Page 67 of Wolf

His hands slide down to my hips, guiding me into position. “Exactly. I want you to warm my cock while we watch your movie.”

I bite my lip as I sink down onto him, feeling his hardness slide into my pussy. “But no thrusting or anything?"

Matias's hands tighten on my hips. “Absolutely not. You're just keeping my cock warm, feeling my dick in your cunt. Nothing more.”

I shake my head, a giggle escaping me as I settle into position. “This is the strangest way to watch a movie.”

He leans back and pulls my back against his chest, his hands sliding up to cup my breasts. “Or is it the best way to watch a movie?"

As the movie begins, I can't help but agree. The pleasure of feeling him inside me and his hands on my body competes with the playful banter on the screen. Despite the unusual situation, it feels almost cozy, being here with Matias, our bodies intertwined as we watch a romantic comedy together. It's a surreal contrast to the tension and darkness surrounding us.

As the movie progresses, I find myself sinking deeper into the strangeness of the moment—laughing at the jokes, my body growing more and more accustomed to the feeling of being impaled on Matias but not fucking. It's as if we're a normal couple enjoying a lazy afternoon.

And for now, that's exactly what I need.

34

MATIAS

Dinner with my little rabbit.

Candles light the room, a home-cooked meal sits on the table, and soft music plays in the background. I almost laugh out loud at the sight. This is new, even for me. Yet, here I am, setting the table and pouring wine like some character out of a rom-com.

I hear the soft pad of footsteps, and my heart quickens. Glancing up, I see Kali hesitating in the doorway, taking in the scene before her. Her eyes shine with a mixture of surprise, and for a moment, I see the faintest hint of a smile tug at the corners of her mouth. “You cooked all this?" she asks, stepping into the room.

“I hope you're hungry,” I say, gesturing to the meal. “I’ve prepared—a savory chicken dish with roasted vegetables and garlic potatoes.” It's simple, but I take pride in my cooking skills and want to show her this side of me.

She doesn't move from the doorway, and I sense her wariness. I get it; this is probably the last thing she expected from me. I cross my arms, battling a sudden wave of self-consciousness. “Well, aren't you going to sit?” I prompt, my voice taking on a harder edge.

Kali snaps out of her daze and approaches the table slowly and carefully as if expecting a trap. “You don't have to force me, you know,” she says, her eyes narrowing. “I'm here, aren't I?"

Her words sting, but I force myself to stay calm. “Just sit down, Kali,” I say, keeping my voice even. “Please.”

She eyes me for a moment longer, then sits, and I join her at the table, pouring wine into our glasses. We eat tentatively, but as she takes her first bite, I see her eyes widen in surprise. “This is really good.”

Kali takes another bite, her eyes closing in appreciation. Cooking has always been a secret hobby of mine, something I indulge in to quiet the constant noise in my head.

“So, what do you study at your fancy university?" I ask, leaning back in my chair and swirling the wine in my glass.

Kali looks up, a hint of surprise in her expression. “Architecture,” she replies. “I've always been fascinated by how buildings can shape how we live and interact.”

I nod, intrigued. “Architecture, huh? That's an interesting choice.” I take a sip of wine. “What made you decide on that?"

She hesitates. “Well, I've always been drawn to creating something from nothing, you know? Turning a blank canvas into something functional and beautiful.” She pauses, her gaze meeting mine. “It's a way for me to leave my mark on the world.”

“Leaving your mark? I can respect that.” I lean forward, my elbows resting on the table. “What about your family? What do they think of it?”

I lean back in my chair, swirling the wine in my glass as Kali speaks. Her words paint a picture of a life so different from my own—loving, supportive parents who encouraged her dreams even when money was tight.

“My parents were amazing,” she says, smiling. “They have always believed in me even when I wasn't sure I could do it. They were thrilled when I told them I wanted to study architecture.” She pauses, her eyes taking on a dreamy look. “They don't HAVE much, but they scraped together every penny they could to ensure I had the best education in Arizona.”

I can't help but feel a twinge of envy as I listen to her. My childhood was a far cry from the one she describes—filled with violence, neglect, and a constant struggle for survival. Having parents who unconditionally supported your dreams is so foreign to me.

“That's great, Kali,” I say. “Not everyone is that lucky.”

She nods, her gaze meeting mine and a flash of understanding entering her eyes. “I know, I'm sorry.” She bites her inner cheek. “I wasn't thinking.”

I shake my head. “No, it's fine. Please continue.”

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