“D-Darius…Darius, please!”
I need more. I need to come. I need to—
He pinches my clit, and my back arches as I cry out his name.
Then, I feel it.
That thing inside me stretches. Unfurls like it did when Darius and I first kissed in my apartment. It has been sleeping my entire life, as long as I can remember, and now, it suddenly awakens with a hunger that matches his.
My wolf.
She’s there. Actually there. Not muted or distant or suppressed. Present and aware and demanding more.
The sensation spurs me on. My hands tighten on the cushions, my body arching wildly. The sounds coming from my throat are animalistic now, raw and uncontrolled.
Darius lifts his head, and his eyes are blazing as he looks up at me. “Violet,” he growls softly. “Tell me to stop. Please tell me to stop.”
When I don’t, his hands move to his belt and fumble with the buckle.
I should tell him to stop. Should put an end to this before we cross another line we can never uncross.
But all that comes out of my mouth is a moan.
His control breaks completely. He rips his belt free and shoves his pants down, and then his hands are on my jeans. He doesn’t bother taking them off me; he just grabs hold of the fabric and tears. The sound of denim ripping fills the apartment, and I gasp as cool air hits my heated skin.
His pupils are pure gold now, wild and hungry. Before I know what he’s doing, he flips me over. He positions me on my knees, facing the end of the couch, my hands gripping the armrest for support. My legs fall open without conscious thought as he settles behind me, between my thighs, his body trembling with restraint. His eyes meet mine over my shoulder one last time, asking, begging, giving me one final chance to say no.
But I whisper brokenly, “Please. I need you.”
And he snaps.
Chapter Twelve
Darius
This has to be a dream.
Violet is under me, her cries wanton as I push inside her. I can tell she’s a virgin even though females of our kind don’t have hymens. I push inside inch by inch, letting her get used to me. She’s so damn wet that it’s torture to take it this slowly. She gasps out my name, her hands gripping the armrest of the couch. I bottom out in her, and her head falls forward, a broken groan spilling from her.
“Oh God, Darius, you’re so big.”
Her words send a bolt of possessive satisfaction through me. I am big. And she’s taking every inch.
Gradually, I begin to move, and her reaction is visceral. Small, needy sounds spill from her mouth.
I stroke her hair back. “Are you okay?”
She nods frantically, whining, “Yes. Keep going, Darius!”
My lips curve in a grin. “Like this?”
I pull out till just my tip is inside and then slam back into her. A high-pitched cry leaves her mouth, and the sound almost pushes me over the edge. I want more of those cries. I pound into her, and the way she begs for more, the way my name sounds on her lips—it drivesme insane. She tightens around me, but I am nowhere near done. Her fingers dig into the couch fabric as her orgasm washes over her. I fuck her through it, needing it, wanting it all.
My release builds, and with a guttural growl, I release into her. That triggers another one for her, and I breathe her name as she clenches my cock, milking it.
After a few seconds, I pull out slowly. She slumps forward, panting and limp, her body trembling with aftershocks. I collapse on top of her before shifting to one side so she doesn’t have to bear my full weight. When I turn her chin to look at her, she won’t meet my eyes. Her face is flushed, her hair a mess, and there’s a vulnerable quality in the way she’s breathing.
“Stay here,” I murmur, pressing a kiss to her shoulder before easing off the couch.
