouth is on mine, his teeth biting into my lips and his tongue exploring me. My heart races and my body turns to ice and then fire, burning all at the same time.
I can feel it. That feeling again.
From that night when he did it first.
The hunger and the desire.
He lets me go for a second and then he’s back to kissing me. This time it’s slower, deeper, more intense. I’m breathless. It’s like I don’t have the strength to push him away, to make him stop. I don’t want to stop. I want him to kiss me, to kiss me until I can’t breathe.
His hands don’t touch me, but they are there. On the sides of my arms, and then on my chest. He pushes me back and I stumble, my knees hitting the side of the bed. I fall back and he follows after, his body towering over mine. I’m trapped
under him.
My heart hammers inside my chest, and the heat from the fire is burning me. It’s too much. And the collar on my neck
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makes it worse.
“Take it off,” I whisper, touching the leather that’s on my neck. “Please.”
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He draws his hand to my throat, his fingers grazing over the collar. He touches the material and then unclasps the hooks, pulling it off. He throws it on the side of the bed before his mouth is on mine again.
I can breathe a little, take it all in, and let myself go. I can’t think, can’t feel, and can’t do anything but kiss him back. It’s all I can do. All I want to do. He wants it too and it’s clear.
I can feel him.
He groans against my mouth before he pulls away.
“You’re making me insane,” He says, his breathing ragged against my skin. “Absolutely insane.”
His mouth goes over my jaw and down to my throat, and then to the center of my neck. He kisses it. He’s kissing me. I can’t even think, or feel, or say anything.
“Tell me, little wolf, do you want to know what’s inside that head of mine?”
“Yes.”
He moves lower, his mouth going past my neck and down to my chest. His fingers are there too, pulling the sweater up and above my head. I don’t even get a chance to react or protest. I’m too caught up in the moment to do anything. I’m helpless.
And then he’s back, his hands are on my waist and his thumbs are tracing the underside of my bra. He’s looking down at me, his gaze on me. I feel his weight on top of me, heavy. I can’t move, I can’t breathe, and I can’t think.
“I want to ruin you in every way possible,” he says. “And then put you back together again. I want to make you beg, make you scream, make you cry. I want to see what you look like when you fall apart. When you break. When you’re at your most desperate.”
I swallow hard, my body shivering.
“Because you’re mine for the taking.”
He reaches behind my back and unclasps my bra. My heart drops. I can’t–this is too much. I’m too exposed.
“Aron,” I whisper, covering myself with my hands. “Wait-”
I’m not ready. I can’t. Not like this.
I’m not ready.
He stops, and pulls back. His eyes meet mine, and they’re dark, so dark that I can’t look away. I’m afraid, but I’m not sure if it’s fear or something else.
“Do you want me to stop?” he asks.
I nod, my voice trembling. “Please.”
