Padding across the marble heated floor, I go to the mirror. My hair looks like a feral cat attacked it while I slept. Smoothing it down, I study my neck in the mirror.
My eyes widen as I see the patch of skin that’s red and inflamed, looking irritated as hell. Okay, so that wasn’t some phantom side effect of the medication. But are those…scratch marks?
I lean closer to the mirror. Those are definitely small scratches on my neck, right over where Guerilla’s tattoo used to be before I got it removed.
It isn’t the first time I’ve clawed at my skin in my sleep, wanting to remove his mark and claim off me. It used to happen more often before I got the tattoo removed.
The red and irritated skin is new, though.
As I stare at my neck, a wave of relief washes over me, knowing Guerilla’s tattoo is gone. Just like Keifer said, it’ll be the equivalent of handing him divorce papers when I finally see him. I’m giddy at the thought of telling him to go fuck himself.
I’m not ready yet to face him, though, but I promise myself I’ll be ready soon.
Soon, Leeva.
Hayes’ voice whispers, sounding so lifelike, as if he’s actually here, and I whirl around, expecting him to be standing behind me.
There’s no one there, of course. But my heart thunders as I rush out of the ensuite, needing to make sure he isn’t in the bedroom or anywhere else in the suite.
He’s not here, though; no one is. But those words, said in his voice, sounded so real.
Is my medication causing mild hallucinations as a lingering side effect, especially since I didn’t eat yesterday?
Rubbing my forehead and shaking my head at myself, I return to the ensuite and turn on the shower. I let it warm up before stepping in and close my eyes as the water from the rainfall showerhead cascades over me.
With the steam and heat swirling around me, a musky smell fills the air. It can’t be my arousal from having the best sex of my life at Hedon because I showered yesterday morning. And there’s a distinct musky male smell, but I must be imagining or hallucinating that. Even if I hadn’t showered the morning after going to Hedon, my masked wolf wore a condom, so there’s no way I’m smelling his cum on me.
But the smell—imagined or not—throws me back into that room at Hedon with visions of what he promised he would do to me and what would’ve happened if I hadn’t run. Me riding the Sybian Saddle, choking on the masked man’s beautiful cock, and then him covering me with his cum. In my mind, the spurts of cum cover my face, neck, and breasts, and then he rubs it into me.
My sex pulses at the fantasy of cum play.
I grab the shower gel and liberally apply it to my body. But it’s like that smell is ingrained in my nostrils, reminding me again of all the pleasure I experienced at Hedon.
‘I’m going to cover you in my cum. Paint your skin with it. Would you like that?’
His words, his promise, make my pussy thrum with need.
“I can’t go back there,” I sternly remind myself, suspecting my mind is making up the male scent on me, trying to convince me to go back to Hedon to live out the kinky fantasy of him coming all over my skin. Even though the warning is logical and the wise thing to do, I feel my resolve weakening.
“I just need an orgasm.” I’m desperately trying to turn my mind away from thoughts of going back to Hedon tonight.
Leaning against the wall, I dip my hand between my legs. My needy pussy is happy for something to fill it, even if it’s not what it truly wants.
Which is my wolf’s big, thick cock.
Pleasure rolls through me as I sink two fingers into myself and use my other hand to play with my clit. It would be so much better if it were him, but this will have to do.
I masturbate, leaning against the wall as my mind fills with memories of Hedon. The way I sensed his stare across the room. The way my entire body tingled with alertness when our eyes met, and his gaze raked over me. The way I suddenly knew he’d be the one to introduce me to exploring what my body had been craving.
The way we had approached, then stopped to watch the group sex on the sofa.
My pussy clenches around my fingers, remembering the scene. Discovering that I liked watching people have sex.
Check the voyeurism kink on my list, please.
The main room of the club had been filled with people doing sexual acts; some one-on-one, some with groups of various sizes. The main stage had almost twenty people up there.
But when the masked man and I stopped to watch the group on the sofa—so close to hear everything, so close to touch—I could see the subtle shifts of expression as they found their pleasure in such hedonistic ways.
