Chapter 1: The Night Before the Sin

Zolani’s POV.

A good girl shouldn’t have said this, but the first time I ever imagined a real cock inside me, it wasn’t my fiancé’s, it was my best friend’s father’s, Cassian Blackthorne’s thick, brutal length dragging slow and wet against my untouched slit while he pinned me to his kitchen counter and growled,

“Brace your virgin cunt, little human. Take what you’ve been secretly begging for.”

And tonight the fantasy devoured me whole.

He bent me over that same marble island, my palms flat, fingers splayed, trembling so hard the cold stone seemed to vibrate beneath them. Cassian stood behind me, bare, sweat still gleaming on the carved lines of his chest from the memory of that morning in Malibu. He never showed mercy in my head.

One rough hand pried my ass cheeks apart, the other guided the flushed, leaking crown of his cock up and down my folds, painting himself with the slick that had poured out of me for months every time his name crossed my mind.

“Goddess, look at you,” he rasped, voice low and vicious, slapping that heavy cock against my clit until I sobbed.

“Dripping down my balls and I haven’t even fed you an inch. You’ve been saving this virgin cunt for that soft little boy, but we both know who it’s really crying for.”

I tried to push back, desperate for friction, for anything, and he locked my hips still with one hand like I weighed nothing.

“Greedy tonight, aren’t we, little human?” He leaned over me, chest flush to my back, teeth scraping the shell of my ear.

“Tell me how many times you’ve fingered this sloppy hole pretending it was me. Tell me while your fiancé’s probably asleep dreaming about missionary with the lights off and a condom on.”

“Every night,” I choked out, tears already sliding down my cheeks.

“Every night since that morning…”

“That’s right.” He notched the fat head right at my entrance and held still, letting me feel the impossible stretch of just the tip.

“Every night you came whispering Daddy while he snored beside you. Pathetic. He’ll never make you feel this.”

He thrust in, one long, merciless stroke that punched the air from my lungs and filled me so completely I saw stars.

My walls burned and fluttered around him, trying to adjust, trying to take the impossible size, and he gave me no time to breathe. He pulled back and slammed in again, setting a brutal rhythm, his knot already swelling thick and obscene at the base, catching on every punishing stroke.

“Look at you taking me raw,” he snarled, fisting my hair, forcing my back to arch harder.

“Taking the cock your fiancé will never be man enough to give you. When he kisses you at the altar you’ll still feel me while leaking out of this ruined cunt.”

I screamed, the sound torn from my throat as his knot suddenly popped inside, locking us together, stretching me so wide I sobbed into the marble. He ground deep, hips rolling, forcing the knot to swell even bigger, and I came instantly, hard, blinding, pussy gushing around him, thighs shaking so violently I nearly collapsed.

“That’s it,” he growled, teeth sinking into my shoulder until I tasted blood. “Milk Daddy’s knot, little human. Show me how much better I am than that spineless boy…”

A hand shook my shoulder.

“Zolani? Baby, wake up.”

The dream shattered.

I jerked awake with a broken moan still trapped in my throat. I was in our bed in Los Angeles, sheets twisted around my legs, soaked in sweat and slick. My thighs trembled, my clit throbbed so hard I felt it in my teeth. Evan’s hand rested gentle on my shoulder, his face soft and worried in the red glow of the clock.

“You were crying out in your sleep again,” he whispered. “Everything okay? Are you hurting, my love?”

I couldn’t speak. My pussy still fluttered around nothing, clenching on the ghost of Cassian’s knot. I rolled toward Evan fast, desperate, grabbed his wrist and shoved his hand between my legs. I was drenched, his fingers slid through the mess instantly and I moaned before I could stop myself.

“Touch me,” I begged, voice cracked wide open. “Please, Evan, I need…”

He froze, then pulled his hand away like I’d burned him. “Zolani, no,” he said gently, wiping his fingers on the sheet.

“We talked about this. We’re waiting until we’re married. It’s only a few more months.”

“I don’t care,” I whispered, moving closer, grinding against his thigh now, shameless. “Please, I need you inside me…”

He shifted away, just enough that the space between us felt like a canyon. I reached for him anyway, hand diving under his waistband, fingers wrapping around his cock and I froze because he was soft, completely and humiliatingly soft.

