7

Two IVs were attached to my arm. I glanced up at the bags. One looked to be some basic hydration solution, while the other had a dark purple color—likely some healing potion a fae had cooked up. Careful not to hurt myself, I tugged both tubes out of my arm. I hated seeing those things protruding from me. I could only imagine how I looked with tubes and wires covering my sweaty body as I moaned in my sleep. I despised looking weak. Feeling better than I had since taking that sip of wine, I decided it would be fine to try to look more like myself.

Easing up onto the pillows behind me, I glanced around at the familiar surroundings. I was at my family’s home. Outside the window, the massive forest of the Eastern Wilds stretched beyond my father’s property. The Eleventh Pack’s land wasn’t huge like some of the other packs’, but it was still beautiful. I was glad I was here rather than at a hospital or operative clinic.

A few bottles of water stood on the nightstand next to my bed. Greedily, I snatched one. The room-temperature water was a heavenly elixir sliding down my parched throat. The IV had kept me from dying of dehydration, but nothing was better than a drink of water when you were thirsty.

After drinking my fill, I realized I wasn’t entirely back to normal yet. The healers had fixed me fairly rapidly, and all the painful need from being forced into heat had vanished. My vagina had actually ached to be filled, and not in a good way. The residual effects were still in my body, though. An insistent desire still pulsed through me, and wetness pooled between my legs.

Maybe if I got myself off, the orgasm would flush the rest of the stuff from my system. Gods, I could barely think with the lust coiled in my belly. I’d need to be in full control of my body if I were to face the meetings, inquiries, maybe even reprimands that were par for the course after a failed operation.

I slid a hand under the covers, then under the waistband of my panties. A breath shuddered past me as my fingers slipped across the wet folds of my pussy. Glancing at the door to make sure no one was coming in, I closed my eyes and slid the tip of my middle finger across my clit.

Unbidden, a memory flooded my mind of Wyatt cradling my body. The scent of him, the taste of his skin, the rippling muscles of his body underneath my caresses. I was dripping wet at the mere thought. As I slid a finger inside myself, a moan escaped my lips. The sound of Wyatt’s voice, deep and sexy as he’d been trying to calm me down, sent me into a frenzy. My hand worked furiously between my legs as a thousand fantasies played out in my mind.

I imagined us in that parking lot, but instead of waiting for help, Wyatt gave in to my begging. Gave me what I was desperate to have. A second finger slipped into my pussy as I thought of him ripping my dress open, my breasts free and aching for the touch of his hands and lips. He would slip his tongue over my nipples as I feverishly tugged at his zipper until his thick cock was finally in my hands.

It was wrong—no, it was beyond wrong—to think about this, but once I started, I couldn’t stop. The drug or potion that lion shifter had given me was still messing with my head, and all I could do was ride it out.

I rubbed at my clit with my free hand as the other continued to work in and out of me. My breaths left me in short, shallow gasps. The next image that flashed through my mind was Wyatt’s hard and defined muscles coated in a sheen of sweat, strong hands clutching my hips as he fucked me. His cock slipped deep into me, all the way to his balls, and it was like I was complete. Whole. After twenty-three years of life, this moment was the most intense I’d ever had. The sensation of Wyatt filling me should have been awful to imagine. Instead, I released a contented sigh and thought about how good it would feel to reach up and play with my nipples while he took me.

For a few brief seconds, I wished it wasn’t a fantasy. If imagining it made me feel this way, what would the real thing be like?

Before I could dive into that thought, a violent tremor shot through me. An explosion of rapture was building deep inside me, like I was being lifted high into the air, rising and preparing to crash down into ecstasy.

In my fantasy, Wyatt started fucking me faster, almost like his life depended on making me come. Sweat dripped from his brow onto my stomach, and I slid my fingers through it before cupping my breasts.

Then, like a bomb going off in my mind and body, pleasure surged from my pelvis, up my chest, and across my whole body. I kept pressing my fingers into myself, riding the wave. For a moment, I thought it would never end, but then it tapered and ebbed, leaving me a gasping and shivering puddle on my bed.

There was one last image of Wyatt, groaning and slamming his hips into me as his own orgasm struck. Smiling, I watched it in my mind’s eye. The smile faded as quickly as it had come. My eyes snapped open, and I looked around, an immense and immediate guilt tinged with disgusted horror descending on me.

Sitting up, I took a deep breath and shivered. My skin crawled from my fantasy of the person who was my biggest nemesis, the one man who always managed to get under my skin.

He did more than get under my skin a moment before, I thought, then winced at my lame joke.

The worst part was that Wyatt was an inherently gorgeous man. Any other woman would be drooling and tripping over herself to get him to so much as look at her. That was not something I could ever imagine myself doing. We had too much history, too much baggage. No. I needed to forget I’d ever slipped and had those thoughts.