Wicked Wolf (Wicked Ever After Book 3) Page 2

  “She looks good tonight,” Angel says.

  I shrug and send her a quick smile. “She always looks good.”

  I count to a hundred once, then twice, and then I look.

  Hunter is wearing dark shades of gray, and Scarlet is in her reds and forest green, leaning back against him on the Floor.

  Here’s the truth about Scarlet and Hunter and my club:

  We at the Kingdom provide kink. Sometimes, that kink is pain. Sometimes it's humiliation, being forced to crawl across the Floor on the other end of a Dom's leash. Sometimes it's role playing. It can be control and surrender, can be being bound and left to spin in ropes and knots.

  Sometimes—sometimes that kink is to watch, and sometimes it’s to be seen.

  Scarlet doesn't like pain. She never has. She likes being taken care of, and Hunter likes control, but neither of them fit in the sadomasochism of this world, not the way I do, or Beast does.

  They come here to watch.

  On nights like tonight, when her gaze skates across the Kingdom, searching and bright—they come to be seen.

  She smiles when she sees me, a bright thing just for me, before her head dips down and she presses her lips to the skin of his neck, whispering into his ear.

  His eyes darts to me as he turns her, searching.

  When they leave the Floor, I swallow the last of my tea and give Angel a quick smile. She rolls her eyes and says the same thing I’ve been told for years now. "Be careful, Wolf."

  I kiss her cheek as I move away. "I'm always careful, Angel. I just generally don't care if I get hurt in the meantime."

  She hums an acknowledgement of that fact, but doesn't say anything to stop me as I walk off.

  The Kingdom is mine, the place I built when I had no family or friends to speak of, the place that became my home, with the people who became my family. So when I walk through it, I don't stumble and I don't hesitate. This is my hunting ground and I know exactly where I’ll find them.

  The Kingdom has the Floor, a massive white and black room with stages and a bar, where most of the members mingle. There’s the Black room, a place of darkness and soft couches and endless constellations. There's the white shadows of the Quiet Room, where Charm likes to linger and think.

  The place that I know they are going is the pods.

  I follow quietly and step into the narrow hall. It’s lit red, small rooms not much bigger than janitorial closets lining it’s length. They’re cramped—just big enough for two people having sex—and each room has an adjoining cubicle with a small window.

  I step into the third cubicle now, and take a deep breath.

  This is why they come here.

  It’s not for pain or humiliation or the ropes and bondage. It’s not for dominance games and submission.

  They come because Scarlet is beautiful and wild, and because Hunter is territorial and possessive, and they both get off on voyeurism and exhibition.

  I look into the window.

  Scarlet’s on her knees while Hunter leans against the door, his face slack as she gives his cock tiny kitten licks before she grins, cheeky, at me over her shoulder, and swallows him down. I hit the button on the side of the window, and Hunter's groan fills the room, choked and hungry.

  She's still teasing though, taking him deep and slow and letting his hips twitch up into her, then pulling away and pressing kisses to his hip bones as his cock rubs the silk of her hair.

  "Stop teasing, roja," he murmurs, that accent of his thickening to something that's almost touchable in the air.

  Scarlet laughs against his skin and takes him back in her mouth, moaning around him when he thrusts a little, a choked noise falling from his lips.

  "Want this, baby?" he asks, and she nods frantically around him. He laughs. "Want me to fuck you?"

  She shudders, and Hunter's gaze flicks up to the window. He can't see me—the window is one way—but he knows I'm here.

  "C'mon, baby," he murmurs, "Give Wolfie a show."

  I swallow my groan and press a hand to my cock, aching in my leather pants.

  Scarlet stands, all lithe desire, and he pulls her close, rutting against her as he kisses her, and the tiny noises of that kiss are almost worse than her panting for him, almost worse than his voice, thick with want, talking to her.

  There is something unbearably intimate about watching them kiss, her ring glinting fire bright against his hair, about the way he holds her, too tight and yet gentle—like she’s precious.