“Hey, easy.” His voice was fond, exhausted as he eased my hand away.

“We’ll have all the time in the world after the wedding. When we’re married. I want it to be perfect, not some rushed thing before you leave for two weeks.”

I moved to him again and ground against his thigh, shameless, chasing friction, but he shifted away once more and the space between us felt huge.

My clit throbbed so hard I wanted to cry, yet he hadn’t even gotten half-hard. Not even a twitch. I was dripping for a man I shouldn’t want and my own fiancé wouldn’t touch me.

Evan pulled me closer, his arm heavy across my waist, voice soft in the dark.

“We’re Catholic, baby. We made the promise, remember? No sex until the ring’s on your finger and the priest says amen. I want to do this right.”

He kissed my temple like that explained everything, like his dick going limp while I soaked and shook was some kind of holy sacrifice.

“You’re worth waiting for.”

I nodded against his chest, but inside something sharp dug deeper. Worth waiting for? Then why didn’t he even twitch when I was grinding on him like a whore in heat? Why couldn’t he feel how badly I needed it? I was right there, nipples hard, pussy dripping, literally begging, and he acted like I’d asked him to fix the Wi-Fi.

Am I ugly when I’m horny? Do I look pathetic? I’m a virgin, yeah, but my head is filthy. I’ve pictured things that would make a p**n star blush, and the man who’s supposed to love me couldn’t even get half a hard-on for me. What the fuck was wrong with me?

He yawned, already drifting as he pulled me closer.

“Come on, beautiful. A few more hours and you’ll be in Ireland. Get some sleep, you need it.”

Beautiful. He said it so easily, peppering little kisses on my hair, telling me how perfect I was, how proud he was, how lucky he felt. I forced a smile, swallowed every ugly question trying to crawl up my throat, and whispered,

“Love you,” because that’s what good girls do.

Evan’s arm lay heavy across my waist, his breath warm and even against the back of my neck. He had already slipped away into sleep, snoring softly like a man with nothing to hide and no sins burning holes in his chest.

Sleep refused to return for me. It definitely wasn’t coming back tonight.

My mind dragged me straight to Cassian Blackthorne, the way it always did.

Four months earlier. Malibu. Aradia had dragged me to the estate for a weekend I wasn’t even supposed to attend, and we’d gotten spectacularly drunk. I woke up, parched at five in the morning, padded downstairs in nothing but an oversized T-shirt and panties, and walked smack into the kitchen where he stood barefoot, shirtless, wearing only tight black briefs that left absolutely nothing to the imagination. Sweat still clung to the deep cuts of his abs, silver threaded through the stubble on his jaw, and when he turned those storm-grey eyes on me the floor dropped out from under my feet.

Three seconds. That was all it took.

Three seconds of his gaze sliding over my bare legs, lingering on my hard nipples poking through the thin cotton, and that slow, filthy smirk that told me he already knew exactly how wet I’d become.

“Morning, little human,” he’d said, voice rough with sleep and something darker, then he walked away like he hadn’t just ruined my entire life with a single look.

One unholy glimpse of that body, thick thighs, heavy cock, tattoos crawling over muscle, and I’d been fucked in the head ever since.

I squeezed my eyes shut now, trying to shove him out.

I was in my fiancé’s arms. I was a good girl. I was about to walk into a Catholic marriage. I was supposed to be pure.

But my clit still throbbed with the memory of his voice, my pussy still leaked into the sheets because my body didn’t give a damn about vows, promises, or the sweet, gentle man holding me.

Stop it, Zolani.

Think about Aradia. Think about the wedding. Snow blanketing the mountains, fairy lights dripping from ancient beams, Christmas trees taller than the lodge itself, champagne that cost more than my monthly rent.

My first werewolf wedding, two weeks of laughter, champagne, and maid-of-honor chaos. I’d be so busy I wouldn’t even see him. I’d be surrounded by Aradia’s cousins, pack friends, and holiday magic thick enough to choke on.

I’d forget the way those briefs had hugged the thick weight of his cock, forget how my mouth watered, forget how I’d come every single night since with his name tearing from my throat.

I repeated it like a desperate prayer.

It was just a wedding.

Just Christmas.

Just two weeks.

I was safe.

My body laughed, slick and aching, and whispered back...

Liar.