Page 17 of Taken By The Wolves (Blackwood Forest #2)

SCARLET

I’m doing this.

I’m on my knees, on their rug, in their cabin, while Reed towers above me, his eyes as deep as midnight, his muscles tight as a bowstring drawn to the edge.

A giant among men. A powerful presence letting me take him apart.

My palms press to his thighs for balance, but it’s more than that.

I want him to know this is a choice I’m making, and something I want, rather than a reflection of his expectation.

His eyes burn into mine, daring me to break the connection as I lean forward and let my lips brush the base of him. A soft hiss escapes him, pleasure laced with disbelief, and the sound drives me further.

I drag my tongue upward, slow and sure, teasing him with the lightest flick at the tip. His hips jerk, his fingers twitch, and his expression is devastated in the best way.

I’m in control of this moment, yet somehow I’m still out of control, wilder and more confident than I’ve been before. That dichotomy thrills me. I’ve never felt more powerful or more exposed. Never felt more wanted or more owned.

From the edge of my vision, I sense movement. Finn, somewhere behind me, is still quiet. Nixon’s presence burns like a torch in the corner of the room. Their restraint is a quiet inferno, and their hunger is palpable, fueling me.

I take more of Reed into my mouth as a shudder rolls through him and he braces against the back of the sofa, his other hand threading tightly into my hair. Not to push. Just to hold. His body trembles under my touch, every tiny quake a surrender I lap up.

His head tips back, a low moan rising from his chest as I take him deeper, sliding my tongue along the underside, lips sealed tight, matching the rhythm he’s fighting to maintain.

He’s losing.

His breathing rasps through gritted teeth as he fights to keep control of his hips that twitch to thrust deeper. His voice breaks the silence, hoarse and cracking. “Scarlet—Jesus. Baby, I—fuck—”

His body tenses, a full-body tremor rippling through him as he groans and releases. I take it all because I want to taste the storm of his surrender as I tame him with nothing but my mouth.

And it’s there again. The echo of the impossible, that somehow, this moment was written by an outside power.

Braysville wasn’t the only town where I could find lumber, and Doug’s wasn’t the only restaurant where I could find food.

If I’d left home an hour later or bought a sandwich at the last rest stop, I would never have met these men.

What pulled me here to this cabin in the woods?

It’s like I’ve followed a breadcrumb trail into the woods and been let in on a secret I wasn’t supposed to overhear.

Reed slumps back onto the couch, spent and stunned, his hand dragging over his face before cupping himself with a sigh. His chest heaves, and when his eyes meet mine, they’re glassy and awed.

I sit on my heels, wiping my lips with the back of my hand, my pulse still galloping in my throat. When I dropped to my knees, I knew what I wanted, but now?

Behind me, the others are still watching. I’m in uncharted territory and have no idea what they’ll want or expect to happen next.

Behind me, the couch creaks again.

Finn slowly slides down beside Reed, moving with a fluidity that marks him from his brothers.

I don’t look up, but the hush of intention is behind the subtle shift of the air.

The sound of denim buttons parting one by one, and the exhale that tells me he’s not just watching anymore, sends a rush of arousal through me.

My gaze flicks up. His intense eyes meet mine, warm and steady. One hand rests on the waistband of his jeans, the other brushes through my hair in a gentle sweep, the way he might caress the highest quality wood or a piece of his beloved furniture.

My pulse roars, and then I shift.

Still on my knees, I slide to face him, and he’s already there, waiting. Hard, thick, flushed, his erection stands bold against the open cradle of denim. He’s quietly offering himself in a way that shakes something loose inside me.

I bend, and he groans as my palms press into his muscular thighs.

His fingers twitch where they rest at his sides.

I take him slow with a soft kiss at first, my lips brushing the head, and then a slow, teasing lick.

His groan turns strangled as I wrap my mouth around him, and his taste floods my senses: salt, heat, the unique tang of wild, creative Finn.

It’s different than with Reed. He’s quieter, his body taut with restraint, and yet he leans into me like he’s desperate to drown in the pleasure I offer.

And I give it freely.

I want this.

I want them.

As dangerous as it is to succumb to their rugged, handsome charms, I can’t regret a thing.

A footstep and the vibration of a presence close to my spine alert me to Nixon’s approach.

My heart skitters, but my mouth doesn’t stop. My lips glide, my tongue curves, and Finn’s thighs tremble beneath my hands. But my awareness has split. Nixon is close, and my thighs clench. I’m still wearing my panties, but my whole ass is on display for his pleasure.

One is watching as I take another into my mouth, and the third stalks closer, his intentions unknown.

I lose myself to the heavy fog of lust and the danger of surrender that curls in my veins. It’s the kind of feeling that cracks you open from the inside and spills all your hidden longings.

I’m falling.

Into them, and into this moment.

I’m facing up to desires I didn’t dare to admit, even to myself.

And as I sink deeper into Finn’s lap, his restraint frays with every stroke of my tongue. My awareness sharpens around Nixon’s heat at my back. He hasn’t touched me yet. But he will.

And when he does, I know I won’t survive it unchanged.