  I want to look away.

  Hunter pulls back and I watch, my heart pounding too hard in my chest, as he undresses her.

  I've seen this show a hundred times over the past decade. I know all the steps.

  But I don't look away as he tugs that silky red top off her and unzips her skirt and it falls to puddle at her feet. I don't look away as he skims the lace panties down, revealing her tight, round ass, and the sweet curve of her hips.

  I don't look away when he lifts her leg, hooking it over his shoulder as he goes down on her.

  Scarlet's head falls back, that long red hair swaying behind her as she groans, and Hunter's hands twitch on her, drag her a little closer.

  "Yeah, Hunt," she gasps, "Just like that. Oh, God, babe, your tongue." Her hips buck up into his mouth and he snarls, a noise that hits me right in my groin. I finally reach for myself as she shudders and her eyes find mine in the mirror, blank and glassy and so fucked out it's insane.

  I want to make her look like that.

  I wrap my hand around my cock and stroke slow as she tugs on his hair. "Hunt," she whines, and he laughs, nipping at her for a moment.

  My dick jerks when he stands and I see him. His gaze is wild and hot, his lips shiny and red, a half smile on his lips as he shoves his suit pants down and turns them. He braces Scarlet against the wall, so they are in profile, and his gaze flicks to the window.

  "You ready?" he asks, and I don't know if he's asking me or her.

  Scarlet answers by wrapping a leg around his hip and pulling him closer.

  I watch as he sinks into her, watch the way his mouth goes tight and his eyes slant toward me. I watch her mouth, the way it drops open and her hands scrabble at him, and her leg spasms a little.

  "Fuck," she whines, arching into his thrust, and I give up, stroking my cock as I watch them.

  Hunter is quiet when he's fucking Scarlet. He only ever gets vocal when her mouth is on his cock and when he's coming.

  Scarlet, though—she talks enough for both of them, a dirty rolling song of cursing and teasing, of bitten off sighs and breathy moans that fill the pod and fill my cubicle. It’s a soundtrack to sex and I come, watching his dick pushing into her, watching her writhe against him, arching into him.

  I moan when I give it up, a low, almost instantly silenced noise, and Hunter's head snaps up at the sound of it.

  The cubicle glass is not two-way, but the sound system is.

  He snarls, "Fuck, wolf," and fucks her hard until she's sobbing, her nails scrambling along his back. She comes with a wet cry that makes my spent dick twitch and then he groans and pulls out, coming against her skin, the creamy white glistening in the red lights.

  I breath a curse, so soft he should miss it, but he doesn't. His gaze flicks to the window. He sends me a hot smile full of heavy promise and rubs the slick come into her skin, then brings his fingers to his mouth and sucks them clean.

  I could kiss him right now, and taste them both.

  I want to.

  I want to so damn badly my hands actually shake with it.

  I click off the sound system and clean myself up, tucking my dick away and sitting down. It's only when the light in the pod goes off, plunging my cubicle into darkness, that I begin to consider leaving.

  I wait though. I count to one hundred. I do it another five times, and then I stand, slowly, and go back to the Floor.

  It’s fucked up.

  In a life full of fucked up relationships, this one might actually take the prov
erbial cake, but it’s mine and it works, and it’s all I get of either of them.

  So I’ll take it.

  ~

  The worst part of fucking the man who’s dating the girl you’re in love with isn’t the awkwardness the next morning. It’s that I never quit fucking him.

  Scarlet and Hunter never let me.

  Chapter 3.

  When the noise of the club fades around me, and I can breathe again without seeing them superimposed on the backs of my eyelids, I push to my feet.

  I only tremble a little. Not bad.

  I clean myself up and slip out of the cubicle, heading back toward the Floor. A few members look at me, but none bother to try and engage me in conversation.

  I can feel my scowl. Charm is at the entrance to the Hall, blocking the Floor, and I stifle my sigh as I twitch my shoulders, shove my scowl down and summon something that almost resembles a lazy smile for my best friend.

