Fear the Heart (Werelock Evolution Book 2) (20 page)

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

At first, I thought I was dead. One minute I was staring into the red golden eyes of an infuriated Alessandra, and the next moment I was nowhere. My body had ceased to exist. I was a matterless being floating through a space of nonexistence. But then the next second I was standing in the little clearing in the woods behind Alcaeus’ house where I’d slept cuddled up beside Alex’s wolf two nights ago.

Oh, my God, that mad witch just telefuckingtransported me!

Alex’s black and grey wolf had been nestled atop Alcaeus’ bedding on the ground, but he stood at attention upon my arrival, yipping excitedly.

Grasping for some semblance of dignity, I ran my fingers through my damp hair and squeezed the excess water from the hem of my drenched sundress. I was now more frustrated than ever.

“Don’t get any ideas. I’m not here by choice. Your sister kicked me out.” I stomped over and plopped down next to him on the makeshift bed. “Full-on
Star Trek
beamed my ass right out of the house.”

He cocked his head, giving me a concerned, questioning look. No doubt he was wondering why I was all wet and what I had done to get myself kicked out of Alcaeus’ house. As far as I was concerned, the whole thing was his fault.

Everything was his fault.

And in my ire I just wanted to hurt him, to piss him off—anything to get his wolf to stop looking at me all adorable-like, as he was doing.

The whole situation between us was bullshit! It would never work out. And I decided to stare squarely into his beautiful wolf eyes and tell him so.

“Look, I don’t care how fantastic you smell or how much my wolf likes you. You can’t be my mate because my brother hates you and because I’m going back to Santa Cruz just as soon as my clitoris stops throbbing and I can get rid of this blood curse. Got it?”

With that, I turned my back to him and curled up on my side on the bedding, closing my eyes and praying for sleep as I diligently took deep breaths through my mouth to avoid his scent as much as possible. Despite my better intentions, I was soon crying. I tried to be quiet about it, but I knew he could tell.

A minute went by before I felt his body heat stealing up behind me. And as he inched closer, I startled when I felt smooth, warm skin rather than warm fur brush against me.

“S’okay. You’re safe.” Warm fingertips traced the length of my arm, slowly back and forth from shoulder to wrist, in a calming caress. “Wanna talk about it?”

His other hand snuck beneath my neck as he spooned in closer, and I adjusted my positioning so that my cheek lay on his inner forearm. I counted out thirty Mississippis before succumbing to the inevitable.

“I’m so miserable,” I erupted on a hiccupped sob. “I can’t stop thinking about sex. It’s fucking constant! And I hate you so much. Because all of this is your fault. Everything … it’s all your fault.”

His fingers paused. “I know.” He sighed. “I’m sorry.”

I stiffened, my tears halting in their tracks.

“Milena, I can help if you’ll only let me.
Please?
” His fingertips abandoned my arm to draw circles on the waterlogged fabric clinging to my abdomen. “Please let me help you. I promise I won’t hurt you.”

“
What
 … what’d you just say?” I sniffled, incredulous.

“Swear I won’t hurt you.”

“No, before that?”

“I said I can help. Please? Let me help you feel better.”

“Before that,” I persisted. “You said … you said …”

“I’m sorry.” His hot breath blanketed my ear.

Oh
 
…
my
 
…
God
 
…

My eyes rolled back and a shudder coursed through me.

“Come again?”

“I said, I’m
sorry,
Milena.”

My stomach flipped and a whimper escaped my throat. Wow. That felt … good.

“So,
so
sorry. For this … for
everything
 …
anything
 … for all the things I’ve ever done that have hurt you … even the things I didn’t directly do to you or mean to hurt you.”

I moaned.
Oh, heaven help me, but it felt inexplicably, outrageously good just to hear him utter a decent apology at long last!

And it wasn’t just the words, it was the sincerity behind them. I could feel how sorry he was! And it felt really,
really
fucking good inside. I never wanted him to stop.

“Ah … mm … could you … um … maybe … expand on that apology, just a teensy bit? And perhaps, be more specific?”

“Mm-hmm,” he hummed, his lips burning the shell of my ear. “Absolutely. I will happily apologize to you over and over again, as many times as it takes until you feel better.”

