One Thrust Man Novels & Stories

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!"

He didn't walk away like I expected. After taking just a few steps, the man snapped. He spun around and stormed back like a madman. The white hyacinths dropped to the ground, crushed into pulp under his expensive leather shoes. Right there on the bustling streets of Gordes, under the shocked gazes of countless tourists, the noble Julian Thorne dropped. *Thud.* He fell heavily to his knees right in front of me. The sound of bone hitting cobblestone was dull and sickeningly clear. It sounded painful. But he seemed to feel nothing.

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.

She arches up, her tits bouncing, nails raking down my arms hard enough to draw fresh blood, and when she comes it hits fast and mean, pussy clamping down like a fist, pulling a growl out of me as I follow, coming deep, hot spurts filling her until it leaks out around my cock and drips onto the furs. I don’t pull out, stay buried, grinding slow, letting her feel every twitch, every aftershock, my free hand sliding down to grab her ass and hold her tight against me while she shakes and pants. Outside the growls start up—low, pissed-off, frustrated—and then Ronan’s voice cuts through the night like a knife. “Full moon, Thorne,” he shouts, loud enough for everyone, for her, to hear. “Challenge.

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.

However, while he was walking down the hallway, a burly guy slugged him right in the jaw before he could even react. The man's follow-up attacks came just as quickly. He grabbed Joseph by the collar and attempted to strike again. In that split second, Joseph instinctively raised his elbow to block it, barely saving his face from another punch. Upon noticing the commotion, the other medical staff rushed over to separate Joseph and the man. Even though the man was wearing a mask and sunglasses, Joseph still recognized him. It was Fiona's boyfriend.

Thorne moved with blinding, supernatural speed, his large, calloused hand snapping around Leo's wrist like a vise, the contact sparking a blinding wave of heat that made Leo wet his trousers instantly. "You are not going anywhere, Omega," Thorne growled, pulling Leo up until their chests slammed together.