Cinder's Wolf: A Shifter Retelling of Cinderella (A BBW Shifter Fairy Tale Retelling Book 2) (8 page)

C
ynthia Cinders didn’t
like to be wrong. Being wrong led to mistakes. Complications.

She knew this from experience.

She had been wrong when she was seven and so sure her mommy would love her forever. Forever only lasted until Mommy got too tired of her family, moved in with her boyfriend in Paris, and did so much coke one day she didn’t wake up the next morning.

When she was eight, Cynthia had sworn to everyone in her ballet class that her dad was going to video their spring performance and send it to his friends on
Good Morning America
. 

Dad never even showed. 

His assistant did though, with a video camera. Her name was Lucille Miller, and a year later, it was Lucille Cinders-Miller. Oh, how Cynthia had loved Dad’s assistant. 

Cynthia’s stretch of “wrongness” didn’t end with puberty, unfortunately. When she was eighteen, she was wrong to assume that her father trusted her enough to leave her any real amount of money. 

She was wrong when she was twenty-three, when she got an invitation to the Supercharge incubator, which promised that it’d connect her new cleaning company with all the best investors in Silicon Valley. Instead, she ended up dating a billionaire named Daniel Hawthorne who promised her the whole world until she finally confessed she loved him. Then he cheated on her, broke up with her by telling her she was too fat, and proceeded to blacklist her from receiving any and all funding on the West Coast, while suing her for copyright infringement.

She had spent a year embroiled in lawsuit hell, losing all of her savings before she tucked her tail between her legs and ran back home to live with her stepmother to try to salvage what remained of her company. 

And she was wrong now. 

About Rex.

Only this wasn’t the old kind of wrong. 

This was the good kind.

As Cynthia felt his body crushing her own, his kiss stealing all hope of oxygen from her lungs, she reveled in her wrongness. Whatever he was, Rex wasn’t another Daniel Hawthorne. He saw her for who she really was. The pauper in the princess’ clothes, determined to become a queen. He wanted that woman.

So fuck the consequences. Even if this could only ever be just a moment, she’d seize it with both hands and squeeze until it hurt. 

And fuck Rex. 

Literally. 

Her hand, which had been clutching the railing, let go, and she tumbled into his arms. The strange tingling on her ankle was too much to bear. She couldn’t stand. He accepted her weight with ease. His breath was loud in her ear, drowning out the faraway drone of the cars below. “Cynthia.” 

She melted into him. The way he groaned her name was so simple. So pure. It made all of her questions into a series of statements. Rex wanted her. She wanted him. 

He bent over, scooping her up bridal style and cradling her close to his chest. He was going to take her. Her vision swirled with kaleidoscopes of stars when his hands made contact with the Band-Aid concealing her mark of hairs. It wasn’t painful exactly, Cynthia realized as she tried to steady her breathing. In fact, it felt really, really good. 

 She surrendered completely to the sensation, resting her head against the crisp fabric of his soft dress shirt. Her fingers tiptoed between the buttons lazily, but she wasn’t able to focus enough to undo them. Her core throbbed. 

The hundred feet between the bedroom and the patio were a blur. All she remembered was smiling when she noticed he had left the wineglasses on the table. Which was strange because she usually hated mess. But in the world of perfect control Rex had, somehow dirty dishes were reassuring. 

The bedroom, however, she remembered vividly. 

Rex pushed open the door with his back, carrying her bridal style over the threshold. Where the rest of his house was designed to be opulent without being fully intimidating, his bedroom held nothing back. 

The wood was a darker grain more ebony then cherry, the bed massive, and the headboard larger still, taking up half the wall. There was so much here that her eye didn’t know what to follow. The walls must’ve been thicker too because the sudden silence, other than their breathing, was oppressive. 

Instinctively, Cynthia clutched at Rex’s neck tighter, as if he could protect her. This was a mistake. Rex chuckled darkly, the sound vibrating through his chest and tickling her nipples. “Frightened, Princess?” 