“Oh
 … ye-ah … ah … okay …” I approved shakily, feeling lightheaded and giddy with anticipation. “And maybe start from the beginning?”

“With pleasure,” he rasped. “Milena, I am forever sorry for the way I scared you that first night, when I shifted and chased you.”

“Terrorized,” I corrected. “Um … you completely terrorized me.”

“Right,” he acceded, “I’m sorry I …
terrorized
you that first night.”

“And then you were horribly mean and abusive to me,” I prompted helpfully when he didn’t continue. “You threatened, belittled, and insulted me,” I reminded him. “And that was before you started mind-raping my most sacred memories.”

“Right. Ah, fuck, I’m not very good at this.” He sounded defeated.

“No, no, you’re doing great!” I quickly reassured, not wanting him to get discouraged and stop. “And you’ll get better. You just need practice.”

I pressed a quick kiss to his inner forearm trapped beneath my cheek. Damnit, the skin on his arm smelled edible. I kissed him there again, inhaling deep. I might’ve also moaned.

“Mm-hmm … sure,” he said, kissing my temple in return, “I can do that.
But
I’d also like to
show
you how sorry I am … while I’m telling you.”

He shifted behind me, and leaning further up and over me, he pressed lingering kisses to my bare shoulder as his hand slid from my belly to my hip bone, spurring my heart to gallop and my clitoris to virtually sing. “Would you please accept my nonverbal apology as well?”

I froze.

“I assure you, I’m far better practiced at nonverbal atonement.” His hand glided from my pelvic bone down my leg to the hem of my sundress.

My pulse raced. My face heated.

“Please, please,
please,
baby?” he crooned, his knee moving fluidly between my limbs from behind, cleverly wedging my legs open for him as his fingers trailed back up along my outer thigh, inching the hem of my dress up as he went. “Please,
please
let me make it better?”

Oh, Lord, this was so happening!
I couldn’t think. Couldn’t breathe as the cool night air blew straight up the open space his muscled upper thigh created between my legs, hitting me where I was soaking wet.

“I’ll take such good care of you,” he promised as his fingertips meandered up my inner thigh, ever closer to where I was now throbbing with a desperation that bordered on madness. “Trust me.”

My thighs burned in anticipation, even as goose bumps covered my needy flesh. I couldn’t let this happen.
I couldn’t not let it happen.
I wanted it. I wanted him.

My sex was pulsing out of control. My entire body was screaming for him. I was sure I was going to expire on the spot if he didn’t touch me.

“Just breathe,” he said in that velvet baritone of his, melting away the final vestiges of my piteous, and largely feigned, resistance. “That’s all you have to do, my sweet girl.”

I squeezed the hand attached to his imprisoned forearm with both of mine and nodded against the crook of his arm.

At the first tentative brush of his fingertips against my ruined underpants, I had to bite my lip to stifle a shout. At the second exploratory touch, I nearly sobbed.

“You’re not breathing,” he noted as his fingertips retreated in favor of his warm knuckles ghosting back and forth over my quivering heat.

“Don’t stop,” I gasped, gulping air noisily into my lungs for good measure. “I’m breathing … swear!”

He chuckled, and the melodious sound held such genuine amusement and sweetness it warmed more than the space between my thighs.

“Never,”
he pledged, capturing my earlobe between his lips as one large, warm hand settled boldly between my legs to cup my aching sex.

I almost shrieked. Just the sensation of his hand resting between my thighs felt so divine; so perfectly right. For the first time, a glimmer of hope streaked through me that I might at last gain some measure of relief from the all-consuming, insane sexual duress that had been tormenting me for two days.

And then I did cry out as the barest perceptible pressure from the heel of his palm began to rock adeptly against my bundle of nerves in smooth, slow circles, his fingers stroking lower, palpating my entrance through the damp barrier of my underwear as foreign words rained from his lips.

My heartbeat and my emotions raced. I tried to remember how to breathe as he trailed warm, open-mouthed kisses along my neck and back up to my ear in a woefully inadequate attempted distraction from the fact that his hand had drifted higher and was now stealing beneath the front of my panties.

