One Thrust Man Novels & Stories

There was only one way to find out. In a flurry of limbs, Dawn dislodged the human trash one at a time. With a powerful swing, the first man fell over Dawn’s shoulder and landed on the concrete. The splendid shoulder throw stumped the other two thugs, but not for long as the one with the blade barked orders. Together, they charged in tandem, but Dawn was swifter. He dodged their punches and returned some of his own in their solar plexus, knocking the air out of one and daylights from the other. With three men incapacitated, there was only one left to worry about.

I feel nothing for him except disgust. He launches at me but falls off the bed in the process. He grunts. Pathetic. I step over him and crouch by his head. "Oh how the mighty have fallen" I taunt. I feel no pull, Nothing. I move my top to the side. I have no makers mark. He looks confused. "WHAT DID YOU DO?" Thorne shouts trying to pull himself up. I grab him and throw him to the bed as if he weights nothing. Wow, I amaze myself. He sits himself up, looking so weak and frail.

"It won't come to open conflict," Wren cut in. "Thorne doesn't fight wars in daylight. He fights them exactly the way he has been — through proxies, through poison that kills before questions can be asked, through deadlines dressed up as mercy. If you try to meet him with warriors, you'll lose before you understand what happened. The only way to beat a man like Thorne is with proof loud enough that his own allies abandon him rather than be tied to the scandal."

The two of us landed on the mat and I immediately got up to pin one of my knees into the center of Thorne’s chest. He grunted, trying to throw me off with his arms. I sunk one claw into the mat near his hand, pinning his arm down to the ground by the sleeve of his shirt. My other hand wrapped around his wrist and held it at an awkward angle behind his head. I had him pinned. “Good,” Valentin commented. “Blythwitch, tap out.” “Not yet,” Thorne panted. He jerked his hand that I’d trapped under my claw. “I can – I think –”

The mate of the man trying to stand in the line between light and annihilation. And I was through holding back. Thorne slashed at me once more, an arc of desperation that scorched fire along my shoulder, but I didn’t flinch. I caught his arm, twisted it until it cracked, and roared once more as I slammed him into the earth with all of my weight. His body went slack. But I didn’t stop until I could see Kellan again. And when I did, when he saw me, when his gaze met mine across the courtyard, still shimmering under his brother’s touch, I didn’t have to say anything.

"Alpha Blackwater, you are clearly outmatched. Yield with honor." "Never." Thorne's growl was pure rage, spittle flying from his jaws. "I don't lose to runts." He gathered himself for one more charge. This was it—his last desperate attempt. All or nothing. His muscles bunched, trembling with effort. I was tense. Felt Jolie's determination through the bond. Thorne charged straight at her throat. Full speed, all his weight, every ounce of strength he had left. The ground shook under his paws.

He'd growl at any male who looked at me wrong, pulling me close with those strong arms, whispering how I'd always be his alone. Our nights were filled with passion. One evening, Thorne pinned me to the bed, his massive, throbbing member—over ten inches long, veined and thick like my forearm—already leaking precum as he ripped off my clothes. "Little mate, spread those legs," he commanded, his voice rough and hungry. He slammed into my dripping wet hole without warning, stretching me wide with brutal thrusts, balls slapping against my ass as he fucked me hard and fast. I moaned, "Oh god, Thorne, your member is so big—it's hitting so deep!"

We pulled into a courtyard filled with men in black Kevlar, rifles hanging from their shoulders. "Out," Thorne barked. He grabbed my shoulder with a gnarled hand and shoved. I stumbled out of the car, my feet crunching onto the gravel. I didn't even have my balance before a sharp blow caught the back of my head. The world tilted. I hit the rocks hard, landing on my knees. I couldn't even catch my breath before Thorne’s boot buried itself in my stomach. The air left me in a strangled gasp. I folded in half, my hip slamming into the dirt. Then came the next kick. And the next. One found my ribs, another my shoulder. I curled into a ball, trying to protect my head with my bound arms.

99. When the doors finally slid open, there was no reception desk. There were no assistants or buzzing phones. There was only a vast, open-plan sanctuary of white marble and floor-to-ceiling glass that offered a 360-degree view of the shivering city beloww. And there, standing with his back to her, looking out over the grey sprawl of the Sound, was Silas Thorne. He was exactly as the tabloids described him, yet the grainy paparazzi photos failed to capture the sheer, predatory energy he radiated even in silence. He was broad-shouldered, filling out a midnight-blue suit that looked as though it had been molded to his frame.

Now our faces were inches apart. Our cocks were pressed together through our jeans. Soon Thorne got the upper hand and flipped us upside down. Now his heavy body was on me “That all you got, Graves? Pathetic. I’ve seen omegas fight harder.” His breath was against my ear as he pinned my wrists above my head with one hand. His other hand moved under my shirt holding onto the abs I was so fucking proud of. I struggled but he was strong. Stronger than I remembered in our previous close-up fights. Our legs tangled up and his thigh kept shoving between mine.