Mr. Stranger

Rhiannon’s POV~

The room was spinning so bad I had to squeeze my eyes shut just to make the floor stop moving.

The whiskey was still burning a hole right through my stomach lining, but the buzz wasn't fixing anything.

I squeezed my eyes shut for a second because the room was spinning too fast. When I opened them, the world was still blurry, but he wasn't.

He was still there.

I didn't know his name. I didn't know who he was. But my body reacted before my brain could catch up.

My thighs felt hot. A tight, heavy ache settled low in my belly.

It was wrong. It was disgusting.

He was a stranger. But my wolf inside me, the part that was dying, the part that just watched Marcus fuck Emilia, she didn't care about names.

She just wanted to be claimed. I wanted to bare my neck.

I wanted to rub my face against that broad, hairy chest and just breathe him in until I forgot the smell of Marcus’s cologne on another woman.

My legs felt like jelly. I knew I shouldn't move. I knew I should turn around and run back to the empty apartment and cry until I threw up.

But the grief in my chest felt like a knife splitting my ribs. I needed to collapse.

I needed something hard to hold me up because I was going to break into a thousand pieces if I stood alone for one more second.

And I was angry. God, I was so angry. I wanted Marcus to feel this. I wanted him to know that I could be touched by someone else.

I wanted revenge. I wanted to be broken so I could put myself back together differently.

My body is screaming for him. For dominance. I want to drop to the floor right here on the ground. I want him to grab my hair and pull my head back.

I want to stop thinking. I just want to be claimed. Even if it’s just for an hour. I want his scent all over me so Marcus smells it and knows he lost me.

I took a step. My heel wobbled on the sticky floor. I looked up. He was huge. He had to be six-four, maybe more.

I had to crane my neck back just to see his face. He was looking down at me with eyes that were completely black in the dim light.

He wasn't smiling. He looked cold. Dangerous.

He didn't say a word. He just stepped into my space. The air changed instantly.

It got heavier. He smelled like rain and ozone and something wild. He crowded me against the wall, his heat seeping through my thin dress.

Slowly, he lowered his head. He didn't touch me with his hands. He just leaned in until I could feel his breath on my skin.

He pressed his nose against the side of my neck, right over the mating bond that was still throbbing with pain.

He inhaled deep. It was a snuff, rough and yet strangely possessive.

A low sound rumbled in his chest. It sounded like a growl.

Then he pulled back just an inch. I watched, my breath hitching in my throat. He dragged his tongue slow and wet along the corner of his own lip. I caught the movement.

My vision was foggy, but I saw it. It was dirty and dark and I wanted it so bad my hands shook.

I waited for his hands to go to my throat. I wanted the pressure. I wanted to be pinned down.

But he didn't grab my throat.

Instead, I felt something rough scrape against my cheek. It was his thumb. He was wiping my face like he was scrubbing something off.

"You're crying." He noted.

I froze. My eyes snapped open. The ringing in my ears got louder. I stared at him, trying to make his face focus.

Trying to see if I knew this stranger. The alcohol was making everything blurry, but I saw the jawline. I saw his eyes looking down at me.

Maybe I was crazy. Maybe the grief finally broke my brain.

But then his hand moved.

He didn't stop touching me. His palm was hot and dry against my skin.

He slid his hand down from my cheek to my jaw, then right down the front of my neck. His fingers were thick and calloused.

I felt the ridges of his fingerprints pressing into my throat. He squeezed, just a little. Not enough to hurt, just enough to let me know he could crush me if he wanted to.

My breath hitched loudly. My body betrayed me instantly. The heat in my belly dropped straight down between my legs.

I felt wetness soak into my underwear. It was humiliating. I was standing here mourning my marriage, and my body was acting like I was in heat.

His hand kept going down. He pushed his fingers under the collar of my shirt.

He touched the hollow of my throat, then the top of my sternum. I shivered, hard.

He stopped right at the swell of my breasts. He didn't grab them. He just rubbed the side of his hand against the lace of my bra.

The fabric was scratchy, but his hand was heavy. I could feel my nipples hardening under the cup. They ached.

They were begging for him to twist them, to pull them, to do something violent.

I leaned forward. I couldn't help it. I pushed my chest into his hand. I was chasing the friction. I needed more pressure. I needed him.

That’s when I looked up at his face.

His eyes changed. They weren't just dark anymore. The pupils blew out, swallowing the color. They looked black and hungry.

He looked down at me, watching me push myself into his hand like a desperate animal. His jaw clenched tight.

"You're playing with fire, sweet girl," he said.

"Then burn me," I retorted.

He didn't answer. He just leaned down. His mouth was right there. I could see the dark stubble on his chin, the wet sheen on his lower lip.

