Chapter 425: Disappointed
Selene’s POV
The moment his hard, hot head pressed against my slick entrance, the last remnants of my plan—my vow, my hatred—shattered like glass. It was a physical thing, the soundless explosion in my mind, leaving only the primal, urgent need that was thrumming in my blood, dictated by the wolf I’d fought so hard to control.
"I can’t believe I’m doing this," I choked out, a final, futile protest that felt weak and pathetic even to my own ears.
Frederick didn’t acknowledge the words. He simply shifted his grip, one hand sliding to the small of my back to pull me flush against him, the other grasping my hipbone. The pressure increased, a slow, merciless slide.
Then, with a deep, shuddering inhale, he pushed.
A sharp, ragged gasp tore from my throat as his cock filled me completely, stretching me to the point of pain, but a pain that instantly curdled into the most intense, overwhelming pleasure. It was a deep, satisfying pressure that felt like coming home, even though this ’home’ was a blazing inferno that would consume me whole.
"You’re so tight, little wolf," he growled, the possessiveness in his voice a dark, intoxicating poison. He waited for a beat, letting me adjust, letting the shock and awe of his size settle within me.
My fingers dug into the rock-hard muscles of his shoulders, my head falling back against the wall, eyes squeezed shut. All I could smell was him—earthy, dangerous, and intoxicating—and the musky scent of my own arousal.
"Move," I whispered.
He didn’t need to be asked again. He pulled back almost completely, the air rushing into the small space between our bodies, and then drove in hard and fast.
The impact stole my breath. It was a rhythmic assault, each thrust deep and deliberate, targeting the core of my being. My hips instinctively rose to meet his, the traitorous movements of a body wholly given over to its mate. The frantic hammering of his heart against my chest matched the frantic rhythm he was setting.
"Look at me, Selene," he commanded, the authority in his voice so sexy.
I forced my eyes open. His gaze was a twin flame of dark fire and sheer possession, his face a mask of intense pleasure and something that looked suspiciously like triumph. The sight of him, dominating me, fucking me, sent a fresh wave of heat crashing over me.
"Say my name," he demanded, his thrusts slowing to a grueling, delicious pace.
"Frederick," I gasped, moaning.
His lips twisted into a predatory half-smile, and he slammed into me one more time, hard enough to knock the breath from my lungs.
Suddenly, he caught my hips and smoothly, powerfully, lifted me off my feet. I cried out in surprise and wrapped my legs instantly around his waist, holding on tight as he spun us around and pressed me back against the cool stone wall. He didn’t lose penetration for a second.
The change in angle was electrifying. I felt him hit a new, exquisitely sensitive spot deep inside me. With my feet no longer on the ground, I was completely dependent on him, completely at his mercy. My arms wrapped around his neck, holding on for dear life, my nails scoring tiny lines into his skin.
"Fuck," he ground out, his voice thick with raw passion.
He began a new rhythm—slow, deep, and utterly devastating. The friction against the wall and the depth of his penetration was too much. The pleasure coiled tighter and tighter, a blazing knot in my belly.
"This is not supposed to happen," I sobbed, the words tumbling out on a rush of air, but my hips bucked up against him, begging for more.
"I know," he rasped, his eyes darkening further as he tilted my hips up with a forceful hand, finding the perfect angle to drag me over the edge.
I moaned helplessly, my eyes fluttering shut, but then I felt Frederick’s grip shift, his muscles flexing as he lifted me from the wall. He didn’t even slow, still buried inside me, his breath ragged against my neck as he carried me to the bed. My legs clung to him instinctively, my nails biting into his shoulders.
He sat down on the edge of the mattress, taking me with him so that I straddled his lap, still impaled on him. We were face to face now, so close his breath mingled with mine, and there was no place left to hide.
He slid his hands up to my hips, guiding me down, slow and deep. "Easy," he murmured, his voice rough but softer than before. "Just feel me."
I did. I felt everything—the heat of his body, the thickness stretching me open, my wolf inside me clawing for more.
My body moved on its own, rolling my hips as I sank onto him again and again. But beneath the rising tide of pleasure, shame enveloped me.
Tears welled up before I could stop them. At first, they were just a sting in my eyes, but then they spilled over, hot tracks down my cheeks. I bit my lip hard, trying to hold the sound in. He didn’t notice. He thought it was the intensity, the pleasure. He never knew those were tears of pain, of bitter disappointment in myself.
"God, Selene..." His voice was a low growl, his thumbs stroking circles into my hips as he guided my movements. "You’re perfect like this."
I turned my face away, pressing my forehead to his shoulder so he wouldn’t see. My tears soaked into his skin as my body betrayed me, moving faster, seeking the pleasure that my mind despised.
Inside my head, the words were a scream: I hate this. I hate myself. I hate you. But my mouth only released a broken, breathless moan as I sank down harder, deeper.
He groaned, his head tipping back, completely unaware of my torture. "That’s it," he rasped. "Ride me, little wolf. Just like that."
Another sob escaped me, muffled against his neck. He must have thought it was a sound of ecstasy, because his hands tightened on my hips, guiding me with more pleasure. My body trembled, caught between the tearing edge of release and the black tide of self-loathing.
I clung to him, my nails raking faint lines into his back, my eyes squeezed shut. He whispered something—words I didn’t even register—and I hated myself more for the way my body obeyed, my hips rolling, pleasure coiling tighter in my belly even as my tears fell faster.