Page 55 of UNAwere

Sybbie.

Jude.

Fuck.

He lets go, and I’m quick to comply, but it doesn’t seem to matter. He has me pinned again, and when his jaw wraps around the entirety of my throat, I freeze. It’s like he’s gone rabid, not thinking straight, his breaths huffing through his chest. My body suddenly melts into him, submitting instantly, and even though I try to fight it, it’s as if it has a mind of its own.

A whimper escapes my mouth before I can stop it.

My wolf skin sheds, again, before I can even stop it.

And then I’m lying under him, naked and gasping, and I can see nothing but the trees above our heads. Feel nothing but the firm, hardened ridges of his body against mine. I don’t realise he’s shed, too, until the warmth of his tongue soothes the curved indents his wolf teeth left on my throat.

My spine arches. I see stars.

But Briggs doesn’t stop. And I don’t ask him to.

Not even when he groans, long and low, his mouth opening again to scrape his blunt teeth against the hollow of my throat.

I moan. My hands are in his hair, gripping, pulling. My eyes roll back.

‘Yes,’ I whisper, and my voice is not mine.

‘You’re such a good girl,’ he murmurs, and he doesn’t sound like himself either. ‘Submitting to me.’

‘Jude…’ My hardened nipples scrape across his chest, and pleasure shoots all the way down to my core.

He’s rabid. Groaning, licking, sucking, laving. I’m coated in his essence, and I can feel his hot, hard cock pressing into my thigh. My mind blanks. I arch into him, submitting to every one of his whims, completely and utterly under his control.

But then he’s pulling away. And cold air hits me, stinging the saliva on my burning skin.

I sit up, panting.

‘Fuck.’ Briggs is standing, his back turned to me, every one of the muscles in his body tensed. He runs his hands through his hair, puffing. ‘Fuck…’

I quickly cover myself with my arms, my cheeks flaming.

‘Fuck, I’m sorry.’ Briggs takes in a big lungful of air. ‘I’m… sorry, Sybbie.’

‘I… No, I…’ I don’t know how to tell him that I want something he clearly doesn’t. So I just say, ‘It’s fine.’

‘Er, c’mon.’ He Turns and trots off towards where he parked the car. It’s getting late.

The drive to the motel is silent.

I’m still thrumming with need, the space between my legs aching, my nipples hard and poking through my shirt. And all I smell is him.

But I make the effort to distract myself from what happened, turning on the radio and blasting it so I can hear it over the roar of the air-conditioning.

Briggs doesn’t seem to care either, keeping his eyes on the road.

When we reach the motel, I notice it’s quite big, with a neon sign outside that boasts of a pool, a restaurant, and a bar.

‘Is this where we’re having dinner?’ I ask Briggs after he’s bought a room.

‘Mhm.’

We get our bags, and I follow him to the room to put them inside.