Red (VonRouge Book 1) Page 3

  An unfamiliar dark spot catches my attention in the mirror. Upon closer inspection, I realize it’s a bruise along my torso. My gaze rises as I inspect the damage from the night’s earlier events.

  My long, light-red hair seems less wavy than usual; the color seems darker as well. My brown eyes still hold that golden glimmer that people often compliment me on. Except now they’re surrounded by the dark circles beneath them. The rims around my irises seem . . . darker as well.

  Holy shit. The rims around my eyes are darker!

  Heart racing, I slowly step closer to the mirror and lean in as close as I can.

  Huh. Nothing. My rims appear normal. I tilt my head left then right, staring into each eye one at a time.

  Still nothing.

  Must have imagined it.

  My aunt tried to clean the dirt from my body after the fall, but some of it remains on my pale skin. I’m still a shorty. And too thin since eating hasn’t been a top priority of mine over the last few weeks. My lips are still way too big for my face. Overall, I’m the same Sadie.

  So why do I feel so strange?

  I head to the tub, turning it on and letting it fill as I remove the rest of my clothes.

  Once it’s full, I shut off the water and add some relaxing oils, submerging myself into the tub. A cool breeze wafts in from the opened balcony doors. Ahhh, perfect. Tranquility is exactly what the doctor ordered.

  After a few serene moments, I begin the task of scrubbing my body from head to toe, as best as I can manage with only one good arm. Once that is accomplished, I add some more hot water to the tub and lean back to soak in the indulging aroma of the lavender oil I added to the bath.

  With my head tilted back and eyes heavy from the effects of the medication, the atmosphere becomes peaceful. Zen-like.

  Too peaceful. I know Dr. Snow said the medication might make me feel sleepy but this is like nothing I’ve ever felt. Maybe it’s a mixture of the medication and exhaustion, who knows, but my body is like Jell-O all of a sudden. Deliriously drugged. I sigh happily, letting myself sink futher in the tub and soak into blissful relaxation.

  A warm hand skims up my leg.

  My eyelids flutter open, almost too heavy to lift. Somehow, I manage to get them open halfway and try to focus on what’s in front of me.

  A figure starts to form—gray eyes, straight nose, dark hair, and succulent lips that any woman would kill for.

  Oh, God. It’s him.

  Him.

  “Hello, my sweet Red.” His hand inches up my leg; feather soft caresses that run from my ankle, up to the inside of my thigh.

  My core quivers.

  I start to panic. I try fighting the prescription induced lethargy keeping me immobile, but my body won’t cooperate. I can’t move quickly enough. My body feels heavy.

  What’s happening? Am I dreaming?

  Help. Someone. Anyone.

  Why am I dreaming about this man again?

  My lips feel numb as I try to scream out.

  He seems to sense my dismay and begins whispering to me in a soothingly hypnotic tone. “Shhhh, sweet Sadie. I will make you better. Have you started to notice the changes with your body? Does your skin tingle? How about your breathing?”

  The panic sky rockets inside me. He’s describing everything. But how? Every symptom I’ve been experiencing and hiding he rattles off like from a list.

  His hand is warmer than the water against my flesh. The tips of his fingers are rough and calloused. I try to fight it, but even as my heart thumps weakly with fear, I realize that my skin is tingling. Each inch of flesh he touches seems to ignite.

  Heat rolls through me in waves. The panic begins to be dragged into the current. My body replaces the anxiety with something much stronger. The new feelings drown out everything, leaving me weaker. I can’t do anything but stare into his grey eyes, panting.

  Hungry.

  My whole body seems to bloom for him, the flesh between my legs pulsating for his touch.

  I want those fingers in the place only I’ve known. Rational thoughts escape me, leaving only the wild, the reckless, and the desperate ache building in me that wants to scream for more from this man.

  My head falls back against the tub, eyes sliding closed, chest racing. My nipples are so hard they ache. I sink deeper into the water in search of his hand. With the touch of a tender kiss on my shoulder, my eyes reopen to see those plump lips placing kisses around my bite.