“No,” she lied. 

She was terrified.

She was just more turned on than afraid.

“Good,” he said. Then he dropped her.

Her heart soared into her throat and her mouth popped open in shock even before her back made contact with the bed. White fabric from her dress fluttered upward before falling back down to pool around her limbs, the sequins a scratchy contrast against the silk sheets. But that wasn’t the only reason her skin prickled.

She couldn’t see Rex in the dark, but she could feel him. Coiled. Ready to take what was his. To take
her
. 

Then his body was slanting over hers. He had taken off his shirt, so his feverish bare skin warmed her own. His finger flirted over the hard ridges of his naked abs.

“You look perfect on my bed,” he growled. 

“I don’t know how—” 

His mouth swooped down and captured her lips in a brutal kiss. Her tongue met his stroke for stroke, and she felt him start in surprise. No doubt all the models he’d dated didn’t know how to kiss. Girls who made a living solely on their looks never did. Why bother when guys would cut off their balls just to touch you?

But Cynthia knew how to work, and her tongue was no exception. She pulled him down further, her tongue teasing his taste buds. His weight forced her down into the mattress, trapping her, and his shock soon ebbed.

Once he was finished plundering her mouth, he spun her over onto her stomach. The sensation of waiting was even worse like this when she couldn’t see him. He knew it, taking his time with her, making it clear how very much she was at his mercy. 

Something wet brushed against the back of her neck, and then the fabric of her dress began to give way. It wasn’t until her gown was already halfway off that she realized he was undoing it with his teeth. When he pulled the dress down over her feet, lifting her up to remove it, she didn’t resist. 

“One thing you’ll learn about me, Princess, is that in bed—I’m in control. And tonight…” He ran a finger along the hem of her sheer bikini-like panties. She didn’t need to see him to feel the casual ownership in his touch. “I’m going to spank you.”

Fuck, that shouldn’t have made her as hot as it did. Her core tightened as if that could contain the wet wanting. Her hard nipples pushed against the silky sheets.

“Say no if you don’t want me to.” 

She bit her lip. Her throat was closing now too. She couldn’t breathe as afraid of saying no as she was of saying yes. She couldn’t think. She wanted —

Smack.

His cupped hand made contact with her ass. Hard. Radiations of pain flowed through her, pleasure on its heel. 

“Y-you actually spanked me,” she stuttered finally. Or she meant to stutter. It came out as a moan. 

He hooked a thumb underneath her panties, pulling them to the side, exposing her reddening butt to the sting of fresh air. “You like that, don’t you?” 

“I—”

His hand squeezed her left cheek. Sticky wetness dripped onto his comforter. It was messy. This was… “Do it again.” 

His hand left her ass. “Do what again?”

“I’m not going to say it—” 

“You’re right, Princess. You’re not going to say anything.” 

Smack. 

This time, he hit a little harder, enough that it should’ve hurt. And it did. The force of the blow send her thoughts skittering and her her heartbeat boomed so loud it drowned everything else. Her lips felt too swollen to speak.

Cynthia could feel him winding back, readying for another hit, but there was nothing she could to stop it. She’d have to accept it. She wanted to. She closed her eyes and furrowed her brow in sweet anticipation. But it never came. 

“You’re going to beg,” he growled. “For every last dirty thing I to do you tonight. You are going to beg me.” 

Cynthia gritted her jaw, even as she yearned to dip her finger into her center and give herself the friction she craved. “In your dreams, Rex,” she hissed.

Still facedown, she felt more than saw Rex move to the foot of the bed. He parted her legs, groaning. No doubt because he saw what a mess she had made of his bedspread. Cynthia frowned against the lush silk of his pillow.

Something wet and warm tickled the edge of her center, and Cynthia jolted backward. His tongue. 

She didn’t get far as Rex’s strong hands grabbed her thighs and dragged her back to him. “You don’t move a muscle, Princess.” His lips tickled the curls of her pale landing strip. Then, to punctuate his command, he took her labia into his mouth and sucked. 

