All Chapters of TRADING MY CHEATING HUSBAND FOR THE LYCAN KING: Chapter 261 - Chapter 270

EMBER’S POVHis hand stays between my legs, but his head disappears under the surface, and his mouth finds me, his lips sealing over my clit, his tongue replacing his thumb, and the world STOPS.The warm water changes everything.The pressure of his tongue is amplified, softened, made slippery and relentless in a way that air doesn’t allow — like the entire hot spring is conspiring with him to ruin me completely.He’s breathing through his nose, steady and controlled, while his mouth seals over my swollen clit like he’s claiming it as his personal feast, sucking it hard into the wet heat of his mouth with greedy, hungry pulls that make my hips buck wildly against his face.His tongue — fuck, that tongue — is everywhere at once: first flat and broad, dragging slow, filthy laps from my dripping entrance all the way up to my throbbing clit, lapping up every gush of my creamy slick like he can’t get enough of the taste of me.Then it flicks fast and sharp, teasing the sensitive underside

EMBER’S POVHe pushes into me slowly at first — torturously slow — letting me feel every thick, veined inch stretching my cunt open, the brutal stretch burning so good it makes my mouth fall open against his neck in a silent scream.The water changes everything: resistance, drag, that slick, heated friction that makes every millimetre feel like he’s splitting me in half.By the time he’s fully seated, balls-deep, I’m so full I swear I can feel him in my throat, his massive cock bottoming out against my cervix, stretching my walls to their limit, my pussy fluttering and creaming wildly around the invasion like it’s trying to suck him even deeper.“Fuck, Ember.” His forehead drops to my shoulder, and the raw, wrecked quality of his voice when he’s inside me — the way my name sounds in his mouth when he’s buried to the hilt and trying not to lose himself immediately — is a sound I will never get tired of hearing. “You feel like everything. Like coming home and losing my mind at the same

EMBER’S POVI sit with Maurice for twenty minutes before Knox comes to find me.Twenty minutes isn’t long enough for everything I want to say to a man who is lying in a hospital bed with tubes in his arms and machines counting his heartbeats.But twenty minutes is what I have because we’re leaving Alaska today and there’s a list of things that need doing before we board that plane.Knox has been letting me take my time, but I can feel him hovering in the corridor the way he hovers when he’s being patient against his natural instincts, which is to say: loudly.“I’m going to find her,” I tell Maurice’s unconscious face. His hand is warm in mine, and the machines beep their steady rhythm.His chest rises and falls softly.“Devika. I’m going to find her and get every answer you were too scared to chase. About my father, about the suppressants, about the woman with the twin girls and the black car. All of it.”He doesn’t respond. Obviously. But his fingers twitch against mine in a way that

EMBER’S POVWe eat terrible ice cream in Rayana’s hospital bed. Three women, three plastic cups, and the steady beep of a heart monitor keeping time like a metronome.And the conversation that follows is the most honest I’ve had with anyone other than Knox.Rayana starts it. She puts her ice cream down and looks at me, and the performative energy drains from her face like water from a tub.What’s left is just a woman in a hospital bed who needs to say something that has been sitting on her chest for weeks.“I owe you an apology,” she says. “About Rafael.”I go still. Queenie goes still.“I brought him into your life. I co-signed that trip. I sat in his living room and drank his champagne and listened to him talk about fate and mate bonds, and I thought he was charming and romantic and I INTRODUCED you to his personal orbit.” She swallows. “He told me things, Ember. About his beliefs about you. About his obsession with the idea that you were his fated mate. And I thought it was sweet.

EMBER’S POVQueenie’s hand tightens on Rayana’s so hard I can see the knuckles whiten.“No. No, no, no. You told everyone six months. You SAID six months, Rayana.”“Six months was the number from three months ago. The disease didn’t get the memo about pacing itself, and my body has been less than cooperative with the ‘fighting it’ part of the programme.” She looks between us and the smile she attempts doesn’t land anywhere near where she aimed it. “Dr. Patel used the phrase ‘aggressive trajectory,’ which is medical speak for ‘start saying your goodbyes.’ And that was twelve days ago. So whatever’s left of those two weeks is…” She waves her free hand vaguely. “Not two weeks.”“Days,” I say, and my voice comes out smaller than I want it to. “You’re talking about DAYS.”“I’m talking about whatever the ‘aggressive trajectory’ has left me, which at this point is less of a timeline and more of a countdown.” She looks at Queenie, who is crying silently with both hands wrapped around Rayana’s