Page 87 of Besieger
“Let me touch you. Please, I’ll be good!” he grovelled, desperate for more.
Leitian stopped and lifted her hips until the tip of his cock barely grazed her pubic lips, and for one excruciating moment Stefan thought she was going to get up and leave him like this, naked and alone, denied her satisfaction and praise.
“I can be good!” he repeated, his voice dropping to a desperate mewl, and his eye searched hers, hidden in the mass of hair that had fallen across her face and down her perky breasts. There was a glow around her resembling a halo, encompassing her and the whole room, pulsing in sync with his heartbeat. Stefan’s body was burning up; Leitian’s palms against his chest were scorching.
“Please...”
The sound that left his mouth was molten, and he saw her brows furrow before she nodded, slowly at first, then with a conviction that made his own breath hitch.
“You may move as you wish,” Leitian said, guiding his hands on either side of her. She was by no means petite, but his hands appeared too big and rough against her flesh; they enveloped too much of her. Yet he was the prey here, ensnarled in her honeyed trap.
She positioned herself on his lap and rubbed her clit against his cock, the wet heat of her excited him even more than when he had been inside her. Now that she had given him permission to act, Stefan found himself suddenly at a loss where to begin.
Leitian felt so fragile, as if she might break between his palms.I can make her stronger, harden her so my teeth and claws would not hurt her. All it takes is a bite… a scratch when the moon is full, and she will be like me. A predator that would be his equal and mate; not like Irena or Vasili, but his—and his alone.
The creature that had tainted Stefan had done it to provoke and frighten. It had not cared if Stefan survived or not, but for Leitian… Stefan would do anything. He enjoyed being at her mercy, the sigh of her approval when he did good. He would offer this gift, this animalistic metamorphosis and beg Leitian to let him turn her. He wanted to show her all of him.
STEFAN, 2017
Stefan had designed the coffee shop’s interior with summer in mind: wide windows and glass doors he could slide open and turn into an open space, right there onto the street. He rotated the potted plants, moving them with the arc of the sun: evergreens, cacti, orchids and ficuses. Posters by local artists decorated the walls, and magazines were scattered in the nooks and corner tables to browse through if clients fancied reading about coffee, architecture or the odd modern art Stefan’s wife, Lei, loved.
His office and the storage room were on the second floor, his very own organised mess, together with a long sofa he liked to doze on when it was quiet. Sometimes, rather than closing for the night, Pavel—one of the few werewolves under the pack leader’s tutelage—slept upstairs and Stefan would find him in the mornings, reminding him that the Coffee Bean was not a bed and breakfast.
Despite the Bean’s working hours or seasons, Stefan always showed up at five in the morning to prepare for the day. He switched on the machines, reset the timers, checked the settings on the grinder, experimented with new blends, and mopped the floors. He was usually finished by the time Victor pulled up with the morning delivery of pastries. Some cafés prepared their own food, croissants or sandwiches, but Stefan had neither the space nor the patience to handle any of that. The arrangement he had with the bakery suited him just fine.
Especially when it also allowed him to keep a close eye on the werewolf who had turned up one day and, reluctantly, joined the pack.
“Can you trust him?” Irena asked, munching on a biscuit, when Victor had first appeared in Tarnovo.
“Better to have himwithus than roaming around on his own, right?” Stefan had shrugged, a little irritated with his ability to converse in English; with Victor here, Stefan would have to give lectures and guidance for the pack in English…unless Victor somehow magically learnt Bulgarian. Lei used English and Italian on a daily basis for her work, but she was rarely home these days, so whatever struggles Stefan had with his pronunciation and vocabulary, he had to deal with them himself.
Now, it had been over a year since the German wolf had come to Tarnovo; Stefan’s English had improved, and Victor’s Bulgarian was delightfully atrocious. They had managed to teach each other a dozen words in their native tongues for cooking and baking, if nothing else.
“All done, boss.”
Stefan looked up from his notebook at Vasili who had finished arranging the chairs and tables, and had pulled down the blinds. It was already dark outside, and it felt as if the Bean was closing later than usual today. Stefan was not fond of the winter months. They made patrons eager to order warm drinks to get them through the day, but it also meant there was less sunlight, fewer hours of the day spent outdoors. Stefan preferred summer; he savoured the heat on his skin, the prospect of a holiday by the seaside or in the mountains, trekking under the shade of the trees. He liked his work and all he had accomplished with the Bean, but he thrived outdoors, eager to shed his human skin and run with the pack.
“Are you covering for Pavel tomorrow?”
Vasili nodded as he untied the apron around his waist.
“Good.” Stefan smiled, and shut his notebook. A few scattered slips of paper protruded from the volume, and he pushed them back between the pages. “About the delivery…”
His eye caught a movement outside and he squinted at the direction of the door. A familiar figure crossed the street and stood on the pavement, looking in, the Germanic face peeking above the ‘closed’ sign. Stefan tilted his head, huffing.Speaking of the devil...
“Viki! I didn’t know you were back!” Stefan greeted Victor when the latter pushed the door open and nodded first at Stefan, then at Vasili. “Sasho stopped by this morning but didn’t say you were home.”
“I’m not staying at the flat,” Victor answered in a measured tone.
“You are here, either way.” Stefan grinned, eager. “Does that mean I can actually order now? Your man at the bakery does not like it when I ask for new things. Says they are not going to sell. You—you are easier to negotiate with. You like my ideas,” and here Stefan’s smile grew wider, a crooked, scarred smile with a hint of teeth.
Victor frowned, his body visibly stiffening.
“I never said that.”
Stefan bit his lip. He could feel the espresso he had chugged earlier take root in his blood. The sight of Victor put him in a good mood.
“Butyou were thinking it. I saw that calculating look you get when you want to try something out. You look serious.”
