Chapter 90 Unleashed
[Nyx]
"I know." His hand tightened on my thigh, and the pressure made me squirm. Through the bond, I felt his wolf Wex surging forward, chanting mine, claim, mate on an endless loop.
My own wolf Sylva was answering with equal fervor.
I forced myself to focus on logistics instead of the growing ache in my core. "How long until we land?"
"Forty minutes." His pupils were dilating, gold bleeding into amber. "Maybe less if I tell the pilot to push it."
"Push it." My voice came out breathy and needy, and I hated how desperate I sounded. "Lysander, I can already feel—"
His lips crashed into mine, swallowing whatever I'd been about to say. The kiss was brutal, claiming, possessive in a way that made my entire body arch toward him.
When he pulled back, we were both breathing hard.
"Pilot," he growled toward the intercom. "Full speed to Moonblade. And prepare the car—we're not stopping."
---
We barely made it through the front door of the west wing villa.
My heat hit like a tidal wave the moment we crossed the threshold—one second I was human, the next my eyes were blazing silver, claws extending, every cell in my body screaming for him.
"Lysander—now—"
I didn't finish the sentence. Didn't need to. He was already moving, slamming me against the wall hard enough to rattle picture frames. His hands were everywhere—ripping my shirt open, buttons flying, yanking my pants down with zero finesse.
"Too many clothes," I gasped, clawing at his jacket. "Off. Everything off."
We were a tangle of desperate hands and tearing fabric, stumbling toward the bedroom, leaving a trail of destroyed clothing. The rational part of my brain had completely shut down, replaced by pure instinct.
Need him. Need to be filled. Need his scent all over me.
Through our bond, I felt his matching desperation, his wolf's primal drive to claim and mark and own.
When he finally entered me—hard, deep, no warning—the relief was so intense I nearly blacked out. This was what my body had been craving, what every nerve ending had been begging for.
"Yes—" The word came out as a sob of pure satisfaction.
The bond between us exploded into shared sensation—I felt what he felt, every ridge and texture from his perspective, while he felt my desperate clenching, the electric shocks of pleasure racing up my spine.
It was overwhelming. Maddening. Perfect.
We moved together like we'd been doing this for years instead of weeks—his rhythm matched to the pounding of my heart, my hips rising to meet every thrust. The bond amplified everything, creating a feedback loop of sensation that built higher and higher until—
The first climax hit like lightning, searing through both of us simultaneously. Through the bond, I felt his release as my own, felt the moment his control shattered, felt the pure animal satisfaction of being marked and claimed and his.
We collapsed against the wall, gasping.
"Bed," Lysander managed. "We need—"
Another wave of heat rolled through me, cutting off rational thought.
"More," I demanded, already clawing at him again. "I need more—"
His eyes flashed gold. "Then more is what you'll get."
---
Two days.
We fucked everywhere.
Bed. Couch. Floor. Kitchen counter. Balcony. Study. Even the hallway when we couldn't make it another ten feet.
The shower was supposed to be for cleaning up—but even there, cold tiles against my back, hot water cascading over us, his cock driving into me with brutal force while I clawed at his shoulders. The temperature did nothing to cool the fire. If anything, the steam just made everything wetter, more slippery, more obscene.
"Fuck—Lysander—" The words came out as barely coherent gasps.
"That's it," he growled against my throat. "Take it. Take all of me."
We barely made it back to the bedroom before the next wave hit.
Bed. Couch. Floor. Back to bed. The living room sofa left claw marks in the leather where I'd gripped it while he pounded into me from behind. The balcony—thank god for the privacy of the west wing—where I bent over the railing and he fucked me under moonlight, one hand clamped over my mouth to muffle my screams.
At some point—dawn of the second day, judging by the pale light—Lysander tried to extract himself from the tangle of our bodies. His softening cock slipped out of me, and I whimpered at the loss.
"I should check on the training—" he started.
"Like hell you are."
I grabbed his shoulders before he could fully sit up, using strength I didn't know I still had to shove him back down. Straddled his hips, reaching between us to wrap my fingers around his cock. He was already hardening again in my grip.
"Nyx—" His protest died as I positioned him at my entrance and sank down in one smooth motion.
"Oh fuck," he groaned, hands flying to my hips as I took him to the hilt.
I was sore. Raw. Oversensitive from hours of use. And I didn't care.
"You're not going anywhere," I told him, starting to move. Slow rolls of my hips that made him throb inside me. "Not until I'm done with you."
Those amber eyes went molten gold, pupils blown wide as he watched me ride him. Watched my breasts bounce with each movement. Watched where we were joined, his cock disappearing into my slick heat over and over.
"You're so fucking wet," he breathed, voice rough with awe. "I can feel it dripping down my—"
"Shut up and fuck me."