The feeding sensation explodes through me, but different this time. Not the careful, controlled draws I've grown accustomed to, but something rawer. Desperate. He's not just feeding—he's claiming, marking, ensuring that every part of me carries his imprint.
“Fuck,” I gasp, my head falling back against the throne's carved back. “Don't stop.”
He doesn't. His mouth works at the bite, drawing blood and sensation while his hands map every inch of my exposed skin. His thumb presses against my clit, a firm, knowing circle that makes me grind against his touch.
“So wet,” he murmurs against my breast. “You got wet watching me kill for you.”
“Yes.”
“You liked seeing me tear him apart.”
“Yes.” No shame, no hesitation. “I liked knowing you'd burn the world down to get me back.”
His pupils dilate completely. The careful control he's maintained even in violence finally cracks entirely.
He tears at his own clothes, armor and leather hitting the stone floor with metallic clangs. When he's finally naked, I can see the evidence of his need—his cock thick and hard, already leaking at the tip.
“I need to be inside you,” he says, positioning himself between my spread thighs. “Need to feel you claim me as much as I'm claiming you.”
The head of his cock presses against me, slick with arousal and need. He pushes inside slowly, letting me feel every inch as he fills me. The stretch is perfect—just enough to remind me of his size, his power, his ability to take me completely.
“Perfect,” he breathes when he's seated fully inside me. “Made for me. Only for me.”
He starts to move, each thrust driving him deeper. The throne provides the perfect angle, letting him hit that spot inside me that makes stars explode behind my eyelids. But more than the physical pleasure, it's the emotional connection that overwhelms me.
Through the bond, I feel his satisfaction, his possessive joy, his desperate relief that I'm safe and his and never leaving again. It mingles with my own emotions—love and lust and the dark satisfaction of being claimed by something that just slaughtered dozens to reach me.
“More,” I demand, nails digging into his shoulders. “I want all of you.”
His rhythm changes, becomes harder, more demanding. Each thrust makes the stone throne creak, makes my breasts bounce, makes me cry out with pleasure that echoes through the chamber.
The feeding circuit forms between us again, stronger than it's ever been. Not just him taking from me, but both of us drawing from each other simultaneously. My pleasure feeds his, his satisfaction amplifies mine, until we're caught in a loop that builds and builds.
“Going to knot you,” he pants against my throat. “Going to lock us together right here where he thought he could claim you.”
“Yes. Do it.”
I feel the change in him immediately—his cock swelling inside me, the knot beginning to form. The pressure is intense, almost overwhelming, but the bond carries his pleasure back to me, transforming any discomfort into something that makes me desperate for more.
When the knot locks fully into place, sealing us together, we both cry out. The sensation of beingcompletely filled, completely claimed, completely his sends me over the edge into an orgasm that steals my breath.
He follows immediately, his release pulsing inside me while his teeth sink into my throat. The combination of knotting and feeding creates a feedback loop so intense that for a moment, I can't tell where I end and he begins.
We're locked together, his knot keeping us joined while waves of pleasure crash over me again and again. During that time, he feeds continuously from the bite on my throat while I ride the sensations that seem to go on forever.
When the knot finally begins to subside, we're both shaking and gasping. I'm aware of something different in my body—a strange shiver through our bond, as if there's an echo where there wasn't before.
My hands find the fastenings of his torn clothes, pulling him back down to me as the aftershocks still make me tremble.
“Braith, we should?—”
“Vasek? Your guards are dead. What in all the hells happened here?”
Jesseth's voice echoes from the doorway.
I don't flinch or try to cover myself. Instead, I meet his shocked stare directly while Kiakoa pulls a torn piece of fabric over me.
“He took what was mine,” Kiakoa says simply, standing to face the other lord. Blood still stains his skin, and he makes no effort to hide what we've just done. “So I took it back.”