I closed my eyes and waited for the kiss.

Then my phone slipped.

It fell out of my dress pocket and hit the floor with a loud smack. The screen lit up.

The white light hit his face dead-on. For one second, everything was clear. I saw the sharp angle of his cheekbone.

I saw the scar cutting through his left eyebrow. I saw the golden-brown eyes that looked like they belonged to a wolf, not a man.

I don’t even know his name. Thank God.

My eyes darted across his body and I shivered in pleasure. Damn. Look at the way his shoulders hunch. He looks like he eats wolves for breakfast.

Marcus looks definitely like a boy to this man. There was something about this man that was scratching at my ribs and screaming for me to ‘Submit.’

I want to feel his hairy thigh between my legs, scratching me raw.

I didn't kiss him gently. I bit his lip. He groaned, a deep sound that vibrated against my teeth.

I felt his hands come up, but he didn't hold me like a lover. He held me like he owned me.

One hand tangled in my hair, yanking my head back. The other wrapped around my waist, pulling me flush against him.

I melted. The tension in my chest snapped away. I felt dizzy, but not from the alcohol this time.

My hand moved on its own. It slid down his chest, that was bare. I felt the ridges of muscle, the dusting of coarse hair. I kept going down.

He was wearing a towel, knotted low on his hips.

I shoved my hand under the knot.

I didn't find underwear. I found a rough, hot skin and a thick thatch of curly hair. He was bare. Completely bare.

I wrapped my fingers around him.

I gasped into his mouth. My eyes flew open, but it was too dark to see anything. I could only feel.

He was massive.

Marcus was... okay. Average.

This?

This felt like a baseball bat wrapped in a cloth. He was heavy in my hand, so heavy my wrist ached instantly. I couldn't even close my fingers around the girth.

The head of him was huge, blunt, and wet with pre-cum. I felt the ridge of the crown, the thick vein pulsing along the underside.

He wasn't soft. He was rock hard.

"Oh my goodness," I whimpered, pulling back from the kiss.

He rumbled. He didn't stop me. He grabbed my wrist with his big hand and pushed my palm harder against him.

He ground his hips forward, forcing my hand to slide up and down the shaft. The friction was rough. The hair on his groin scratched against my knuckles.

I felt him twitch against my palm. He was so big he felt like he might break my hand. I realized then that I was in over my head.

This wasn't just a man. This was a predator.

But I didn't let go. I squeezed the base, feeling heat radiate through my fingers, and he let out a hiss of breath, his hips bucking into my touch.

Suddenly the motion sensor light exploded on in the room. I froze.

My hand was still down there, wrapped around him, and the sudden brightness felt like someone threw ice water on my face.

I blinked, my eyes stinging, trying to adjust. When the spots cleared, I looked up and air instantly died in my lungs.

Wait… this wasn't a stranger.

The alcohol evaporated instantly, leaving a cold, sick feeling in my stomach.

I knew that face. I knew the sharp jawline covered in stubble. I knew the scar that cut through his left eyebrow like a lightning bolt.

It was Kieran Thorne. Marcus’ Uncle!

Blood drained from my head so fast I got dizzy. My knees actually buckled.

This wasn't just some random guy from a bar. This was the monster Marcus checked the locks for. This was the Alpha who made other packs tremble.

Rumors flashed through my head, fast and terrifying. They said he killed his own father to take the pack.

They said he didn't have a heart, just a black hole where his soul should be. They said he was six-foot-five of pure muscle and violence. Marcus used to tell me stories about how Kieran would rip out the throats of wolves who looked at him wrong. He was a ghost story.

A nightmare.

And he was standing right here. Shirtless. Wearing nothing but a white towel knotted low on his hips.

I looked at his chest. It was broad, covered in dark hair, and there was a fresh red scratch right over his left nipple. I did that. I did that with my nails two minutes ago.

I looked down at my hand. It was still hovering near his cock. I had just touched the most dangerous man in the state.

I had just told him to burn me. I had just jerked him off.

"Oh shit," I breathed out.

Panic spiked in my veins. I didn't think. I just reacted. I shoved my hand back like I’d been burned and stumbled away from him.

My heels slipped on the carpet, and I nearly fell, catching myself on the wall opposite him. I put distance between us.

As much distance as the narrow hallway allowed.

I looked up at him, trembling.

Kieran hadn't moved. He stood there under the buzzing light, looking like a statue carved from granite.

He looked down at his chest where I’d scratched him, then he looked at his own hand, and finally, his eyes snapped to mine.

They weren't human eyes anymore. The gold was gone. Immediately his eyes darkened.