  The bite he gave me.

  Hunger roars through me, so swiftly that a moan spills from my lips.

  A moan.

  I’m freaking moaning for this guy.

  “I didn't get to finish what I started last night, but don't worry baby. I'm going to finish it soon.” His promise is dark and full of need. “Thank God you washed that fucker’s scent off or I wouldn’t be able to be as gentle as you need me to be.” The tone of his voice drops down to a growl and the tips of his fingers become sharper as they glide up my leg.

  I jerk at the sensation. Are those claws?

  “W—what?” I pant, the word coming out more like a jumbled sound than an actual word.

  His other hand circles around the bandage on my shoulder, then slides up to my neck. His hand curls around my neck, grasping it in a tight hold, and angles my face toward his.

  “If I had to smell that asshole’s scent on you another second, I was going to rip his fucking head off. He already interrupted us in the woods; holding you, touching you, and taking you away from me. Only I can fucking touch you. Got it?”

  Who the hell is he talking about? I don’t remember anyone interrupting us.

  His grip on my jaw becomes painful, but it’s his eyes that hold me captive. I have never seen so many shades of gray that seem to swirl in such a small space. It’s as if a storm is brewing inside those amazing irises.

  His hand in the water never stops moving, and the sensation distorts all rational thought. Then his hand circles the very top of my thigh and remains there.

  The whole time, he stares into my eyes, as if daring me to try and fight him.

  I shouldn’t be letting him do this. I need to move, or break whatever hold he has over me. I can still comprehend this isn’t normal and therefore it shouldn’t be happening.

  There’s a strange connection between us though. One I can’t describe but it resonates all the way down to my bones. I also understand that if he wanted me dead, I wouldn’t currently be breathing. A creature like him? He could probably tear me apart without batting an eyelash.

  But having this knowledge doesn’t mean that I am any less scared at the idea of laying naked in a tub, in the presence of a guy I don’t even know.

  Someone who chased me as a wolf, changed into a man . . . then bit me.

  He wasn’t a wolf, no, he was a man when he bit me. I know that for a fact.

  I can remember everything leading up to, and including the bite, even though my mind keeps trying to find a logical explanation.

  This whole thing is royally screwed up. Those eyes of his haven’t left mine, daring me to argue this. To deny it.

  I can’t. A strange sense of calmness has taken over my body and as long as he keeps that sweet movement of his hand going, I will ride out this fucked up moment. My body wants this, him, too bad. The connection is too intense. I can barely speak, but if I would have been able to, I’m pretty sure it would’ve been to beg him to keep going.

  I’ve never had this type of reaction to any guy. Even the hottest ones in high school. All I want is for this man—creature—to keep touching me.

  Make me come.

  Slowly dipping his head down toward my neck, he takes in my scent, inhaling close to the bite mark. “My scent is seeping from your wound,” he moans, sounding like he’s struggling. In pain.

  My hips rotate as his hand starts inching up my inner thigh. His finger brushes along my core.

  Another moan leaks out of me.

  His teeth nip my ear and the torment causes my lust
to jump to a new level.

  “Oh my . . . don’t stop . . .” I can’t finish the sentence even if I wanted to; I don’t have his name.

  A growl escapes through his lips. “My sweet, little Red, I can smell your arousal. I want to run my tongue from the tips of yours toes and along those luscious thighs while I watch those fucking succulent pussy lips beg for my tongue.”

  Oh God, I’ve never even said the word pussy.

  My mystery man brings his face closer so we are eye to eye. “This pussy belongs to me. You belong to me. I own you. Forever.” With that, his lips crash onto mine. It isn’t gentle or sweet; it’s primal and raw. His tongue forces its way into my mouth and fucks it into submission. My lips are going to bruise from the force he is pushing on them.

  His teeth pull at my bottom lip. His fingers wrap around my wet hair and pull on it, angling my face back so he can kiss me harder.

  I finally recognize the small, desperate sounds I keep hearing beneath his growls. It’s me. Mewling. Whimpering. Wordlessly begging him to keep going.

