The Wolf King's Vow: The Hollowborn Lycans II

Beckham

-Motel Room flashback:-

I’d never gone down on a girl before. Not once. Not even when they begged for it. I was not in the business of giving pleasure, never cared. Never needed to care. It just wasn’t my thing. I didn’t like the power shift. Didn’t like being that close. Didn’t like the idea of getting lost in someone like that.

But then again, no one was Auren.

No one had ever looked up at me the way she did, still dazed from the many rounds my wolf had needed, still sore, and flushed all the way down to her chest...while letting me stay inside her for hours, trusting me through every messy, cursed, feral thing I did to her.

No one had ever let me fall apart like she had. And now, here she was again. Bare, open and ruined in the most beautiful way. And still looking at me like I she didn't hate me.

I knelt at the edge of the bed with a warm cloth, wiping her down gently with slow passes between her thighs. She flinched at first, still tender, but she didn’t stop me. Just bit her lip and breathed through it.

Her skin was flushed, her inner thighs trembling as I cleaned away the mess I’d made.

Scars above, I’d made so much of it. She should’ve been angry. She should’ve pushed me away.

But she didn’t. She parted her legs for me again.

I pressed the cloth gently between her folds, and she whimpered in the way that told me it hurt a little… but she still wanted it. Still wanted me. Somehow.

Her eyes fluttered shut. Her hips tilted up slightly. Just a little encouragement. And I knew. She wasn’t asking for more pain. She was asking for something else.

I dropped the cloth to the side, heart pounding harder than it had even during the worst of the Break. This was different. This wasn’t survival.

This was choice. My choice.

I bent forward and kissed the inside of her thigh. She gasped softly. I kissed higher. A second time. Then again. Every inch closer made my pulse pound.

I could smell her now, still slick, still flushed, still mine, and it did something to me. Something I hadn’t expected. I’d thought maybe it would put me off. That I’d hesitate. That I’d pull back. But all I could think was more.

I kissed her right there.

Just once. A soft, open-mouthed kiss to her center. She cried out with just a breathy little sound, and her thighs clenched instinctively around my shoulders.

I didn’t move. Didn’t tease. I just kissed her again. And again. Slow, and tender. And totally not in my comfort zone.

My tongue barely flicked out. A soft taste. Just enough to make her squirm, to make her back arch, to make her hand reach down and clutch the back of my head like she couldn’t believe I was doing this.

I couldn’t believe it either.

But I didn’t stop.

I kept kissing her, up and down her folds, gentle sucks to her outer lips, slow licks through the mess I’d made of her. She was warm and soft and twitching under every pass of my tongue, and every reaction made me hungrier for more.

She tasted like heat. Like salt. Like every mistake I wanted to make twice, thrice and a hundred times.

“You okay?” I asked against her, voice low and hoarse.

She nodded hard. “Y-Yeah.”

I kissed her again, this time pressing harder, letting my tongue part her folds and slide through. She moaned. Arched he beautiful back. Her heels dug into the bed, and her hand tugged in my hair.

“I’ve never—” I began.

“I know,” she gasped.

Her hips twitched up into me. A whimper. I groaned against her and sucked gently on the place I knew would break her. Her legs clamped around me.

I kept going. My tongue worked soft circles over her clit, careful not to go too fast, too hard. She was still sore. I could feel it in how tight she held her breath, in the way her thighs trembled when I lingered too long in one spot.

But she never told me to stop. She just took it. And gave me more.

“Beckham,” she whimpered. “Please.”

I didn’t know if she meant more or don’t stop or you’re killing me. Didn’t matter. I gave her everything I had. I slid two fingers under her thighs and held her open, tongue pressing deeper now, lapping slow and wet between the lips I’d already spent the whole night memorizing. I kissed her like she was something precious. Like I’d never get to do it again.

Because maybe I wouldn’t. Maybe this was once. Maybe this was the only time. And it should be the only time. A dream. A fever dream.

So I made it count.

I pressed kisses to every inch of her pussy. Her folds. Her inner thighs. The little spot just beneath her entrance that made her hips jerk like a shock hit her spine. I whispered her name against her skin. I murmured soft things I didn’t even recognize coming out of my mouth.

“Good girl.”

She was gasping now, fingers fisting the sheets beside her.

“You take it so well, don’t you?”

“Scars above, I love your mouth,” she whispered, barely there. My heart thudded.

I sucked her clit one last time, firmly, slow, and dragging it into my mouth, and she came undone. Her whole body locked, then shook. Her breath caught. Her legs trembled violently as she rode out a soft, pulsing orgasm under my mouth.

I didn’t stop until she pushed me away. Just a gentle hand. Breathless.

“I can’t—too much,” she whispered.

I nodded and kissed her thigh again. Then pulled back. Her eyes were glossy. Her mouth open. She was flushed and trembling, her chest rising and falling like she’d run ten miles.

And she looked at me like she’d never seen me before. Like she was seeing me now.

Not the Break.

Not the Burn.

Not the Wolf.

Just… Beckham Cross.

I climbed up beside her and laid down, pulling her into my chest. She curled into me easily, eyes fluttering shut, arms slipping around my ribs. Her breath slowed. Her body softened.

And I just held her. My mouth still tasted like her. And I didn’t want to wash it away. Yet, morning light was creeping through the windows, and with the rising of the sun, I knew.