“Believe me,” he nibbled lovingly on my earlobe, “I’ve never been this fucking sorry before. I may never stop apologizing.”

He might’ve said something else after that, but the moment his brilliant fingers ever so delicately skimmed over my naked clitoris and between my lips to glide along my slippery folds, I was rendered hopelessly stupefied. I was quite certain the miracle of Alex’s fingers exploring my privates was the single greatest sensation I’d ever known.

And before I could wrap my head around what was happening, I was panting a steady, repetitive chant of “
oh God,
” mixing it up every so often with “
oh fuck,
” while Alex crooned softly to me in Portuguese.

I didn’t understand anything he was saying. It could’ve been gibberish for all I knew …
but in my imagination it sounded like deliciously dirty gibberish.

His fingers were already drenched with my arousal by the time the pad of his thumb assumed gentle command of my swollen clit, and one long, thick finger began to slip leisurely inside of me. A singular wail of startled pleasure escaped me as my inner walls squeezed his invading digit.

“Fuck,” he gasped. “
Relax.
” He drew my earlobe between his teeth and sucked as his finger slid insistently deeper despite the pressure of my internal muscles contracting reflexively against it. He groaned and muttered in Portuguese, repositioning his big thigh between my own to spread my legs wider and ease his access.

“Open up for me, angel,” he coaxed, “you’re okay … I won’t hurt you.”

My hapless brain may or may not have registered the meaning of his words. But my body registered the sensation of his thumb as it pressed more firmly against my clit and commenced rolling over it in tight circles. It felt as if fluid gushed from my already sopping center then, and more than merely open up for him, it felt like my muscles were now almost pulling his finger inside of me as he easily slipped it all the way in.

“Fuck.
Fuck.
That’s it,” he grunted, “that’s my sweet girl … so good … so fucking wet … so tight … so goddamned perfect …” he mumbled disjointedly before regressing to deep, sustained growling as his finger moved in and out of me.

I lost all sense of dignity and decorum then, babbling incoherently, squirming and pressing myself against his hot fingers as much as I could manage, whimpering and panting like the bitch in heat I so was.

Though mindless with need and drunk off my own desire, I still found myself growing terrified at the prospect of actually achieving that great release I was so frantic to reach now.
It was all so frightfully intimate.
And the mind-blowing sensations he was creating inside of me made me feel more exposed and vulnerable than ever before.

“
A-Alex?
” I wailed in a weak moment of pure panic.

“You’ll be okay … just let it happen,” he encouraged sweetly, his finger moving faster as the pressure that had been building inside of me escalated to an almost unbearable level. “Please,
please
let yourself feel good for me,” he begged.

My inner walls fluttered rapturously around him in response as he continued to discover me from the inside, gently stretching my tight channel with his skillful penetration that was at once easing my aching misery and heightening my acute sexual frustration and emotional trepidation.

“I’ve got you, Milena,” he assured, curling his arm that I was resting upon and clutching for dear life, and in doing so twisting my face back and up to his, as he consumed my mouth in a kiss that stole my breath and the very last of my functioning brain cells.

He growled into my mouth as his tongue thrust with a shameless, proprietary abandon that pillaged any remnants of modesty I was still clinging to, reducing my entire being to a lust-crazed, quivering mass of flesh.

“You kissed Kai,” he broke suction to murmur against my lips.

Huh?

“And Alcaeus.”

It took a few seconds longer than normal for my desire-drugged brain to process his words. Strangely, I noted he didn’t sound angry. Maybe a little surprised? And hurt.

Thankfully, his touch and pace between my legs hadn’t faltered in the slightest amid his discovery, because my body was positively keening for release.

“It was
practice
, baby,” I purred breathily back, sucking his lower lip between my teeth and tongue. “Mm-mm … not used to handling werelocks … didn’t want to hurt you …”

He growled at my cheeky response and attacked my mouth with renewed fervor, his tongue marking every inch with long, slow, deep strokes that pulled unfamiliar sounds and moans from my chest. Then he coaxed my tongue into his own mouth and sucked, and I felt my insides wildly clench at his finger as a fresh wave of arousal engulfed me.