5: Rouge Blackblood

“You will,” he promised darkly.

His fingers finally found my core, brushing over the swollen, entirely slick folds of my entrance.

A sharp, involuntary cry escaped my lips.

He didn't push inside.

He merely traced the sensitive nerve endings, his touch so maddeningly precise and perfectly timed that my hips actually jerked forward, chasing the friction.

Gregor let out a low, dark chuckle.

He leaned down, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to the pulse point on my neck, his tongue tasting my skin as his fingers continued their torturous, slow manipulation.

The heat pooling in my stomach was blinding.

It was completely different from the raw, painful dominance of the King. This was a psychological dismantling.

He was proving that he could unravel me without ever raising his voice.

Oh what the fuck! Here it is again! Am I slut for feeling this kind of pleasure and desire for already three different man?

Not to mention they are relative! They are werewolves and they are a monster!

“Please,” I whined, my hands clutching his expensive suit lapels. Oh God! I completely lose my mind!

“Please what, human?” he whispered against my ear, dipping one long finger just past my entrance, dragging a thick pool of wetness out.

“Please, Gregor, touch me,” I sobbed, completely shattered, completely defeated by his calculated torment.

He smiled against my skin.

“Good girl.”

But instead of giving me what I begged for, Gregor suddenly pulled his hand away.

He stepped back from the desk, straightening his tie and adjusting his glasses as if nothing had just happened.

I let out a desperate whine. My body trembles as I realized what I have done.

“A promise for later,” Gregor said smoothly, his icy blue eyes locking onto my flushed, desperate face.

He turned back to his ledger.

“Take a rest first.”

I stumbled out of the massive library, my legs completely weak and shaking violently beneath me.

My mind was completely unable to process the absolute whiplash of the last few hours.

I had been claimed by a mad King, kissed by a wild rebel, and what the fuck just happen?

My body felt completely foreign to me, humming with a dark, heavy cocktail of leftover adrenaline and agonizingly unsated lust.

I needed to get back to the bedroom.

I needed to hide.

So I ran.

I didn't care where my feet took me, as long as it was far away from Gregor’s cold eyes.

My chest heaved violently.

The sprawling Blackblood mansion felt like a maze, and I was just a mouse desperate for a hole to hide in.

I reached the end of a long, dimly lit corridor.

A heavy mahogany door was slightly ajar.

I didn't think. I just pushed it open and slipped inside, pressing my back against the wood.

Then, the sound hit me.

The wet, heavy sound of skin slapping frantically against skin echoed in the vast, moonlit room.

The air was overwhelmingly thick, reeking of sweat, dark musk, and raw sex.

I froze, my breath dying in my throat.

In the center of the room, on a massive leather sofa, a brutal scene was unfolding.

It’s him, Rouge. The eldest of three.

He was completely naked, his massive, heavily scarred back flexing with terrifying power.

He was standing between the spread legs of a beautiful, frantic woman who was lying flat on the cushions.

He had her hips locked in his massive hands, lifting her off the leather as he drove his hardened d*ck completely inside her with savage, unrelenting force.

He wasn't making love. Is he?

The woman whimpered loudly, her nails digging into his heavily muscled arms. “Rouge... harder, please—”

I panicked. I needed to get out. I took a shaky step backward, my hand reaching for the doorknob.

Rouge stopped.

He froze completely mid-thrust, his thick, rigid length still buried deep inside his woman.

The woman looked confused.

Slowly, terrifyingly, Rouge turned his head over his scarred shoulder.

His eyes weren't silver.

 They weren't icy blue.

They were a burning, lethal crimson.

The moment his gaze locked onto mine, I felt that again, I am in danger...

His chest expanded as he took a ragged breath.

“Get out,” Rouge growled. The sound was low, vibrating like an earthquake.

The woman beneath him frowned, trying to pull his hips back down. “What? Rouge, no, wait... I'm almost there. Who is she?”

Rouge didn't even look at her.

His crimson eyes remained entirely fixated on me, blazing with unadulterated hunger.

He pulled out of the woman with a wet, slick sound.

“I said, leave,” he snarled.

“But Rouge!” the woman protested, her voice rising in humiliation and anger. “You can't just stop! Tell this human trash to get out—”

A terrifying roar ripped from Rouge’s throat.

His Alpha aura exploded in the room, so heavy and oppressive that my knees physically buckled.

“Get out before I tear your throat out!” he roared.

The woman screamed. Pure terror replaced her anger.

She scrambled off the leather sofa, desperately gathering her torn clothes against her chest.

She didn't even bother putting them on.

She shot me a glare so deadly that I could feel the pure anger behind her terrified eyes.

The door slammed shut.

I was entirely alone with him.

Rouge didn't bother to reach for a towel.

He was a mountain of raw, scarred muscle, completely naked, his breathing harsh and ragged.

Not to mentioned his d*ck was still hardened, big and massive and looking at it makes my legs shiver and tremble… made me out of breath.

He walked toward me.

His steps were slow, heavy, and deliberate. Each step felt like a drumbeat echoing in my chest.

I pressed myself flush against the door, my hands trembling behind my back.

 The heat radiating from his skin as he boxed me in was suffocating.

He stopped just inches away, planting his massive hands on the wood on either side of my head.

He leaned down. I closed my eyes, terrified, as his nose brushed against my jawline. He took a long, deep, methodical inhale.

A low, dark growl vibrated deep inside his chest.

“Dragon,” he murmured, his voice rough like sandpaper, smelling the King's scent on my skin.

He moved his nose lower, sniffing the exact spot where Wyvern’s teeth had bruised my neck. “Wyvern.”

Then, his head tilted further down, his hot breath fanning the hem of the oversized shirt, right where Gregor's fingers had left their slick mark. “Gregor.”

When he finally stood up straight, his crimson eyes were wide and feral.

The violent possessiveness radiating from him was blinding.

“You reek of my family,” Rouge whispered darkly.

His massive, calloused hand suddenly snapped forward, his fingers wrapping firmly around the front of my throat, tilting my head back.

His thumb pressed against my frantic pulse.

“But you’re the scent that woke my wolf. You belong to me,” he declared, his voice dropping into a dangerous, possessive rasp. “Let's burn their marks off your skin.”