Have there been some absolutely terrifying moments today? Hell yes. Being carried through the sky at impossible speeds without the comforting walls of an airplane, nothing but magical blue light and Remus’s arms keeping me from plummeting to my death—yeah, that was fucking terrifying. Arriving at this isolated castle and realizing just how enormous and powerful he was, how completely alone and vulnerable I’d made myself...
Terrifying.
But then Remus had been kind.
Arrogant, completely out of touch with modern morality, bloodthirsty in ways that should probably send me running, andmaybe just a tiny bit sociopathic—but also unexpectedly gentle and considerate.
And way,waytoo sexy for either of our good.
He looked at me like I was something precious and rare, not something he was settling for or tolerating. Michael never looked at me the way Remus does—like he’s genuinely hungry for me, like he can barely keep his hands to himself.
I have a strong suspicion that if Remus and I ever... well. I think it would involve a hell of a lot more than Michael’s pathetic two-pump routine. What would it be like to be with a man who could actually stay hard? Because something tells me our arrogant god definitely could.
I slap my hands over my face, groaning into the silk pillows. Dear God, why do you do this to me?
Now I can’t get the thought of Remus out of my head. What he might be like...everywhere. He has wings and a tail, but the rest of him looks so perfectly, magnificently human.
Then again, there’s that whole other face situation. Another entire person sharing his body. He called him his brother.
I furrow my brows, the wine making my thoughts fuzzy and bold. Does that mean there are... two of everything down there too?
I shake my head and realize I’m definitely feeling all that expensive French wine. At the same time, my hand starts drifting down my stomach, and I discover I don’t actually care about being drunk right now. It’s just me in this ridiculously luxurious bedroom, alone with my increasingly vivid fantasies of the powerful body that was pressed against mine earlier while he whispered those absolutely filthy promises in my ear.
My fingers slip beneath the waistband of my jeans, and I hesitate for just a moment.
Am I really going to do this? Get myself off while thinking about the dangerous, complicated man who literally kidnapped me today?
But then I remember the low, rough rumble of his voice:I want you trembling and aching and begging me for more.
A gasp escapes my throat as my middle finger finds my already swollen clit. Jesus, I’m soaking wet just from thinking about him, just from remembering the heat in his eyes. A shudder runs through my entire body as I start moving my finger in slow, deliberate circles.
He said he hasn’t had much experience with humans outside of warfare. Would he know how to be gentle with my body? How to take his time and worship every inch of me like he promised?
But he didn’t push earlier when plenty of regular guys would have tried to pressure me. And he swore he’d never hurt me. Plus, this is just the safety of my own imagination.
So I let myself sink into the fantasy—imagining those large, powerful hands gripping my ass exactly like he described, really savoring every curve and soft place. Not just tolerating my body but genuinely appreciating it, worshipping it like it’s exactly what he’s been craving.
Michael used to give me these backhanded compliments about “not minding” that I was a bigger girl, like he was doing me some kind of favor by being attracted to me.
But the way Remus looks at me... like I’m exactly the type of woman he wants, not someone he’s settling for. I remember reading that beauty standards throughout history have been so different from our current obsession with skinny. The hunger and lust burning in his eyes when I walked away from him felt so real, so intense?—
I turn onto my side, curling around my hand as my movements become more urgent against my clit.
He’s strong enough to handle a woman like me. Powerful enough to make me feel delicate and desired instead of awkward and too much.
Would his fingers know exactly how to touch me? Would he be curious about what makes me gasp and moan? Are his dirty promises just words, or would he actually put me on that enormous four-poster bed, spread my thighs wide, and kiss his way down my soft stomach with that wicked mouth of his?
A breathless whimper escapes my throat at the mental image, and I bury my face in the pillow. I can feel my orgasm building faster than usual, but then again, I don’t typically have such vivid, immediate inspiration.
I imagine Remus somewhere else in this ancient castle right now, and I wonder if he’s thinking about me too. Is he in his own bed, replaying our encounter in the kitchen?
Is he... touching himself while thinking about me?
I bite down on the pillow as my fingers slip lower, teasing at my entrance. I imagine his huge, powerful body covering mine, the weight of him pressing me into the mattress. The feeling of his hardness against my flushed, wet flesh that’s so ready for him.
Is he imagining the same thing? Stroking himself while thinking about what it would feel like to slide inside me, to make me gasp his name?
“Remus,” I whisper-moan into the pillow, working my fingers faster until the pleasure crashes over me in waves that leave me shaking and breathless.
