Masturbating to Elara's Memory

Kaelen:

I quickly snatch my phone back from Killian's grip before his heavy fingers can crush the delicate glass and plastic casing. The screen glares brightly in the dark cabin of the Range Rover, displaying the incoming text message from Rocco.

"Hey, Assholes! I know you're following me. Taking her back to my flat. TOO DRUNK TO REMEMBER ADDRESS 👅"

Killian laughs a dark, mocking sound from the back seat, wiggling his thick eyebrows at me. I ignore his taunts. Reid spins the steering wheel hard, shooting the massive SUV down a narrow side alley. Tires splash through the deep puddles. We pop out at a sharp corner directly across from Rocco’s flat, hidden just on the outskirts of the city. Rain pounds the roof of the car. Through the rain-streaked windshield, we watch Rocco carry our little drunken kitten toward his front door.

I tap the screen of my phone, typing out a fast demand. "Her name?" I hit send.

Inside the ground-floor flat, the soft living room lights flicker on. Through the black and white circular drapes, Rocco’s silhouette moves gracefully across the room. He ignores the buzz of his phone. He lays her down gently on the sofa, lifting her slender legs to slip her black stilettos off her feet with careful hands. I vibrate in my seat, my jaw locked tight. I am seconds away from shoving Killian’s laughing ass out the car door, storming up to that flat, and giving Rocco a solid piece of my mind.

Buzz. Buzz.

The phone jumps in my palm like a hot potato. My brothers lean in from the back seat, staring at the glowing screen like a pack of curious, star-struck puppies.

"Elara 😊"

"Elara," I say aloud. The name rolls beautifully and perfectly off my tongue. It feels right in my mouth. Before I can dwell on the strange, heavy warmth spreading in my chest, a series of hard taps on the driver-side window jolts us. We snarl and hiss, snapping our attention to the glass.

Reid rolls the window down. Rocco stands in the rain, flashing a grin. Reid does not hesitate. He lunges out the window, wrapping his thick arm around Rocco’s neck and pulling him into a rough headlock right against the door frame.

"Bloody hell, Rocco!" Cade smacks Rocco hard over the head. A muffled grunt escapes Rocco's lips.

Reid releases his vice grip. Rocco slides back out of the window, rubbing his wet, disheveled hair with a low growl. His eyes flash a dangerous red hue, warning us his beast is getting angry. "What was that for, you arse?" he snaps, punching Reid in the shoulder.

"Well, if you would stop acting like a dickhead, I would be nicer," Reid laughs, leaning back into his leather seat.

I lean forward, putting myself directly between Reid and Beck. "Why did you let her get so incredibly drunk?"

Rocco rubs the back of his neck nervously. He glances up and down the slick, empty street to make sure no one is lingering in the shadows. He leans his arms against the door edge, the rain dripping from his chin. "That girl can drink. She sucked down a shot the second we walked into the club, and not to mention the two she downed during our little showdown earlier." Rocco chuckles lightly.

My brothers share a curious look. Killian leans forward toward the door. "She must like to suck."

A chorus of warning growls erupts from the four of us. Killian throws his hands up in mock surrender, laughing even harder. "Joking! Just a joke."

"We'll let it slide," Beck says from the back seat, flashing a dark wink over his shoulder.

I shake my head in annoyance, focusing back on Rocco. He taps his fingers against the wet door, his megawatt smile fading into something much more serious. "I don’t know what this is, but she seems troubled by something. At first, she was reserved. But after a few drinks, she blossomed into this bright shooting star. She even told me she was accepted with a full scholarship at the Fine Arts program for dance and music."

His smile radiates from ear to ear. I want to skin the bastard for looking so happy about her. I lean back in my seat. Something is off. She is human, I know that much. I caught her scent in the club. Yet she feels completely different from anyone else we have ever crossed paths with. My instincts are clawing at the inside of my ribcage, demanding answers.

I pull up my contacts and find Maddox.

"Hey, you busy?" I type, tapping my finger against the screen. The guys continue their banter around me, but I am on a mission.

Buzz.

"Just wrangling the pups. What’s up?" Maddox replies. I smirk, imagining him chasing four wild toddlers around his house, causing endless trouble.

"Can you look into the International School of Fine Arts? Run a background check on new full-scholarship students. First name Elara. Last name unknown."

I catch Killian leaning over my shoulder, reading the conversation with a dark smirk. I shove my elbow hard into his ribs, pushing him back.

"Okay, Sherlock," Killian chuckles lowly.

Reid puts the Rover in gear and we drive. About twenty minutes later, we pull into the cobblestone roundabout of our large countryside villa. Lush green lawns stretch out under the night sky. The rain has faded into a soft drizzle.

"Home sweet home," Cade mutters as we pile out of the SUV.

We climb the worn granite stairs. I push open the heavy oak doors, stepping into the country-style foyer. A large rod-iron chandelier hangs gracefully from the vaulted ceiling, casting a warm glow across the natural stone flooring. We only employ a small staff—two maids and a butler to oversee the cleaning and daily upkeep. Macy, Sadie, and Julian are local wolves who need stable income for their families, working Monday to Friday. The rest of the time, we manage our own cooking, laundry, and the stables. Tonight, the house belongs to us.

"Boys!"

Sol’s cheery voice echoes from the hallway. She bounds around the corner, throwing her arms around us. She kisses cheeks and hands out hugs. The moment she reaches Killian, her demeanor flips. She grabs a heavy sofa pillow and swings it hard, whacking Killian right across the side of his head with a loud smack.

"Oof!" Killian stumbles, rubbing the back of his head with a dark glower. "What did I do now?"

"You forgot to tell me Mama Elena was in town!" Sol hisses, baring her fangs in a playful but dangerous display.

