Page 34 of Feral King

“Together,” he growls against my mouth, the word hot and possessive. “With me. Now.”

He drives in deep, the third stroke grinding against my clit, and I break. The orgasm tears through me, a shattering wave that rips a scream from my throat. My whole body seizes as my walls pulse around him, slick heat flooding between us, as I come harder than I ever have.

Julian follows instantly. His body goes rigid, every muscle tense as he buries himself and holds there, pulsing. I close my eyes and focus on the thick jets of heat spilling inside me.

He drops his forehead to my shoulder, sweat-slicked hair sticking to my skin, his breath ragged and hot against my neck, as his hips jerk involuntarily as his orgasm fades.

We stay like that for several moments, breathing each other in. His hand finds my hip, his thumb tracing slow circles on the curve there. It’s the fullest part of me, the part I’ve spent years trying to hide. But the way he touches me makes it clear he craves it just as much as every other part of me.

He rolls to the side and pulls me against him, my back to his chest, his arm heavy around my waist. The fairy lights glow overhead as the city hums outside the window.

My heart rate slows, and I fall asleep in his arms, a whisper of a smile on my lips, as I drift off, more content than I’ve been in a long, long time.

CHAPTER 11

JULIAN

The sun comes up over Astoria in brilliant orange and yellow.

I’m leaning against the hood of my SUV, parked across the street from Lyra’s building, watching the sunlight crawl across the brick façade, and catching the third-floor windows—her windows.

I left her bed around 12:30 a.m. She was sleeping on her side; one hand tucked under the pillow where her hair fanned out. Pulling myself out of that bed had been a damn-near impossible task. But it had to be done.

I’ve been out here nearly five hours, watching her building, watching the street, watching every single car that passes and every pedestrian that lingers too long. The man from last night is long gone, but the threat persists.

It’s a chilly morning, and my thoughts keep drifting back to that warm bed and the warm, beautiful body still in it. Flashes from last night appear unbidden—the face she madewhen I entered her, the way she bit her lip as she came. A big part of me wants to go back upstairs and claim her again and again, damn the consequences.

But that’s a luxury I can’t indulge in right now.

A black sedan with blacked-out windows rounds the corner and pulls up alongside my SUV.

Ethan steps out, two coffees in hand, his expression shifting from recognition to concern to resignation in about half a second.

“You’ve been here all night.” It’s a statement, not a question.

“I’ve been monitoring the block.”

He hands me a coffee. “You’ve been monitoring her. Did you sleep last night?”

“A little.”

He leans against the SUV beside me, and we both look up at the third floor together. “She’s fine. I’ve had my guy posted in the twenty-four-hour bakery over there since ten last night. No suspicious movement.”

“I know. I’ve been watching him watch her.”

He lets out a slow breath.

“Got some news,” he says.

“What is it?”

“Dobrov’s people made a move on one of our warehouses in East New York last night.”

I say nothing, narrowing my eyes and letting him go on.

“But we got them on the security cams. Already located in Brighton Beach, operating out of one of Dobrov’s secondary offices.”

“Good. Pick them up and deliver a message.”