Chapter 424: The Man I was meant To Kill
Selene’s POV
Goodness. I wanted to push him away. I needed to push him away. This wasn’t the plan. This wasn’t what I told myself. For five years my only purpose had been to kill this man. To get close enough, gain his trust, slip the poison into my blood, and end him. That was the vow I whispered over my mother’s grave. That was the reason I’d breathed every day since. And here I was — kissing him back, my hands trembling against his chest, my whole body on fire.
"Mate," my wolf howled in my head, the sound echoing like a curse. Yes. That’s what made this so cruel. The Moon Goddess, in all her twisted humor, had tied me to the very monster I was supposed to kill. My mother’s killer. My enemy. My mate. From the moment I’d first seen him at that party, my wolf had screamed it. Mate. And I had shoved it down, locked it behind iron walls, told myself it didn’t matter. Mate or not, I would stick to the plan. And he didn’t know we were mates. Thank the stars, he didn’t know.
But now... now his mouth was on mine, his scent all around me, his hands dragging heat from my skin, and I couldn’t stop myself. My fingers fumbled at the buttons of his shirt like a traitor, desperate, hungry, shame clawing at me even as desire burned hotter. I hated him. I wanted him. I hated myself for wanting him.
A strangled sound tore from my throat — part moan, part sob — as my wolf pushed harder inside me, wanting him to fuck us again. This is wrong, I told myself. This is not the plan. And yet my hands slid over his skin anyway, pulling him closer instead of pushing him away. His lips claimed mine again, harder this time, and the world tilted. My wolf howled in satisfaction, and I was losing—losing to him, losing to myself. His shirt fell open under my shaking fingers, his skin cold beneath my palms.
"Selene," he growled against my mouth, grabbing the back of my neck. I should have stopped. I should have remembered my mother, my plan, my vow. But when he parted my thighs, all I did was spread them wider. I dragged my fingers through the dark hair there, mapping the hard lines of his muscle, feeling the frantic, hammering beat of his heart against my palm.
He stared down at me, his eyes twin pools of dark fire and possession. "Your turn," he rasped, his voice a low, thick sound that demanded obedience. He didn’t wait. He grabbed the hem of my blouse, pulling it up slowly, giving me time to feel the friction of the cloth dragging across my skin, exposing the flesh to the cool air bit by bit. When it was over my head and tossed aside, he didn’t move. He simply looked.
My chest rose and fell rapidly, the nipples beneath my thin bra tight and aching. I felt utterly exposed, not just physically, but morally. This was the moment of no return. He finally reached out, his thumbs tracing the line of my collarbone, then sliding down to the delicate lace of my bra. He didn’t unhook it; he simply slid his hands beneath the fabric, cupping the weight of my breasts.
A groan tore from my throat, raw and involuntary. The contact was shocking, the heat of his palms radiating through me. I leaned into him, burying my face in the curve of his neck, inhaling the intoxicating, dangerous scent of him. "You smell so alluring," I whispered against his skin, a ragged confession.
"You are horny for me, little wolf," he answered, his teeth lightly nipping the soft skin of my neck. Then, with a quick, practiced motion, the clasp of my bra gave way, and the lace fell open. I was jealous, wondering how many times he had done this to be so good at it.
He stepped back just enough to look at my bare chest, his eyes darkening further with predatory hunger. His gaze was heavy, possessive, sending a fresh wave of heat crashing low in my belly. He sank to his knees, his hands moving to the waistband of my skirt. He found the zip and drew it down with a slow, deliberate sound that felt deafening. As he pushed the skirt over my hips, his eyes never left mine, demanding I watch the slow, complete dismantling of my resolve.
When he reached the thin fabric of my underwear, he hesitated. His fingers brushed against the soft, warm skin of my inner thigh, and my legs trembled violently. "Tell me to stop," he challenged, his voice low and daring.
The cold knot of hate twisted once; I should push him away. But the heat was too intense. The need was too strong. I reached out and grabbed a handful of his hair, pulling his head up just enough to meet his gaze. My voice was a desperate, ruined breath. "Fuck it," I ordered, my voice a desperate, ruined breath.
He didn’t smirk this time. A slow, intense heat replaced the arrogance in his eyes. He lowered his head again, his mouth finding the sensitive skin of my inner thigh where his fingers had just been. My breath hitched. The contact was electric, a sudden, blinding shift in the air. He was reverent and brutal at the same time, using his hands to spread me wider, leaving me utterly open, utterly vulnerable.
Then his tongue made contact with my pussy. The shock was a lightning bolt straight to my core. A loud, sharp gasp tore from my lungs, and I felt the strength drain out of my legs, forcing me to lean heavily against the cold stone of the wall. This was too much. This was intimate. This was what the enemy should not be allowed to do. But my body, the traitor, was already arching into the sensation.
His mouth was demanding, working with a relentless focus that wiped every single thought from my head. I could only feel. Feel the heat of his tongue, the gentle abrasion of his stubble, the slow, increasing pressure of his hands holding me exactly where he wanted me. The pleasure built instantly, a tight coil of pure, agonizing need. I twisted my fingers into his hair, holding him to the task, unable to stop him, unable to breathe.
My wolf was howling in pure, unadulterated satisfaction now, the sounds echoing in my mind, Yes. Yes. Mate. Take. The climax hit me with the force of a tidal wave. I cried out, a strangled, animal sound, my hips bucking wildly against his face as the tremors shook me to the bone. It was a complete, mind-shattering release that left me weak and trembling, my head thrown back against the wall.
He finally stood, his breathing heavy, his eyes never leaving my face—a face he had just ruined with pleasure. He didn’t ask if I was okay. He simply reached for the button and zip of his trousers. I watched, mesmerized, as the last barrier between us fell away. The heavy denim pooled around his ankles, and then he stood before me, fully, beautifully, terrifyingly naked. The sight was breathtaking and visceral. I gasped—a sharp, involuntary sound—at the dark, engorged proof of his cock. It was thick, hard, and utterly dominant.
He took one long, slow step toward me, closing the distance between my still-trembling body and his powerful, ready form. The air was thick with musk and heat, and the scent of our shared climax. "Now," he said, the word deep and seductive. "Spread your legs wider, love."
He grabbed my hips, tilting me, and the hot, heavy head of his cock pressed against my soaked entrance.