Page 50 of Strelitzias in Spring

“Oh,” I say at the same time he grinds out, “Fuck.”

If I thought I felt full before, that’s nothing compared to having him fully seated inside of me. Refusing to move off of him, I release his thighs and lean forward, plastering my naked chest against his clothed one, and grind our bodies together, effectively trapping his hand between us to give me extra friction.

What feels like seconds pass before I feel tingles erupt along my spine, traveling until I feel like a livewire on the verge of exploding. I clench against him, drawing him inside deeper until my orgasm hits me with a ferocity I’ve never experienced before.

“That’s it, ride my cock, princess. Fuck, I can feel you coming around me.” Wolf drives into me from below, fucking me until his body stills, and he releases a loud curse. I collapse against his chest, breathing hard as I attempt to catch my breath. Wolf releases my hip and extracts his hand from between our bodies. I start to move up, assuming that he is getting ready to pull away when his hands wrap around me, catching me by surprise when he hugs me closer to his body, keeping us molded together in a way that screams intimacy despite our earlier agreement.

I don’t fight his hold, and when a heavy hand touches the back of my head, threading fingers through the short strands and giving my head a soft scalp massage, I feel myself pulling under. I succumb to the exhaustion of the day, the depletion of energy both from sex with Wolf and the anger over my dad and Marina’s texts earlier in the evening.

Closing my eyes, I tell myself it’s only for a minute, that the safety I feel in Wolf’s arms is false, temporary, and the least permanent thing in my life.

—

The room is dark when I wake up, and I startle, disorientated by my surroundings for a minute until I reach over and flick on the lamp by my bedside table. The night comes rushing back to me: the tattoo shop, the texts, Wolf’s thick dick. There’s a soreness between my thighs that tells me I didn’t imagine the last part, even though there’s no evidence of Wolf in my space. I look down, surprised to find myself in an oversized T-shirt when I know damn well that I passed out on top of Wolf with not a stitch of clothing on. Either I sleepwalked, opened my dresser drawer, and slipped on one of my cotton shirts, or Wolf rummaged through my things and made sure I was covered before leaving.

I look to the other side of my bed, though I’m not delusional enough to imagine that he’ll be there or that there would be an indent or indication of his presence. I take in the perfectly folded sheets and sigh at the thought that there would be some sign of him in this room.

Flinging the covers back, I walk barefoot into my living room, surprised that the smell of sex doesn’t permeate the air. Walking through the space, I grab a glass and fill it with water, leaning against the counter as I stare at the couch where I rode Wolf like he was a stallion and I was a champion jockey. Maybe I should be embarrassed, but the two orgasms he gave me eclipse any other thought I have.

My eyes move from the couch to my door, where the lock is suspiciously in place, though the deadbolt remains unlatched. I cut across the apartment and turn the deadbolt, providing an extra layer of unnecessary protection between me and whatever is outside of my apartment.

I’m not sure how Wolf managed to leave and lock my door, but I’m grateful that I wasn’t left vulnerable and unconscious in my apartment. I ignore the sting in my chest that Wolf didn’t linger until I woke up, scolding myself for having any ill-conceived thoughts that this was anything other than a one-night stand.

Walking back into my bedroom, I grab my phone from my nightstand—another indication that Wolf was here—and cycle through the text messages that have come through since I’ve been home. It’s the middle of the night, so I’m not surprised I have a few unread messages awaiting me. My eyes snag on one from Wolf, confused as to why he’d text me if he was just here.

Wolf: Turn the deadbolt when you wake up. Call Aubrey next week to schedule your appointment; your back should be healed and tattooable by the end of the month. I’ll shift shit around to book your first appointment.

My brows furrow at his text; up until this moment, we were all in agreement that Sloan was doing my tattoo, and I was prepared to sit with her to fix the monstrosity on my back. There’s been no mention, no utterance, that Wolf would be the one spending hours on my piece. My hands fly over my phone as I text him back.

Serena: Thanks for locking up, but what do you mean, “I’ll shift shit around?” I thought Sloan was doing my tattoo.

Three dots pop up on my screen, and I watch for his reply. My brows furrow as soon as it comes in.

Wolf: I didn’t like the direction she was headed, and I have something in mind. I’ll see you in a few weeks for your appointment. Don’t forget to lock up.

“Dick,” I mumble, clicking out of his thread.

Going back to my messages, I see that Ava and Celeste have blown up our group chat once again. I scroll through the thread until I arrive at the beginning of the conversation.

CeCe(8:29 PM): Wolf’s final fight is on the twenty-fourth. Ava, Grey, and Lincoln are coming with us. Serena, are you in?

Ava(8:32 PM): Of course she’s in. The last time we abandoned her, she was assaulted by that asshat. Speaking of, have you heard from the double-D assholes lately?

Ava(9:15 PM): Are you ignoring us, my little butterfly?

CeCe(10:54 PM): Okay, now I’m starting to get worried. I’m not above driving to your apartment to make sure you’re not dead.

I hastily type out a reply, musing that Wolf’s final fight must be why he has availability at the end of this month. He’s never spoken to me about it, but I can imagine that training for a fight is intense and requires copious amounts of hours in the gym. I’ve only seen the artistic side of Wolf, never the side that battles against other men in a cage.

Serena(12:59 AM): Sorry, I had a long day and fell asleep on my couch; I just woke up. Sure, that sounds fun, though I don’t know much about MMA. And no, I haven’t heard from Dylan or Devin. Marina did text me earlier today, though.

CeCe: Jesus. We were about to drive over to break into your place. I’ll kill her. What the hell were you doing to tire you out?

Serena: No one.

“Dammit.” I wince, annoyed with myself for how I just answered that question.

Ava: I’m trying hard not to say what we all know I’m thinking.

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