*~Mirabelle's POV~*
The mask fell and shattered, echoing the fractured state of my own chest.
I swallowed hard, my throat working against a sudden dryness. He isn't human. He couldn't be. I pinched my arm, desperate to wake up from a hallucination, but the sting was real. This was vivid. This was happening.
His face was a masterpiece of lethal symmetry—cheekbones high and sharp, a jawline that looked capable of cutting mountains, and lips shaped into a perfect, cruel heart. Even "gorgeous" felt like an insult to a face that seemed to pull the very gravity of the room toward it. If he walked the streets without that mask, he would leave a trail of destruction in his wake. His aura was hot and commanding.
His hands wrapped around my waist, pulling me flush against him. My heart didn't just beat; it thundered.
"What's wrong, Stoneheart?" he whispered against my ear.
He looked down at my chest, tracking the frantic rhythm of my heart before bringing his gaze back to mine. His nose brushed against mine, his breath a hot, steady contrast to his icy blue eyes.
"Why are you so silent now?" he murmured. "I told you. I'm the big bad wolf. Little lambs like you shouldn't wander into my woods."
The patronizing tilt of his voice snapped something inside me. My Alter ego pounced back to life again. With a surge of strength I didn't know I possessed, I shoved him back. He hit the mattress with a heavy thud, and I pinned him down, straddling his hips.
I matched his piercing gaze. He was the perfect ruin for a girl with a one-year deadline. I didn't want sympathy or a doctor's gentle bedside manner. I wanted someone unfazed by reality. Someone who tasted like the end of the world.
He looked stunned for a heartbeat, his confusion melting into a dark, predatory smirk. "What are you—"
I didn't let him finish. I leaned down and kissed him hard.
Our bodies stiffened simultaneously as a literal electric current seemed to bridge the gap between us. I slid my tongue against his, and the contact was a revelation. He tasted like sin and lies. His tongue claimed mine with a hunger, His lips felt like mine missing puzzle.
I felt him grow hard beneath me, his trousers unable to contain his size. In one swift, violent motion, he flipped us. Now I was the one pinned, the silk sheets cool against my back while his heat pressed me into the mattress.
Lust and terror tangled in my gut as he reached for his belt, never breaking eye contact. His icy blue eyes remained fixed on mine, unblinking and intense. He shed his clothes with a practiced efficiency until he was standing over me.
I've studied human anatomy in textbooks for years, but nothing—no diagram or lecture—could have prepared me for the reality of him. This was the exact "danger" my grandmother had spent my life warning me about.
He reached for my gown. Before I could even process the movement, the fabric was gone, leaving me in nothing but my underwear.
"Are you sure you want this?" he asked, his voice a low vibration that seemed to settle in my bones. "Stoneheart?"
I didn't answer with words. I matched his energy, kneeling on the bed and reaching out to grab him. He let out a low, guttural groan, his muscles twitching under my touch.
"Perfect," I whispered.
Even with the thin barrier of fabric between us, I could feel the sheer weight and heat of him. It was massive, a solid pressure that seemed to hum with its own life. I kept my grip firm, satisfied by the way his muscles jumped and twitched under my touch.
Slowly, I began to hook my fingers into the waistband of his underwear. He caught my wrist, his blue eyes widening slightly.
"Do you really want this?" he gritted out.
I didn't answer with words. I slapped his hand away and whispered, "Yes, big bad wolf."
I pulled the fabric down, and it surged out. My breath hitched. I'd seen the diagrams in my medical texts, but nothing prepared me for the reality—the dangerous pulse of the veins and the sheer scale of him. I could do nothing but stare until he reached out and tilted my chin up.
I shivered. His eyes had shifted again, turning a shade of blue so dark they were almost black, swallowing the light in the room. The air grew stifling, the temperature rising until I was slick with sweat despite being nearly naked. It felt like I had stepped into the depths of hell to have sex with the devil himself.
"Why are you stopping now?" he asked, his voice a low, territorial growl. "You know there's no quitting now, right?"
I nodded, my heart hammering against my ribs. I gripped his bare thighs and began to stroke him, my eyes locked on his. He bit his lip, trying to stifle a groan, but I wanted to hear it. I wanted to hear the devil break under my touch.
"Fuck," he choked out as I used both hands, picking up the pace.
I reached up to graze his chest, my fingers searching for his nipples the way I'd read in those hidden romance novels I used to devour. The moment I touched him there, he seized my hand. He didn't pull away; instead, he guided my fingers to his mouth. He licked them slowly, his tongue swirling around my fingertips until they were wet.
The sensation sent a jolt straight to my own chest, my nipples tightening in response. He returned my hand to his length, the added slickness making each stroke faster, more fluid. His moans were becoming more frequent, more guttural, and I wanted more. I wanted to see this man—this bad wolf crumble.
I leaned down and took him into my mouth. He let out a deep, barked groan that vibrated through my entire body. My tongue swirled around the tip while my hands worked the rest of his length.
"Oh, shit," he hissed.
He reached for the clasp of my bra and flicked it open in one fluid motion. My breasts spilled out, and he guided himself right between them. I knew exactly what to do. I pressed them together, creating a tight, friction-filled path for him. His waist buckled with pleasure, his movements becoming frantic.
"I'm coming," he warned, his voice breaking.
He moved with a sudden, desperate rhythm between my breasts before he finally came, the heat of him splashing against my skin.
I pulled back, a triumphant smirk on my lips. "How about that, wolf?"
He returned the smirk, leaning in until his lips grazed my ear. His voice was a dark, promising silk.
"Not bad, Stoneheart. But now? It's my turn."