Page 63 of Feral King

He hauls me up and spins me, lifting me onto the desk in one fluid motion. He rips my panties aside and sinks two fingers into me without warning.

I’m soaked—shamefully wet—a broken cry falling from my throat as he begins to move his hand.

“That’s it,” he growls. He curls his fingers against the spot that makes stars explode behind my eyes. “Let me feel how much you need this—how much you needme.”

He moves in and out, kissing along the curve of my neck as his fingers work me. I’m practically whimpering as he touches me. The pleasure begins building right away, tight and hot between my thighs.

His thumb circles my clit in tight, perfect strokes while his fingers pump in and out. The first orgasm hits fast. I shatter around him with a choked sob, my walls clenching hard. I dig my nails into his shoulders, coming so hard my vision tunnels, my thighs shaking around his wrist.

He doesn’t give me time to recover. He yanks my skirt up higher and steps between my legs.

“Come here,” he orders.

I wrap my legs around him as he palms my ass. He enters me all the way to the hilt in one perfect stroke, burying himself deep.

The angle is perfect. His pelvis grinds against my clit with every snap of his hips. Sweat beads on his chest where his shirt hangs open, right on the inked north star over his heart.I cling to him, legs locked at his lower back, as he fucks me like he’s trying to claim me for all time.

The second orgasm builds faster than the first, a rolling wave that crashes over me while he drives in deep. I come while moaning his name and pulsing around his cock. He slows just enough to ride me through it, forehead pressed to mine, that gunmetal stare locked onto my eyes.

“Again,” he growls. “With me.”

He pulls out abruptly, spinning me and bending me over the desk. Julian nudges my legs wider and slams back in me from behind. The position is rougher and deeper. Every thrust jolts me forward, the wet slap of skin echoing in the office.

Julian reaches around and rubs my clit, his other hand gripping my hip. I push back against him, meeting every stroke while chasing the next orgasm, even though I’m still shaking from the first two.

“Julian… I can’t?—”

“You can.” His voice cracks with raw need. “Come on my cock, Lyra. I want to feel you fall apart.”

That’s all it takes. The third orgasm rips through me. Julian follows with a guttural moan, hips stuttering as he buries himself deep. We come together—hot, pulsing, and endless—his release flooding deep inside. The pleasure is so intense that it borders on pain.

He keeps moving through it, slow, grinding strokes that milk every last tremor from both of us until we’re spent, our breathing ragged.

He pulls out gently, then turns me and gathers me into his arms. Julian sinks into the leather desk chair, setting me sideways across his lap like I weigh nothing. He strokes my back, slow and soothing, kissing my temple, my cheek, the corner of my mouth. The kisses are tender, reverent. I close my eyes and focus on them, on the sensation of his lips against my skin.

“I’ve got you,” he whispers against my skin. “Always.”

My gaze flicks to the office door, my eyes going wide as I realize that it’s still the middle of the damn work day.

“Don’t worry,” he says, sensing my mini-freakout. “Soundproof.”

I heave a sigh of relief. “Good. I got a little loud back there. Sorry.”

“No apologizing,” he says. Not for anything.”

I curl tighter against his chest, my ear over his heart, hearing the steady thump beneath the bandage. I trace the edge of the gauze carefully.

I was mad at him for bringing me into this world, mad that he’d been so stubborn about seeking proper medical treatment.

But sitting there on his lap, tracing the gauze, I realize what he did for me, how he risked his life, taking a bullet that was intended for me.

Whatever this man is, he’s not just talk.

I know what you are.And I’m still here.

I don’t need to say the words. His arms tighten around me, one hand slipping beneath my blouse to rub warm circles over my bare back. We stay like that, half-clothed, in the afterglow.

This is him. The monster and the man holding me in his arms.