“Tell me how much it wants me. Tell me how wet your panties are, sweetheart.”
“I’m not wearing any.”
Viktor let out a huff of air against the mic. “I… What are you wearing right now, Cam?”
Camille lifted one leg, slowly dragging it against the sheets as she propped her foot on the mattress. There was no way he wouldn’t hear the sound of fabric rustling against skin. “Nothing.”
He swore.
“Gods save me, Cam, as soon as you say yes, I’m going to make myself a new home between your thighs.” The sound of skin on skin picked up tempo, tantalizing her. “You have no idea how much I want to touch every inch of you. I want to see you. I’ve been dreaming of it for twenty godsdamned years. I know you’re going to have the most perfect skin, the softest curves. I want to explore every inch of you.”
Fingertips sliding carefully upward to avoid pricking herself with her claws, Camille began to circle her clitoris, seeking that delicious friction that would send her over the edge. She strained to listen to every word and every illicit sound.
“I’m not going to ask if you remember that day in the meeting room,” he continued, panting slightly. “I know you do. Tell me, sweetheart, are you imagining it’s my hand between gorgeous legs? Are you remembering when it was me rubbing that little clit? My fingers inside of you, making you come so hard your knees shook?”
Camille pressed harder, used more force than she normally would have, chasing the memory of his callused fingers and rocking hips. “Yes,” she answered, desperately.
“Do you remember how hard I was for you? What I felt like in your hand as you came around my fingers?”
Gods, I’ll never forget it.
Silky smooth and hot as a brand, he was everything she could have wanted — and she never even got to look at him.
Moving her hand faster, both legs drawn up now, she answered, “I remember. I— I think about it constantly.”
“I was a fucking idiot that day, but I don’t have one damn regret. I’ve never felt anything like you before, sweetheart. You’re perfect. I want to spend every night of the rest of my life with my hands on all that pretty skin and wake you up every morning with my mouth between your thighs.”
“Gods!” Camille rolled her hips into her hand, chasing the edge of an orgasm that hovered just out of reach. She needed his hand, his scent, his lips and teeth and tongue. Without him, it felt as though pleasure would remain just on the periphery, driving her slowly insane.
As if sensing her urgency and her growing frustration, he said, “That’s it, sweetheart. I know we can get you there. Focus on my voice.”
“Vik, I—”
“It’s my hand on you,” he growled, something dark and possessive entering his voice — as if he took her struggle as a personal affront to his claim. “Those are my fingers on your clit right now, sweetheart. I’m the one who feels how wet you are for me, how your cunt holds me so fucking tight. I’m the one who gets to kiss you until you can’t breathe, and when I let you up for air, I am the one who gets to bite you.”
The image of Viktor leaning down to clamp his fangs over her throat short-circuited her mind. Camille’s fingers stuttered, their rhythm failing as her orgasm rippled through in short, hard bursts. She cried out. Distantly, she heard him hiss a curse, the sound of skin on skin picking up into a frenzied beat until it stopped abruptly with a long, masculine moan.
Together, they panted in the darkness, their ragged breaths whuffing across the line.
Camille felt the sweat begin to cool and waited, breath held, for the regret to come. She expected it to sour her stomach as it had the day of the Summit, but it didn’t.
Instead, she felt languid, her muscles relaxed and her mind pleasantly fuzzy. The urgency hadn’t gone away, but it was briefly dulled. Enough to let her close her eyes and not feel as thought she had made another horrible mistake.
Setting the phone down next to her head on her pillow, Camille slowly turned on her side. In a small, hushed voice, she whispered, “Viktor?”
She heard his breath hitch. “Yeah, Cam?”
“Thank you.”
“Ah, sweetheart,” he grated, “please believe me when I say it was my pleasure.”
Her lips twitched with a small smile. “Still.”
“Yeah, I get it.” Viktor’s voice changed again as he — presumably — laid back down. “I’d do anything for you, Cam. I know that’s hard to believe right now, but it’s the truth.”
It was hard to believe, but she wasn’t in the mood to pick a fight. Instead, Camille chose to let it go. Softly, she asked, “Can you tell me about your den?”
Viktor sucked in a breath. “Well… Damn, you have no idea how much that hits me right in the instinct, sweetheart.” He chuckled. “Makes me want to preen like a fucking peacock or something. My mate, asking about our den? Don’t think there’s anything as hot as that, weird as that sounds.”
My mate, asking about our den?
Camille’s heart lurched. Hope, traitorous and hungry, spread like ink in her mind, staining everything it touched. “So… are you going to tell me about it?”
“Nah.”
“No?”
“Nope.” She could hear the smile in his voice when he explained, “I want you to see it. The first time you step into our den, I want you to be surprised.”
“What if I don’t like it?”
“Well, then I’ll change it.” He was utterly matter-of-fact. There wasn’t even a hint of worry or annoyance at the prospect of years of work and thought being erased on a whim. “It’s our den. If you don’t like something, then that’s that. I couldn’t fight the urge to make you comfortable even if I wanted to.”
“Oh.”
They were quiet for a while, simply listening to each other breathe as pleasure melted into soft drowsiness. Eyelids heavy and heart aching, she finally murmured, “I should probably let you go. You’ve got a pack to look after tomorrow morning.”
While she had… nothing, really. Paperwork from the vineyard and union negotiations didn’t hold a candle to the important choices Viktor made every day. He lived for his pack. She used to feel bitter about that, but now she only felt sad.
It must be nice, she thought, biting her lip, to know you’re doing good every day. To know that so many people trust you. To have a place in their hearts.
“Cam…” Viktor’s voice softened and became strangely uncertain. “Would you mind if we just… kept the call going?”
Surprised but tentatively pleased, she dared to ask, “Why?”
“So I can hear you breathing for a while longer. It feels a bit like you’re here with me, sleeping in my bed.”
Camille dragged her blankets up over her shoulders. Fingers peeking out from under the fabric, she rested the tips of her claws on the screen of her phone. “Yeah,” she whispered, “it does feel like that.”
Equally hushed, he replied, “Then we’ll keep the call going, and you’ll be the first voice I hear tomorrow morning.”
She drew her legs up, hugging them close to her chest — which felt too full, too fragile, like the protective cage of her rips might shatter at any moment. “I’d like that.”