  "Where the fuck did you go?" he hisses, snagging the leather straps that crisscross and loop across my chest, forming this strange contraption that is almost a cape, and has somehow or other become part of my trademark in the Kingdom.

  "I was busy," I say coolly.

  "You're working tonight, Wolf. We had a situation in the Black room and you were nowhere to be found."

  I feel a small spike of concern and shove it down.

  "I have staff trained to handle shit like that," I say, bored. "Is there a reason I specifically needed to be the one to handle it?"

  He stares at me, startled and edging towards real anger. He shrugs. "Go see Beast and ask him about it. He handled the whole thing."

  My stomach pitches unsteadily and I almost reach for him as Charm turns away, almost pull him back to me to demand details, but I don't.

  If I do, he'll ask questions that I can’t answer.

  ~

  I find Beast in the office. Beauty is sitting on the couch and he's on his knees next to her, his cheek pressed to the top of her thigh as she dabs at the blood on his lip.

  His gaze flashes to me for just a second and a smile teases at his lips. The selfless, crazy bastard. He has no sense of self-preservation.

  "What happened?" I ask.

  "Gavin took exception to me interfering with him and a sub. I asked him to leave and—" Beast shrugs one shoulder and Beauty swats at him, a little bit harder than is strictly necessary.

  Ahh, so his Domme is not pleased.

  "Sorry, brother," I murmur and he flashes a guileless grin.

  If Mal is a dark shadow that looms over all of us, if Charm is the beating heart of our club, and I am the twisted paths between us, then Beast is our sun. He's the bright light that keeps all of us sane and keeps us together when everything else is falling apart.

  He doesn't bother with dissembling and lies because he doesn't need to. He's happier in the truth and taking whatever punishment might come from it.

  He lives in such a fearless way that I sometimes hate him for it, and I always envy him.

  "Where'd you go?" Beast asks, and my gut pitches unpleasantly.

  "I had to help a client," I say, shrugging.

  He nods and leans further into his Domme.

  "Ok."

  ~

  The worst part of loving someone you can't have and taking the scraps they'll throw you? It’s lying to the people who actually love you back.

  ~

  The phone call startles me. It's Tuesday, and the Kingdom will be down to a skeleton staff tonight—it’s the slowest night of the week, so I’ve got the evening off, and it's late enough that Wolf Security shouldn't be calling me.

  I reach for the house phone, rubbing at my hair. "Hello?"

  "Hi. Is this Mr. Blackwood?"

  "This is he," I answer.

  The warm voice on the other end of the line then proceeds to turn my world upside down.

  "I'm calling from Emory Hospital. Scarlet Robins was brought in this evening after a head-on collision on I-85. She's listed in critical condition and will be going into surgery within the next hour."

  My knees go out and I hit the ground. It doesn't even register. I can still hear the woman talking, her voice a smooth reassurance on the other end of the line—or what would be, if she weren't telling me—

  "Is she ok?"

  "Sir?"

  "Scarlet. Is she ok?"

  "Sir, I can't tell you much. Patient confidentiality. You aren't listed as family and it's against hospital policy to—"

  "Is she alive?" I snap.

  The girl hesitates. "Yes, sir. She asked for you, and her fiancée insisted you be contacted."

  Hunter. Oh, fuck, Hunter.

  "I'll be there in twenty minutes."

  "Sir," she starts, and I snarl something—I don't know what—and I'm sure it's my tone more than anything that shuts her up, but it does shut her up.

  "Yes, sir," she says gently, and the line goes dead.

  Chapter 4.

  It was September.

  I was sixteen.

  I was sixteen and the recently acknowledged (but never publicly, right, Dad?) son of a powerful Senator. He shipped me off to Wilderwood Prep, where his second son—the youngest son, if anyone asked—was in the beginning of his senior year.

  It was September and I was sixteen and I was a fucking mess.

  He saw me first. He found me in our dorm room, where I was alone because my roommate, Samul Charming, had dicked off for the weekend with a blonde girl that was way out of his league. To be honest, he was usually dating out of his league though, and that's saying something—I was pretty sure the dude created leagues.

