Page 23 of Spooked
"These are going to be incredible," she says, reviewing shots on her display. "You're a natural."
I snort. "Hardly. I'm just good at playing a character." I move to the window, gazing out at the mountains beyond. “The Beast, the recluse, the scarred veteran—all to keep the world at bay.”
She steps closer, not touching me but near enough that I can feel her warmth. "And what about last night? Was that you playing a character, too?"
"No." I turn to face her. "That was more real than anything I could imagine.”
Her eyes soften. "Then for one photo, let me capture the real Wolfe Marsden underneath the mask."
My heart pounds against my chest.
“Only for me,” she says quickly. “Something I can keep.”
I search her face, not knowing what I’m expecting to fine. But when all I see is sincerity, I slowly reach up and remove the mask, setting it on the windowsill beside me.
Sunlight streams across my scars, hiding nothing.
“For you,” I say, my voice barely audible.
She raises her camera, but doesn't immediately take the shot. "Magnificent," she whispers. "Just look at me."
I do, letting her see everything—not just the physical scars, but the vulnerability beneath, and the way she makes me feel like myself for the first time in years.
The shutter clicks once.
She lowers the camera, her eyes bright. "Thank you."
Before I can respond, she crosses the distance between us and kisses me, soft and sweet. My arms wrap around her, pulling her tight against me.
When we break apart, she's smiling seductively. "I think we need to clean up before lunch. Care to join me in the shower?"
Her playful tone goes straight to my groin. I take her hand, leading her through the manor to my bedroom.
The ensuite is one of the few rooms I've completely modernized with a massive walk-in shower and multiple spraying heads.
I undress her slowly, kissing newly exposed skin as each garment falls away. She follows suit, her hands moving confidently over my body, unafraid of the scarred terrain of my flesh.
Under the hot spray, we wash each other, learning curves and angles in the clear light of day. There's no hiding here. Not my scars or the way my body responds to her touch.
When she sinks to her knees before me, looking up through wet lashes, I nearly lose my mind.
"Ash—"
"Shhh." She wraps her hand around my cock, already achingly hard. "Let me take care of you."
She nuzzles the base first, her other hand sliding over my balls, and I hiss. Her tongue drags a slow, wet stripe up my length, and my head falls back against the wall. "Fuck."
"Later," she purrs, swirling her tongue around the tip. "Right now, I’m busy."
I shudder, then her mouth closes over me, hot and greedy, and my knees almost buckle. She hums, the vibration shooting straight to my spine, her hands gripping my ass to steady me.
Christ, almighty.
"You’re an angel," I rasp, thrusting helplessly into the slick heat of her heavenly mouth. "A goddamn angel..."
She moans around me, her eyes locking on mine, bold and hungry, and I can’t breathe. Water sluices down her back, her wet hair clinging to her shoulders like ink. She picks up the pace, one hand working the base of my cock, the other holding onto my thigh.
My hips jerk, and she takes me deeper, throat fluttering. The sight is obscene. Captivating. I fist her hair, and she gasps, gripping me harder.