Cynthia’s hands shot back behind her, digging her fingers into the leather upholstered headboard. “O-or what?” 

His lips left, leaving her heart pounding and her core suddenly cold. “Or I leave you wanting.” 

Cynthia scooted her hips back toward his mouth. Words were far away. Everything but him, and her need for him to be inside her, was far away. 

“Oh no.” He chuckled. Cynthia found herself picturing what he looked like as he stared at her, amused at her sexual frustration. Totally in control. “I told you, you would have to beg. That’s exactly what you’re going to do.” 

The image only stoked Cynthia’s need. “Please?” 

Gently, too fucking gently, he licked her once. “Please what?” His breath was hot against her inner thighs.

“F-fuck me,” she said, although the words almost got lost, muffled against the pillowcase as they were. 

“What did you say?” His hands roamed her body, claiming every curve they came into contact with. She let him. 

“I said fuck me, Rex West,” Cynthia said, louder this time. He may have been disciplined, but even a disciplined man had a breaking point. But that wasn’t his.

His voice was still even, controlled, even though it was rough and needy. “I didn’t hear a please.” 

Smack. 

Open palmed, his hand connected with her ass once more. Pain, pleasure, and then the sensation of his thumb plunging into her from behind, hooking upward right to her G-spot, melded. An orgasm sparked at the edges of her consciousness, but it didn’t catch. 

“Please, fuck me,” Cynthia yowled. “Oh God, I’m begging you. Please!” 

“Fuck yes I will, Princess,” Rex said. He turned her onto her back with a grunt. 

To her dismay, Cynthia noticed that he still had his pants on. She lunged toward him to rip them off, and he let her. He tilted his head back, all of his perfectly formed muscles flexing as he leaned into her touch including the deep v pointing down towards his cock. Her fingers flew and struggled around his belt. Rich Italian leather.

He caressed her cheek, and then tugged down his pants with such force that it should’ve ripped the seam. Instead, it just unlatched the belt buckle. Cynthia stared in open mouthed wonder as his cock burst free of his clothes. He was huge. Almost inhumanly large. A knife of anxiety pierced her bubble of pleasure. 

How would he fit? 

But sex with Rex was like a rollercoaster; by the time she was able to see how dangerous the fall was, it was already too late. A second later, Rex was pushing her back toward the headboard, spreading her legs further as he went. 

Then in a single, long thrust, he plunged into her. 

“Fuck!” Her entire body parted, shifting to give way to his hardness. It stretched her wide open. He didn’t make any concessions, didn’t slow down. Instead, he planted his arms on either side of her, slamming into her again and again in thrusts almost mechanical in their regularity.

“Ah!” Cynthia cried, tossing her head back. All her worries, her fears, were burned to ashes. Nothing, no matter how messy or complicated, could be her fault now. For just this second, she was his.

“Come for me,” Rex cried.

Her orgasm dawned over her whole body, not just from her center, but all the way down to her ankle. She was splayed open, shaking for him. Her soul unfurled, bleeding into her every nerve, until the force of the orgasm rocked her whole being.

It was the best thing she had ever felt. 

It was fucking terrifying. 

The sensation ended quickly, like a sparkler being plunged into water, leaving her feeling naked on the bed, even with Rex’s warm body hovering over her. He slipped out of her, and she watched him go, trying not to wonder what he was thinking. 

How good it had been a second ago only made the moment after all the emptier. He rolled over and flipped on the lamp, shining light on the mess of the room. Her once glamorous dress was discarded on the floor like laundry day gone wrong. In the reflective surface of the polished cherry wardrobe, Cynthia caught a distorted version of her reflection. Her elegant updo looked more like one of Lucille’s ill-advised poofs.

Cynthia turned onto her side, clutching her knees to her chest in a fetal position. Her stomach was cushioned up against her boobs, and the feeling of her own softness was comforting, but not enough. Her heartbeat hadn’t calmed.