Page 67 of Come for Me
My hips threaten to buck and drive my hard length deep into her center and settle home within her. I belong there, sheathed in her warmth and wet core. Instead, I palm my cock with my left hand, gripping my length as I calm my wolf.
My fingers spread her opening, friction sparking her clit as they prepare her for my hard cock. I tease, slowly pushing inch by inch into her slickness, the length retreating to be joined by another one of my digits. Curling them inside, I find the spot along her inner walls that promises immense pleasure.
Her breathing catches as I massage and coax her orgasm higher. My speed is torturous, slow, and unbearably teasing her, judging by the moans and pleads forming along her lips. Her hips buck and meet the thrusts of my fingers, moaning and whimpering for me, needing more. And,fuck, do I want to give her what she needs.
My fingers slip from her entrance, rubbing her wetness along my length before returning to circle her clit.
She frowns, and I shove my fingers in, stretching and filling her as my cock would soon. They tease her g-spot, threatening to send her over the edge in a frenzy fueled by tension and need.
The need to claim her is overwhelming and all consuming.
“Is this what you want?” I say with condescension.
If only she weren’t so stubborn, she and her wolf could both get the release they need.
She nods.
“What was that?”
“Y-Yes, my king.”
“Then, say it. Tell me you want me to fuck you.”
Desire hides behind her prideful lies.
“I want you to fuck me.”
I groan as I stroke myself faster, wanting so bad to give her what we both want, but I know that pride is still there.
“Tell me you want me.”
“I want you.”
Her body is ready for me, pulsing with a need only I can give her. My wolf growls and scratches the surface, fighting against restraint.
It takes everything in me to ignore her body’s calls, but my little queen had brought this upon herself.
I grab her throat, loom over her as I smile and, barely above a whisper, say, “I knew it.”
And I do the hardest thing I’ve had to do: walk out, leaving her unfulfilled. Her torture becoming my own.
Chapter Eighteen
Dax
Adjusting my crotch, I can confidently say this is the first time I’ve had a hard-on in the dungeon.
Sam catches me, and I shrug.
I came down here to displace all my pent-up sexual frustration from my queen onto my new prisoners by engaging in interrogation.
Storming across the cold darkness as I walk through the long hallway, my stomping boots are unmistakable to my prisoners. Fear lingers as I scrape the silver-coated cell’s bars. The silver now tickles after years of my own torture as a pup. I laugh at the sensation while others would shriek in agony.
My father,may he rest in hell, used silver on me as a form of punishment. He thought it would make me stronger, and for this, he was right.
My father taught me how to torture prisoners when I was twelve, which led to torturing my first person to death at thirteen. He said the rogue killed and raped a pack member.
It was the same thing for a while. They’d bring me in, the thirteen-year-old executioner, and my victims would laugh—until I began. Word spread about me being the demented child who enjoyed torturing people. My reputation still precedes me.
