Echo
My mouth tastes like shit and disappointnt.
Not literal shit—though after what just happened, I'd need to think about it. Arcana transfer through sexual contact always leaves a distinct flavor of sha, regret, and sothing unpleasant. Like… licking a subway pole after a rush hour commute.
Never a fun ti.
Who the hell set the taphysical laws of arcana transfer to porn logic, anyway? Probably Chaos. It's always Chaos. So bored cosmic entity sitting on their multidinsional ass, thinking: "You know what would make power exchange more interesting? If they had to suck dick for it."
I resist the urge to spit again as Marcus's forehead presses against mine, his breath hot on my face. His bare chest radiates heat, and his hands still grip my shoulders from slamming against the door. The wood presses into my back.
I'm still buzzing from the transfer—power crackling beneath my skin, ready to snap and burn everything it touches. It would be so easy to push him back, to remind him who's really in control here.
But I'm curious.
"Well?" I ask, keeping my voice cool and casual. "You watched suck soone else's dick. Are you gonna do sothing about it, or what?"
His shoulders shake with laughter, though there's nothing amused in the sound. It's rough, gritty, like it's being dragged out of him against his will.
"So this is your idea of being submissive?" He looks down at , pupils blown wide, a muscle twitching in his jaw.
I shrug, stretching my neck and arching my back slightly—a deliberate, catlike movent, brushing my breasts against his chest. "It's harder than it looks, alright? Take it or leave it."
His eyes track the movent, lingering on the exposed line of my throat. Good. Let him think about sinking his teeth there. Let him imagine what I'd do to him if he tried.
"Hurry up and slam down, big bad alpha." I curve my lips into a taunting smile. "Show what a real wolf can do."
He groans. "I'm just a beta, rember? Wouldn't want you too disappointed."
The man's got jokes. We both know he's an alpha-strength Lycan, but he's desperately clinging to his humor to keep himself under control.
Ti to make it snap.
I raise an eyebrow. "So you disappoint a lot of won, then?"
His nostrils flare. His scent spikes with sothing sharp and tingly.
Before he can respond, I reach out and palm the hard length of him through his jeans. His cock jumps beneath my hand, hot even through the denim. Even if his technique sucks—and I'm sure it doesn't—it'll feel good from the stretch alone.
My tongue slides across my teeth as I glance up at him through my eyelashes, aiming for sultry and innocent.
Innocent… might not work very well. I'm not great at it. As you can see.
"Oops," I say, giving him a light squeeze. "My hand slipped."
His breath catches. A snarl rips from his throat, vibrating through his chest and against my palm.
"You still suck at being submissive," he mutters.
I tilt my head, eting his gaze directly. "Then make submit."
Sothing changes in his eyes—a switch flipping. The playful tension disappears, replaced by sothing darker, hungrier. His grip on my shoulders tightens for a fraction of a second before sliding down to capture my wrists in a single swift movent as he spins us both around.
He walks backward, his body crowding mine, forcing to retreat step by step toward the bed. For once, I allow myself to be moved. I could stop this—could drop him with a thought, with a whispered word, with just the right flex of power.
But I don't.
I watch him carefully, gauging his every reaction. The way his pupils dilate. The flush creeping up his neck. The careful control in his grip—firm enough to guide , not hard enough to bruise.
"You're gonna regret that challenge," he growls, his voice dropping to sothing low and dangerous. Normally, alpha posturing doesn't do much for . His? Sends an unexpected shiver racing down my spine.
My calves hit the edge of the mattress. His hands release my wrists only to plant firmly on my shoulders, and he pushes.
I fall back onto the bed, the cheap motel mattress creaking beneath my weight. The landing isn't hard—he's asured his strength, thrown down with enough force to claim space but not enough to hurt.
A laugh bubbles up from my chest, breathless and excited despite myself.
"There we go," I say, propping myself up on my elbows. "That's the spirit."
The sound of his belt buckle hitting the floor sends a twisted thrill through . It's the language of intention—tal against cheap carpet, the scrape of a zipper. Purposeful. Deliberate.
Marcus stands at the foot of the bed, fingers hooked in his belt loops, jeans hanging low on his hips. His expression has hardened into sothing cold and commanding.
"Strip."
One word. No embellishnt. He's learning.
I take my ti, dragging my fingers to the hem of my shirt, pulling it up inch by agonizing inch. His gaze tracks every movent, hungry but controlled. He wants to rush —I can see it in the flex of his jaw, the tight press of his lips—but he doesn't.
Good boy.
I maintain eye contact as I bare my torso, discarding my shirt to the side. His nostrils flare slightly. The room suddenly feels smaller, tighter, the air between us charged with static electricity.
Marcus sheds his jeans with efficient movents, never looking away from . His cock springs free, hard and thick, flushed at the tip. He kneels at the end of the bed, wrapping his fingers around his length with casual ownership.
My turn.
The slow glide of fabric down my hips. The deliberate arch of my back as I bend to remove my underwear. Every movent a silent challenge, a test of his restraint. I'm not playing submissive—I'm making him earn it.
When I'm finally naked, I straighten, letting him look his fill. His eyes have turned molten gold, wolf bleeding through as he strokes himself. The room fills with his scent, and I can imagine him suddenly: wolfed out, in the rain, deep in the mountains. Wild and natural.
He's releasing his pheromones deliberately, filling the air with his dominance.
Good boy.
I keep my arcana passive, quieting the usual crackle of power. I let his aura reach for instead, testing the borders of my energy. It brushes against my magic—not forceful, not demanding, but with velvet strength.
My skin prickles. My pussy throbs.
Well, well. He's figured out finesse in record ti.
His breathing deepens, chest rising and falling in a asured rhythm as he watches . "Turn around," he commands, voice dropping an octave. "Hands and knees."
A flicker of disappointnt curls in my stomach. Straight for the gold? Predictable wolf. But his dominance presses against , not just pheromones but genuine alpha energy, and I find myself complying. Not because I must—I always have a choice—but because I'm curious where this leads.
I position myself on all fours, my back to him, waiting for the dip of the mattress, the heat of his body covering mine. Instead, the bed lightens as he moves away. His warmth disappears entirely.
Where—?
I turn to look over my shoulder, confused.
The crack of his palm against my ass cos without warning. Sharp, stinging heat blooms across my skin, and I jerk forward with a startled gasp.
"Don't look," he orders. "Eyes forward."
Oh.
Sting. Heat. A pleasant tingle going straight between my legs.
My pussy clenches around nothing.
It's a ga.
Not a straightforward fuck at all. Sothing with rules and consequences.
I bite back a smile as I face forward again. Perhaps he's more interesting than I thought.
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