Alistair steps out from the shadows, leaning casually against the stone archway that leads into the grand living room. He crosses his arms lazily, watching his mate scold Killian with a snarling laugh.

"She told me you already knew!" Killian whines.

Sol grabs Killian by the collar of his jacket and drags his massive frame into the living room, tossing him down onto the large beige sectional. She stands over him, unleashing a wild, over-the-top tongue lashing, swinging the pillow down on him again and again.

"Boys," Alistair greets us, smiling. We filter into the living room. Alistair has already poured glasses of thick, amber brandy. He hands them out. We settle into the armchairs, getting comfortable as we watch the live-action drama unfold in the center of the room. Sol curses incoherent phrases, pillow-whipping Killian while he tries to block the blows.

Alistair takes a sip of his brandy. He looks at us, his sharp eyes missing nothing. "So, what has you boys looking so high-strung?"

Beck and Cade both choke, spitting a little brandy back into their glasses. They shoot me wide-eyed looks.

"Spill," Alistair demands through our mental link, his voice echoing cleanly in my head.

I take a heavy drink of my brandy. The mellow, woodsy liquid burns a trail down my throat, warming my stomach, but it does nothing to settle the fire in my veins. I lean back, tapping into the mental link.

"When you first stumbled upon Sol, how did you feel?" I ask him, keeping my physical face blank.

Reid laughs loudly through the link. "Stumbled? He was knocked the fuck out."

Alistair nods, pointing a finger at Reid with a playful wink. He keeps his physical face neutral to avoid interrupting Sol, who is now pacing wildly behind the sectional, her hands flinging crazily through the air. Through the link, Alistair’s tone shifts to something profound. "To answer your question... it felt like an absolute, primal necessity. I needed to know everything about that goddess who knocked me on my ass."

His words strike deep. The truth burns fiercely in the center of my chest. The swirling heat rising in my stomach confirms everything. My body aches for her touch. I nod in silent agreement, staring down at the amber liquid in my glass.

Alistair leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. A proud smile crests his lips. "You met your mate, didn't you?" he asks, pride evident in his mental voice.

Before I can respond, Beck ruins the moment. He speaks out loud, his voice dark and gravelly. "One small issue. She is human."

Silence falls over the room. Beck sucks his lip in, staring at the empty glass in his hand before grabbing the bottle to pour another.

"Oh. Well, that is interesting," Alistair murmurs, leaning back lazily into the sectional with his knees relaxed open. Seeing him in sweatpants acting normal is a sharp contrast to his usual strict business attire.

"She is here on a full scholarship to the Fine Arts program," I say, letting out a heavy sigh and rubbing my hands over my exhausted face. "But something seems different about her human side."

Alistair sighs. "How about you boys get some sleep, and we will discuss this tomorrow. Sound good?" He tosses his hand up, catching a flying pillow with a tsking finger. In a blink, he poofs from the sectional, appearing directly behind Sol with a loud squeal. They poof again, vanishing entirely from the room.

"Ugh, seriously," Beck and Cade grumble, shaking their heads.

We walk through the ground floor, shutting down the main lights until only the small end-table lamps remain on. With every step I take, the intense ache inside my body grows more irritating. It pulls at my core, a heavy, dragging sensation pointing straight back to the city.

We walk down the long hallway toward our shared wing. I wave goodnight to my brothers and slip into my bedroom, shutting the heavy oak door behind me.

I flop down onto my crimson and black bedding. The pillows toss violently from the impact. The soft illumination of the yard lights dances gently along the tray ceiling. I let out a heavy sigh.

"Why now?" I whisper to the dancing shadows.

I strip off my dingy clothes, throwing the garments onto the floor. The cool hardwood offers no relief to my burning skin as I walk my groggy ass into the classic revival bathroom. I turn the shower dial all the way up, firing the plumbing to life with a hissing roar. Steam billows angrily from the glass enclosure, quickly fogging up the mirrors.

I step under the cascading water. The scalding heat hits my shoulders, but my mind is miles away. Thoughts of Elara consume me entirely. I see her bright, gorgeous smile. I trace the memory of her lush curves, the way her hips moved in the club, the raw innocence hiding behind her troubled eyes.

My body reacts with brutal, unforgiving speed. An instant, throbbing, rock-hard erection strains against my skin. The blood rushes south, making my cock swell to an agonizing size. I look down at my pulsing arousal, the thick veins standing out along the shaft.

"Fuck," I curse under my breath.

I have had my fair share of women, but I have never experienced such an uncontrollable physical reaction before. Just the thought of her name makes my cock twitch and leak pre-cum, mixing with the hot water running down my stomach. My breathing hitches in my chest.

I wrap my hand tightly around my swollen shaft. The grip feels good, but it is not enough. I start jerking off rapidly, stroking my hard cock under the hot, cascading water. I pump my fist up and down, feeling the tight skin slide over the heavy head. A deep, guttural groan escapes my throat, echoing off the wet tiles. The heat inside me is maddening, a fever that demands to be broken. I grip the heavy weight of my balls, stroking myself with fierce intensity. My thumb rubs over the sensitive tip as my hips buck forward into my own grip, chasing the release. The friction builds up into a blinding pressure. I grit my teeth, my muscles locking tight.

The orgasm hits me like a freight train. A powerful, heavy release rips through my body. I grunt loudly as thick ropes of cum shoot from my cock, washing away into the steaming water. The pleasure is sharp and consuming, leaving me panting heavily against the slick shower wall.

But as the physical high fades, the primal hunger returns, roaring louder than before. My hand is simply not enough. Staring down at my fading erection, my raw, dominant instincts claw at my mind. I do not want to stroke myself in an empty shower. I crave her body. I need to spread her thighs, rush my hard cock deep into her tight, warm pussy, and claim her viciously. I want to indulge in her until there is nothing left.