  He deepens our kiss even further.

  Somehow I find enough energy to move my arms, the need to touch him becoming stronger than my drowsiness. My left hand runs up his ribcage, gripping onto his shirt. My right hand cups his jaw, then makes its way to the back of his neck, securing him in place.

  My lower body shoots up as his fingers run from the bottom of my lips to the top, close to my clit. Even in the water, I can feel how wet I am for him. The roughness of his fingers against the soft, smooth skin of my lips feels amazing as he parts them.

  His thumb rubs my clit, sending a sharp stab of pleasure through me.

  I gasp, my body pressing down, searching for something more.

  When I did this myself, it never was this . . . this . . . euphoric.

  He slowly slips a finger inside of me. My walls immediately constrict around the intrusion.

  “Ah, your pussy is so anxious.” He picks up the pace, pumping in and out, making the water spill over the sides. His thumb makes a figure eight over my clit, nearly sending me over the edge. A second finger slides inside, causing the pressure to build like a volcano ready to erupt.

  “You, Red, deserve some pampering after spending the night in that God forsaken hospital. Do you want me to make you feel better?”

  He’s teasing me, that asshole.

  And I love it. I’m getting even hotter seeing that playful smirk on his face.

  My hips sink further onto his hand in response. “Yes . . . please.” Rotating my hips, my body tries to reach the release it needs. It’s right there within my grasp.

  He doesn’t let me go over, moving his thumb away from my clit every time I get it right where I need it.

  “Need something, baby?”

  My head thrashes side to side, I push on the bottom of the tub with my feet, trying to get his thumb in the right spot. With a curl of his finger, he has me hooked.

  “This is my pussy and comes only for me.”

  I nod frantically, my nails digging into his arms.

  His hand starts pumping faster, his fingers pressing into that perfect spot deep inside me as his thumb rubs my clit in deep, small circles. In the next second, a piercing pain shoots through my shoulder. The bite he gave me throbs.

  I cry out, my back arching as I start to come.

  It’s passionately cruel. Clouds of white burst through my vision.

  My hips continue to rotate, my head falling backwards. Lips parted open, I suck in deep breaths, suffocating in the pleasure.

  Warm breath caresses over the bite and up my neck. His own groans reverberate against my skin, his body shuddering beside mine.

  Pleasure slams into me again, knocking my world off its axis, and suddenly it feels like it’s not just my own pleasure rushing through me. Like we’re connected.

  I feel marked. Some place deep inside me is now owned by him. It’s as if he didn’t just have his fingers inside me, but something else. Something much more powerful.

  The pleasure leaves me in a rush. My body goes limp inside the tub.

  Looking down at my shoulder, I see blood seeping out of the bandage. However, I could honestly care less about that right now. I’m going to enjoy this euphoria as long as I can till I have to come back to the reality that this situation is totally fucked up, and this guy is crazy. Hot, sexy, and a master of orgasms, but scary crazy nonetheless.

  And I’m just as much of a lunatic for letting him finger me.

  My head rolls in his direction. I’m getting tired again and can barely keep my eyes open.

  A satisfied smirk is plastered across his face and his eyes appear brighter.

  “Let’s put you to bed, my sweet.” With that he scoops me out of the bath, getting himself wet in the process, his shirt clinging to his sculpted body. He grabs a towel, wrapping it around my body and dries me. He seems to almost be purring at his actions, as if tending to me makes him happy.

  Once I’m dry, he wraps me in the towel and picks me back up, placing me onto the marble counter top. My body lays back against the mirror. I watch as he looks around for something.

  I take in his appearance; his black shirt, dark washed jeans and Chucks seem casual but he makes them look good. Too good.

  I’d want to eat him up if I wasn’t so tired.

  I’m not sure if it’s the medicine or the aftershocks of the orgasm, but everything is getting hazy again. My eyes get heavy and start to slide shut.

