Eira’s POV
A wicked little temptress? Do I really look like that?
I frowned, squinting at him. "I am not."
"You are not?" His voice was a low whisper against my ear, sending shivers down my spine. "Let me show you what you are... when you’re with me."
I hesitated, glancing back at him, only to find him pulling me up from the table in one swift, unyielding movement. Startled, I ended up standing in front of the mirror, his chest pressed against my back. One of his hands circled my thin waist, holding me firmly, impossibly tight yet protective.
His free hand tilted my face toward the mirror, fingers brushing my jaw. "See how beautiful you look like this, my little temptress," he murmured.
I stared at my reflection, utterly unrecognisable. My cheeks burned with heat, my lips swollen and red. The marks on my neck traced down further, subtle reminders of the intimacy we’d just shared. My nightdress had slipped off one shoulder, leaving my chest dangerously exposed, the fabric hanging haphazardly over me. I looked anything but decent.
I had never seen myself this way before.
"Don’t tease me," I said, my voice low, my gaze snapping away from the mirror.
"I am praising you," he replied in the same low, husky tone, matching my voice, his breath warm against my ear. "In fact, I want to see you like this... every time we’re together."
I looked back at him through the mirror. "Will you be doing this every time we meet?"
"Maybe more than this," he replied, but added, "but we won’t mate until you are an adult. You won’t be able to take me without having your wolf and I don’t wish to hurt you. You are precious. I will never hurt you."
His words, his reassurance, warmed my heart. He cared.
But doubt crept in. I am a hybrid, and my grandparents said I was wolfless. What if I truly don’t have a wolf and it doesn’t show up when I’m an adult? What will I do then?
"What are you thinking?" His voice pulled me back, commanding and sharp.
"You dare let your mind slip away somewhere," he said in a low, possessive tone, his gaze warning me.
I wanted to deny it and shook my head. But his hand dangerously moved closer between my thighs, pushing the hem of my dress upward. My heart skipped a beat.
"You need to be punished for this," he murmured, dark and teasing.
I held his hand. "It’s not right..." Fear and embarrassment flared in me. He was about to uncover something utterly private to me, to any woman.
He stilled, his eyes locking with mine in the mirror. "Have you ever touched yourself?"
My cheeks burned crimson. Damn, another bomb of utter embarrassment he dropped. Why did he have to ask this?
"Answer me, and I will decide whether to stop or go ahead," he demanded, unwavering.
I lowered my gaze and shook my head.
"Why?" His insistence cut through my hesitation.
"It’s embarrassing... and I felt scared..." I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper.
"It’s not," he said softly. "Look at me."
I obeyed, meeting his intense gaze.
"That’s even more reason for me to show you it’s not embarrassing or scary, but something you would enjoy," he murmured, a faint smirk playing on his lips. "Though you are not an adult, you are not a child anymore. You are a woman, a shewolf at that. You should know what it is."
I had nothing to say. My throat went dry, my mind spinning.
"Let me show you. I promise you won’t regret it. Trust me," he whispered, voice dripping with possessive certainty.
Slowly, I let go of the hand I had been clutching, surrendering to him, deciding to trust him.
He tilted my face toward his and pressed his lips to mine, a gentle kiss that distracted me just long enough for his hand to wander further. His fingers slipped inside my panties, deliberate and teasing.
I flinched instinctively, but he murmured against my lips, "Don’t worry."
My heart slammed against my ribs, my stomach fluttering like a caged bird. My thighs clenched tightly, muscles coiling under his touch. My feet inched closer together, toes digging into the floor as if seeking some anchor.
And then I felt it—his touch, bold and possessive, tracing over my already wet folds. His long fingers moved with a skill that made me shiver uncontrollably.
A erotic moan tore from my throat, but he captured my mouth with his, swallowing any protest before it could escape.
My hands clutched his, the one that wrapped around my shoulders, my entire body pressing into his for support.
"You are so wet already," he murmured between kisses, finally letting me draw a shaky breath. But his fingers never stopped their work, gliding through my folds skilfully. Occasionally, they paused just long enough for his thumb to tease the most sensitive bundle of nerves, making me tremble under his touch.
And then it hit me—the meaning behind every line I had ever read in those books, the way the female lead had felt. It was maddening, intoxicating, and my body craved it all the more. Every nerve, every fiber of me wanted him to continue, to give me more.
"It might feel a little uncomfortable," he murmured, his finger circling my entrance.
I knew exactly what he meant and let out a soft hum, mingled with the gentle moans escaping me.
His finger inched inside slowly. I flinched for a moment, but my body responded, as if silently begging him to go deeper, to fill me.
"So tight! Hot and wet," he whispered in my ear, his voice rough with desire. "Gosh! It would feel so perfect for my cock to dive in."
I barely registered his words. All my attention was consumed by the movement of his finger, sliding in and out of me with deliberate precision.
"Ah..." I gasped, unable to stop myself from nearly screaming in pleasure. The intensity was overwhelming, almost sinful. Shame and embarrassment vanished, burned away by the fire coursing through me.
His fingers did not relent. They moved with a rhythm that matched the pounding of my heart, each stroke sending shivers and jolts of fire through my body. My back arched instinctively against him, lips parting in ragged breaths as waves of heat and pleasure rolled over me, leaving me dizzy and trembling.