Page 9 of Lone Wolf (Red Rivals)

CHAPTER 9

Sunny

I stomp just about all the way out of the main house, but once I’m out and walking through the night garden, my anger dies down a little. I don’t even know why I went off like that. What else was I expecting?

That Ariadne was actually trying to protect me?

I scoff at myself and even give a small little smile at how dumb I’m being. Just because I jumped at her with my mouth in that closet and she didn’t literally kill me, it doesn’t mean a damn thing.

Ariadne is always about the mission.

Still…we really did work well together, and I was in this weird state of heightened arousal the whole damn time. I wonder if the other mercs feel that same way? If so, I can see why they stay in the game. And for the money, of course.

And maybe, for a few of them—like me—there’s a personal stake.

That thought sobers me, and I slow my steps as I get closer to the dorms. I don’t actually feel like sleeping. I’m wired still, and the idea of getting into bed like a good little girl after my first successful gig for the Styx Syndicate…well, it doesn’t seem like I’d be honoring the night.

I guess I could absolutely rail myself with my vibrator. I consider that for a hot second, but the fact is, I need serious action to get rid of all this pent-up adrenaline.

And because I have a sneaking suspicion that my mind would go directly to one woman, and there’s no way I’m gonna orgasm over that asshole.

I run upstairs, take off the clothes and makeup, and then I dress up in my sweats and head back toward the house. My best bet tonight is a workout, so I can blow off some steam and clear my head. And at this time of night, when it’s coming up to daylight, I know there are fewer people around than any other time. The Styxies tend to be night owls or early risers, no in-betweens. Four a.m. is the perfect time when you want to work out alone.

And normally I’d be right. But as soon as I walk into the gym, I hear the energetic punches of someone working out on the bag. They’re hidden by the heavy swaying cylinder, but I already know who it is, because I know how shit my luck is. And when she dances around to the side, I confirm it.

Ariadne pauses for a microsecond when she sees me, and then goes right back to punching as though she wishes the bag was me.

For a second, I consider walking back out. But why should I let her scare me off? I’m not the asshole in this equation. So I don’t say a word, I just head to the side where I start stretching and warming up.

But I find it hard to stay focused. I keep sneaking peeks at Ariadne, whose form is impeccable even just kickboxing at half-speed with the bag. She’s wearing her usual black tank and leggings, and the sheen of sweat over her skin is making her glow and sparkle under the lights overhead.

And I get the impression that maybe she’s watching me, too.

“What are you doing here?” she asks at last.

“Working off steam. What are you doing here?”

“The same.” Her expression stays impassive but she doesn’t looks away.

An unspoken challenge. I like it.

“You feel like another dance?” I ask her, nodding toward the sparring mats stored up against the side of the room.

“If you want a beating, I’m happy to provide one.”

She sounds like one of those scary androids, totally calm, completely devoid of any expression. But I can see the look in her eyes.

And I want to make her crack. “Let’s go.”

I pull down a few mats and arrange them across the gym floor. Ariadne helps silently, and then we square off, her eyes never leaving mine. I bounce on the balls of my feet, feeling the springy give of the mat beneath me.

I throw the first combination—a jab-cross that cuts through the air fast. She blocks both with ease, her forearms solid as steel, and then counters with a low kick that grazes my thigh as I twist away.

She pivots smoothly to maintain the distance between us.

“I know that’s not the best you’ve got,” I say, low and challenging as we circle each other. “Come on and hurt me, Frostbite—if you can.”

Something flickers in her eyes—a crack in the ice—and her attacks sharpen. Her kicks aim for my ribs with more force, her fists find their marks in my gut. She ducks under to sweep at my legs. I barely leap out of the way.

And I laugh. I’m enjoying this. Whatever else we might be, we have fun doing this. Though it doesn’t look like fun right now for Ariadne, who is closing on me, grappling with me, hooking her leg behind mine. It’s a wicked move that takes my feet right out from under me.

I slam down to the mat. Before I can recover, she’s on top of me, pinning my shoulders, her face inches from mine. Her weight presses me down, thighs straddling my hips.

I can feel the rapid rise and fall of her chest, see the flush creeping up her neck. Her pupils are blown wide, turning her blue eyes nearly black. Without thinking, I arch slightly against her hold.

“Next time you want to throw me down, girl,” I say, my voice a breathless challenge, “buy me dinner first.”

She freezes for a split second and I see turmoil in her eyes—desire. Anger. That ice wall cracking…

And then Ariadne’s mouth crushes down on mine in a bruising kiss.

With raw need, I yank up her top, let her sweet little tits fall into my hands as she writhes on top of me. My hands are full of a softness I never thought Ariadne had about her—but only for a second. Then she’s grabbing my wrists and pinning them down over my head.

