2: Good Girls Don’t Drool on the Devil

Zolani’s POV

“My love?”

Evan’s voice sliced through the haze and my eyes snapped open. He sat on the edge of the bed in soft morning light, hair tousled, that gentle, saintly smile plastered across his face like he hadn’t just caught me dreaming about another man’s knot stretching me open.

I forced a sweet smile back, calm as I can, while inside the guilt rammed into my chest so hard my throat closed.

Last night I had locked myself in the bathroom and finger-fucked myself stupid with two fingers while Evan slept ten feet away, a towel jammed between my teeth so he wouldn’t hear me choking out Cassian’s name when I came hard enough to see stars. And now he looked at me like I was still the pure little virgin he’d put on a pedestal.

“Sorry for waking you,” he said, leaning down to kiss my forehead like I was made of stained glass.

“Your flight’s in two hours. I already packed everything. Just shower and I’ll drive you.”

Every calm, loving word hit hard. I sat up, clutching the sheet to my chest even though his old UCLA T-shirt covered me, and the movement reminded me of the dried slick crusted between my thighs, the faint ache from how brutally I’d worked myself. My cheeks burned. I could still taste Cassian’s skin on my tongue like I’d actually sucked him off.

God, strike me dead. What kind of filthy, ungrateful whore did that to maybe the sweetest man on the planet?

Evan’s good. He's faithful. He color-coded my vitamins, left Post-it notes that said “Drink water, gorgeous,” and refused blowjobs because “God was watching." But why doesn't even ever get a hard on no matter how much I throw myself at him all horny and wet.

And I repaid him by squirting all over a bathmat while screaming “Daddy” for my best friend’s father.

I swallowed the shame and croaked, “Thank you, baby.”

He beamed,actually beamed like I was an angel instead of a walking lie, and strolled off to make coffee.

I dragged myself to the shower on legs that still trembled. The hot water hit my skin and I flinched, every drop felt like a priest slapping my wrist with a ruler. I scrubbed between my legs like I could exfoliate the sin away, but I was still swollen, still sensitive, still wet just from the memory. My fingers grazed my clit and I jerked back like I’d touched a live wire.

Nope. Not again. Not with Saint Evan humming “Blessed Assurance” in the kitchen.

I stepped out, wrapped a towel around myself, and faced the mirror. Same brown eyes, same wild curls, same untouched body. Virgin. Good girl. Future wife.

Liar.

I dropped the towel and stared. My nipples stood hard as bullets. My thighs still gleamed from last night, a faint purple bruise bloomed on my hip from where I’d gripped myself too hard while screaming into the towel.

Fantastic. I was literally branded by a hallucination.

The thoughts ricocheted, savage and sarcastic as ever.

Well done, Zolani. You’re about to fly fourteen hours to a Christmas wedding praying the bride’s father drags you under the mistletoe and knots you in front of the baby Jesus ice sculpture. Real subtle.

Catholic guilt and werewolf knotting erotica should never be roommates.

I yanked on jeans, no panties, because apparently today I wanted to suffer and the rough denim scraped my bare pussy with every step. Fresh slick soaked the seam instantly.

What kind of cursed body was this? I’d come twice last night. My fingers were still wrinkled. And I was already wet enough to baptize the Pope.

Evan knocked gently. “Ready, love?”

I opened the door, face serene, voice honey-sweet. “All set.”

He beamed again, grabbed my suitcase, kissed my cheek, carried everything to the car like I was porcelain. In the hallway he launched into the apology I’d heard six times already.

“I’m so sorry I can’t come with you. This Tokyo trip came up last minute and.. ”

“It’s fine,” I said smoothly, calm as a nun on the outside while inside I pictured Cassian’s huge hand replacing Evan’s on the handle, his mouth at my ear growling Mine before he dragged me into the stairwell and fucked me against the wall.

Evan kept talking, proud, excited and I nodded in all the right places while my brain screamed... He’s apologizing for having a job.

I’m apologizing to Jesus for wanting my best friend’s dad to ruin me in every room of his castle. We are not the same species.

We got in the car. He held my hand the whole drive to LAX, thumb stroking my knuckles, telling me how gorgeous I’d look in the bridesmaid dress, how much he’d miss his future wife, how he’d already started scouting churches for June.

Every word was sugar and sunlight and it made the guilt fester deeper. Because the entire time he spoke, I sat there clenching my thighs because the seatbelt pressed right against my clit and I was terrified I’d leave a puddle on his leather seat later.

I was a monster. A horny, sarcastic, soaked monster.

He pulled up to departures, hopped out, lifted my suitcase like it was nothing, then cupped my face and kissed me soft and slow and perfect.

“Call me when you land, okay? Love you more than anything.”

“I love you too,” I said, and it tasted like rust, but I did love him. That was the worst part.

I watched him drive away, then turned toward the terminal, rolling my suitcase behind me. My nipples scraped my bra with every step, my clit pulsed like a second heartbeat, and the ache inside me had grown claws.

This flight wasn’t taking me to a wedding.

It was hurling me straight into the mouth of something vicious and starving, something with teeth, claws, and a cock thick enough to split me in half. I wasn’t walking into a Christmas lodge.

I was walking into his cage. The second the plane touched down I’d smell him in the air, feel his eyes on me before I even saw him, and I’d drop to my knees without being told because my body had already belonged to him for months.

I kept whispering the lie anyway, calm voice, serene smile, like a prayer that might still save me.

It was just for Aradia.

Just for the wedding.

Just for pretty lights and snow and hot chocolate and friendship and Christmas magic.

Nothing more.

Nothing dangerous.

Nothing sinful.

Because good girls didn’t drool on the devil but the truth pulsed warm and wet between my legs, and my body already knew I was lying…and worse...it couldn’t wait for the lie to come gloriously, and filthily true.