  “Stay awake a little longer, baby.” His hand cups my cheek, making me open my eyes to gaze up at him. “I’m going to make this better. If that fucker hadn’t interrupted us, you wouldn’t have even been in the hospital.” Stepping between my legs, my wolf then takes his finger and I watch as a claw extends out of his nail.

  I wasn’t imagining them before. He has freaking claws.

  He begins to cut off the plastic wrap and bandage covering my bite. Once it’s all gone, the bite with all its stitches is exposed, my skin swollen and red around the edges.

  His eyes scan the wound as he tips my head to the side. Leaning forward his warm breath seeps over my skin, “I’m going to make it all better, baby.” His tongue sweeps from one side of the wound to the other.

  The warm wetness soothes me and my shoulder begins to relax, the tension finally leaving the area. Eyes sliding shut, I let myself enjoy the sensations.

  “That’s it, shut your eyes and I will make you all better. I take care of what’s mine.”

  I arch into his mouth, wanting more of his voice, his tongue . . .

  My head rolls over. Something soft rubs against my face. The sensation makes my eyes open to see what my wolf is up to. I’m met with—

  The purple throw pillow that I keep on my bed?

  My eyes blink, trying to get my wits about me, I sit up in my bed, squinting at the sunlight coming through the curtains over my open window.

  I’m utterly confused as to how I got here. Looking around the room, I see nothing is out of place.

  What the hell? Wait. It was a dream?

  I go to move the covers back, something on my shoulder pulls. Looking down, I see the bandage covering my shoulder, exactly as it was last night.

  It really was a dream. I can’t believe it. I dreamed about that man again.

  My body is still sore when I get out of my bed, but better than before.

  When I make my way into the bathroom, I’m shocked to see it is perfectly clean. No water. No towels on the floor. No bandage cut away by a wolf’s claw. Nothing.

  It was just your mind playing tricks, you idiot.

  Why in the hell is the happening now? Why can’t I stop thinking about him? God, I’m sick. I’m having sex dreams about a fantasy-man-slash-werewolf that is not even real.

  But Jesus. Real or not, it’s one hell of a dream.

  I press my fingers to my lips and lean against the doorframe, looking from the bathroom to my bedroom and back again. The wheels in my head are on overdrive, tryi
ng to grasp onto some sign that I’m not losing it.

  Something the guy said in my dream comes back to me.

  “He was all over you . . . if I had to smell him . . .”

  Holy shit!

  I shoot off the doorframe, pacing my room, racking my brain of the hazy memories.

  There . . . there was a guy! I can almost see it clearly. Broken pieces but I can picture him picking me up off the ground and the coldness as he carried me—

  No. It can’t be. My mind has to be jumbling up the memories. Why would I remember that now?

  Great! I’m taking something a man said in my dream as proof of something that may or may not have even happened.

  Noticing a pill bottle next to my bed, I walk slowly over to it. Shakily picking it up, I read the label and symptoms; OxyContin—this medication can cause hallucinations!

  Ah-hah! These damn pills are to blame. They made me have that crazy-ass dream.

  So what made you hallucinate that wolf?

  Stress, that’s the logical explanation.

  My mind tucks away these insane ideas, and I leave my room. On my way down the stairs, I can hear my aunt moving around, no doubt cooking up a storm. She cooks when is stressed.

  And I dream up werewolves.

  Totally acceptable behavior.

  “Morning Aunt Tasha,” I say, giving her a kiss on the cheek.

  She squints over her shoulder, studying me. “Morning hun.”

  What’s with the tone?

  Nope. Enough of over analyzing everything Sadie. Just let it go.

  But I can’t. Not with these flashes of a guy carrying me through the woods and all these unanswered questions. I can’t just let this go.

  Gnawing on my lip, I weigh the option of asking Aunt Tasha straight out. I mean, why would she lie? What would that help, right?

  No. She has no reason to lie.

  Then I remember how odd she’s been acting since that night. Like she has something to cover up.

  She wouldn’t hide anything from you. Don’t be ridiculous.

  The uneasy feeling of suspicion doesn’t go away.

  Ugh. I’m never going to have answers without asking her, so I suck up the courage.