Shit. I just went on in for the grope without even asking if she was?—

“If you want me to stop, tell me to stop,” she breathes harshly.

I’m panting just as hard. “Fuck you,” I tell her. “I don’t want to stop.”

And she kisses me again. Maybe “kisses” is the wrong word—Ariadne doesn’t kiss so much as consume, like my soul is leaving my body and getting sucked into hers. She slots her leg between mine and starts to grind on me.

I gasp as her thigh pushes hard into my pussy, and I wriggle to get a better position. And then her mouth is on my neck, biting, sucking, and I’m pushing back against her hands. Ariadne’s grip is tight, the kind of tight that is gonna leave a mark, and my blood sings at the thought. She bites the top of my shoulder and then runs her tongue across my collarbone.

I’m going to fucking explode if she doesn’t get a hand on my cunt right now.

As if she can read my mind, her hand lets go of one of my wrists, slides down between us, and her fingers press over my clit. “Holy shit,” I hiss, and she pulls back.

“Is this?—”

“This is more than fucking okay,” I gasp out. And then I grab her by the face and drag her mouth back to mine.

Her kiss is rough and urgent even as her fingers tease gentle circles around my clit. The pleasure builds, the muscles in my stomach tightening, my thighs quivering. I fight my other wrist free from her grip and yank at her pants, pulling them down so I can get my hand into her underwear.

“Can I—” I start, and she just shoves my hand down further as a response. She’s wet, slick, and her whole body jolts as I slip two fingers alongside her clit, mimicking her movements on mine. Her breath quickens and she doesn’t let up, her mouth hot against mine, our fingers echoing each other. I’m losing control of my words, my thoughts. Everything is centered on her, what her fingers are doing to me, what I’m doing to her, and the pleasure that’s building inside me.

And then she stops, pulling her hand free just so she can suck on her fingers. I pull her down to kiss me after, tasting the faintest hint of me on her lips, and then her fingers slide down into my panties again and press right into my cunt.

I groan and arch my back at the delicious stretch as she fills me. Her movements are perfect but practiced, but fuck if I’m going to complain. She knows exactly what she’s doing, curling her fingers inside me, finding that spot that makes my vision blur. Her rhythm falters for just a second when I press deeper into her, and I can feel her clench around my fingers. It’s intoxicating, having this effect on her when she’s usually so composed.

“Sunny,” she breathes, and it’s the first time she’s said my name like that—like it’s being ripped from somewhere deep inside her.

We’re moving together now, the mat squeaking beneath us. Anyone could walk in at any moment, but I don’t care. Let the whole damn Syndicate hear us. Let them know I’m making the Ice Queen melt.

“Harder,” I gasp out.

She obliges, adding another finger and driving deeper, her thumb circling my clit with ruthless precision. My own fingers are buried inside her, feeling her walls clench around me as I search for the rhythm that’ll make her crack completely. When I find it, she makes this sound—half gasp, half moan—that sends electricity straight to my core. I finger-fuck her harder, watching her face as the control she prizes so much starts to slip.

“Come on, baby,” I whisper, “let me see you come apart.”

Ariadne’s rhythm falters for just a moment before she doubles down, her fingers working with renewed vigor like she’s determined not to be the first to break. But I’m just as determined, so I wiggle down a little, getting a better angle, and then I lean up to take one of her shaking, tempting nipples into my mouth. I suck hard, biting down just a little, and she gasps, her whole body trembling.

And then I feel it—her inner walls clamping down on my fingers as she comes, her body going rigid, the soft moan that she gives. She’s fucking gorgeous like this, all that control shattered. Her fingers stutter inside me, but it doesn’t matter, because I’m already coming too, arching up off the mat as I ride her hand.

For a few moments, there’s only the sound of our harsh breathing, then the slick slide as we pull away from each other. Ariadne collapses beside me on the mat, our bodies still touching from shoulder to hip. The air smells like sex and sweat and…something electric.

It’s us. We were electric together.

“Well,” I manage after a minute, “that’s one way to work off steam.”

She doesn’t reply right away, and I turn my head to look at her. Her eyes are closed, chest still rising and falling rapidly.

Then—without a word—Ariadne begins to disentangle herself from me, yanking her clothes back in place.

I sit up, head still swimming with endorphins. “Wait,” I say. “What are you…”

But she’s already walking away, leaving me in the puddle of our own mess that I guess I’ll have to clean up alone. I flop back, frustrated, angry, and yeah, maybe a little hurt.

“What the fuck was that?” I mutter.

The empty gym gives no reply.