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Octavius growled, hurting, but needing too.
Saint thrust again, and Octavius’s cock slid, trapped under him, slick and sensitive.
Then Saint’s teeth pierced Octavius’s neck, and just like he’d dreamed, Saint fucked him hard with his teeth in his neck and his dick deep inside, and it was all Octavius could do to ride surging waves of pleasure and pain, each one threatening to rip his consciousness away.
Saint grunted at Octavius’s neck with every thrust, accompanied by the wet sounds of slapping and rabid growls.
He was too much, but not enough.
More, Octavius needed more. He needed to feel all of him, his dick filling him, his teeth holding him, his hands claiming him. Pleasure and pain crested together, and Octavius came, spilling cum in spurts over the dresser and himself. He didn’t care. But Saint did. His fucking turned messy, but harder, and he chased his own climax, buried deep in Octavius. He pistoned and snarled and fucked like a wild creature of chaos, until his pace stuttered and his cock spilled. He came, snarling into Octavius’s neck, dick stuttering from Octavius’s hole, as though each clench of Octavius’s ass pained him too.
Octavius burned—at his neck, his ass—but he liked the warmth, liked the sizzling contact. He’d been so cold, so alone, so isolated.
This sex was like nothing he’d experienced, and he wantedmore.
CHAPTER26
Saint
By Nyx,what had he done?
Pleasure and satisfaction swelled inside him. He tasted Octavius and Jay, their sweetness dancing on his tongue, and knew he’d swallowed them, but he was also aware of how he’d just brutally fucked Octavius against a dresser, and he couldn’t remember whether Octavius had consented. It wouldn’t have mattered, Saint would have fucked him anyway. Octavius had been everywhere, in his head, all over his body. In his heart. He was Saint’s. And to make him Saint’s, he’d needed to bury his cock in him over and over, bite him and feed, so he understood he was claimed.
But as he’d become sated, well-fed and well-fucked, he’d come around from the frenzy with Octavius crushed under him, his hips bleeding under his claws, and probably bleeding from his ass too, seeing as Saint still had his dick buried in it.
Why the fuck hadn’t Octavius reverted to his true form if he’d wanted this?
Because hehadn’twanted this.
Saint had just raped him.
The horror of it turned his veins to ice.
Octavius would never forgive him. Saint would never forgive himself. He was here, standing, breathing, because of Octavius. He’d been out of his mind with hunger, but he should have had better control.
Saint withdrew, and winced at Octavius’s hiss. He glanced down at his dick and saw how it was slick with more than just saliva.
Damn his vicious needs. That was not how he’d wanted to thank Octavius for saving his life. He reached for him—Octavius’s blood glistened on his claws. No, he couldn’t touch him.
Octavius trembled, so fucking small. Saint’s little wolf.
What should he do? Comfort him? Tell him he was sorry? Such a stupid, pathetic word. Sorry. Sorry he’d fucked him in half. Sorry he’d held him down and buried his teeth in him like an animal.
Octavius turned his head and glared over his shoulder. His face was pale, his eyes a washed-out blue, like a winter’s sky. His white hair was mussed. He was wrecked. Saint had done that.
Octavius’s eyebrows pinched together, scrunching in… What? Concern? He twisted, and there was his cock, barely hard at all. Further proof Saint had ruined any chance of proving to him how he was not a rabid nyk.
Saint shrugged off his true form, recoiling some from the physical change, and now he stood as a man, his clothes all torn and hanging off him, his body burning with sensation, with heat and the feel of Octavius under him. He’d wanted him since they’d met, but not like that.
“I er…” Saint croaked, then stumbled against the bed and dropped on the edge. “You can go.”
He was safe to go. It was important he knew that. Saint wasn’t going to imprison him.
Octavius snorted. “I can go?”
His heart twisted up in his chest. If he could rip the damn thing out and give it to him to show how sorry he was, he would. “I’m sorry—”
He snorted again, snatched up his ripped pants, and marched from the room with blood running down his thighs. Jay’s concerned voice rattled outside. Octavius replied, sounding vicious. Then Jay was in the doorway, surveying the bedroom, the blood, and Saint, slumped on the bed. His face brightened. “You’re alive!” He rushed in, but slowed, reading Saint’s face. “What happened? Do you need to feed? You can—”