  Caesar Sanchez caught me outside lighting a cigarette, and by the time we'd smoked two Newport shorts, I knew three important things.

  He was just as out of place here as I was.

  He was hot as fuck with a mouth made to suck cock.

  And I really wanted him in my bed.

  He followed me back to my room, watched a movie while I finished unpacking, picked at my pictures and my books, and slipped into Spanish often enough that I kept throwing him curious stares that he met with a wide smirk.

  He knew I wanted him and he was still there.

  We got half-way through a pizza and two bottles of beer before he made his move, leaning over while I was talking about the mom I’d left far away in California, to kiss me.

  I could taste cigarettes on his tongue, the bitter bite of beer.

  And something else, something wilder, elusive, impossible to name.

  It was just him.

  "You miss her," he said, his voice impossibly rough against my lips, and I nodded.

  I didn't want to miss her. I wanted to walk away and forget to care, just like she had when she dumped me with Stanford White and went about her life. It was easier to chase bright lights and rich men when you weren't strapped to a son with an attitude problem and sixteen years worth of daddy issues.

  "You're all anger and snarl, aren't you?" he murmured, and I wanted to pull away, but his head dipped down, tucked into my throat, and he pressed his teeth there, a bite so gentle and perfect I nearly sobbed.

  "Shh," he hummed, and the noise rippled through me as he pushed me back, laid me out on the bed, and knelt over me.

  He looked fucking gorgeous, big hand braced against my chest, his dark eyes burning as he stared at me, his hair falling in his face.

  I fell hard then, from one heartbeat to the next. He smiled, and it was gentle—so goddamned gentle I almost hit him.

  I didn't want him to be gentle.

  I growled and he laughed down at me, a promise in that noise. "Easy, puppy," he murmured, and I did whine then, causing him to laugh again, before he stretched himself over me and kissed me like this night was the beginning of something bigger than us both.

  ~

  Hunter ruined me that night. I don’t think he realized just how much until years later, until I was breaking in the Kingdom and he watched, dark eyes shining.

  I broke him too, th
ough.

  Maybe breaking each other is just what we’re meant to do.

  ~

  I take my bike. It probably wasn’t the best idea I’ve ever had, considering the girl I was in love with was in a fucking car accident, but the bike was fastest and I’m in a fucking hurry.

  I text Beast before I slide onto the seat, then kill my phone and take off. I do my level fucking best to not think while I ride. I’m pretty sure if I do, I’ll end up a bloody smear on the pavement and that isn’t the plan.

  When I arrive, the hospital is busy, because hospitals always seem to be busy, and it takes a frustratingly long time to get pointed in the right direction.

  When I step into the waiting room for the OR, I feel the whole world lurch.

  Hunter looks up at me, and his eyes are shattered and haunted, afraid in ways I’ve never seen him. I breathe a curse and he whispers, “Cachorro.”

  I move without really thinking about it. I hit my knees next to his chair, taking the weight of him as he crumbles into me. I catch him as he falls, and we end up sprawled on the floor of the waiting room, his head on my shoulder as he shudders.

  “Easy, darlin’,” I murmur, rubbing his back, “Easy. Take a breath for me.”

  He makes a sound that’s almost a whine, but he breathes and lets it go on a rough exhale, puffing hard against my chest and I whisper some soft praise as he does.

  There are other people in the room, but they’re carefully avoiding looking at us, which—good move. Two big guys, wrapped around each other and sobbing on the floor of a hospital waiting room—it’s worth watching. Maybe they figured our bad luck would rub off on them if they looked too hard.

  I’m ok with that.

  I’m ok with whatever gives Hunter a semblance of privacy because he fucking deserves it.

  We stay like that while his shoulders shake and he forces his breathing to even. His fist clenches and unclenches and clenches again on my hip while I pet his hair and brush kisses into his forehead, mumbling nonsense.