Then I pull out—slow and final—and my cum slips down her thigh.
She tilts her head, bracing for my lips on her throat. That’s the usual. Tonight, I cross a different line.
My mouth finds hers, and our kiss is slow, intentional, nothing like the way I’ve kissed her before. My lips press to hers with a softness I’ve never allowed myself.
She breathes into me, her mouth opening beneath mine with a shiver that makes my grip tighten.
My tongue slides against hers—unhurried, coaxing, tasting the ruin I left in her. She kisses me back as if she needs it more than air, like this is the one thing she didn’t realize she was starving for.
Her lips part wider, tongue sweeping into my mouth, wet and sweet and fucking real in a way that wrecks me. I groan into her, deep and quiet, as her hands slide up my chest. Her fingers clutch my shirt, trying to fuse us.
She pulls me closer, tongue stroking mine, the kiss turning deeper and hungrier, but never rushed.
We savor it—the glide, the heat, the softness under the filth.
And for one moment, we stop pretending this is only about fucking.
This is more.
“Now… walk back in there with my cum running down your legs.”
She swallows hard, and her eyes flick behind the mask.
“Yes, My Wolf.”
I smooth her gown back into place. My fingers linger on her hips, and drift along the curve of her thigh before falling away. I adjust her mask and let my touch ghost down her jaw, refusing to break the spell too quickly.
Her cheeks flush with color, lips parted, chest still heaving. But I can already see her posture pulling tight, her armor sliding back into place. Poise, elegance, and composure—everything she wears so well.
But beneath it, I know what she’s still carrying.
“I’ll see you soon,” I say, letting my thumb brush the soft underside of her wrist before releasing her. She doesn’t look back when she steps away, but I watch her go.
Laurette slips back into the hum of the ballroom, as though nothing happened. Shoulders squared. Chin high. The fall of her gown flawless. Only the faint flush in her cheeks betrays her, but the maskcovers that.
Her parents are in deep conversation with Richard. She slides into their circle, all polite smiles and poised charm.
No one pays attention. No one but him.
Jon David stands across the room, drink in hand, his stare locked on her. A dog on a scent.
His jaw is tight, suspicion etched deeply in every line of his face. He knows something happened. He can sense it, but he doesn’t know what. And it’s driving him insane.
I see it all from the shadows near the balcony doors. I watch him watch her.
He’ll keep guessing and obsessing. He’ll never know what she let me do. What she begged me for.
He had her once, but he’ll never have her again. Not while I’m still breathing. Not while there’s blood left in my fucking body. Not while she’s addicted to the way I fuck her.
Chapter 30
Laurette Devereux
My Wolf fuckedme against the wall like I was a whore, then kissed my mouth like I was a precious treasure.
Even now, I touch my lips—just lightly—a ghost of pressure where his mouth lingered.
It wasn’t the fucking that undid me. It was the kiss.
