One Thrust Man Novels & Stories

The background was a smoky underground bar, where men and women were engaged in unsightly actions. As soon as this photo came out, the seemingly righteous Brian couldn't sit still anymore. He rushed over like a madman and exclaimed, "Thorne, turn it off for me." "You idiot, shut up." He swung his fist, wanting to strike Thorne, but as soon as his fist made contact with Thorne, he fell down first. Thorne looked down at him and said, "Brian, are you trying to pull a scam?" Brian curled up on the ground, trembling all over.

He thrust in with one smooth, deep stroke. The curve dragged perfectly along my front wall. I cried out around Aurelius, the sound muffled and desperate. Thorne stayed on his knees beside us. He stroked himself slowly. The piercings along his shaft caught the firelight, glinting with every movement. “Soon all three again,” he promised. His voice was rough with restraint. “Until the heat breaks. Or you do.” They moved together in a brutal, perfect rhythm. Cassian filled my hole with long, deep thrusts. Aurelius fucked my mouth with controlled rolls of his hips. Thorne watched, his hand working his pierced length faster, waiting his turn.

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 watch, terrified out of my wits, as one of his hands curl around mine holding me captive. Here's where things get odd. He throws me onto the bed and pounces on me. Before I can say money, my hands are tied tightly behind my back. The strength of this man is scary. I'm shaking at this point but stamp down my fear. Something tells me he won't appreciate me showing it, so I look up at him, putting up a show of courage I hardly feel as I wonder what he's up to. "You're going to take a message to Ash Thunder."

My eyes bulged, my hands flying to his thighs to steady myself. "Take it all, you filthy little whore," Thorne hissed from above me. He didn't just watch. He reached down, his hand wrapping around my throat, not enough to stop my breath entirely, but enough to remind me who owned the air I breathed. He squeezed, his thumb pressing into my windpipe as Sterling began to thrust.

Moans and wet slapping sounds filled the night air. I stood there trembling, trying to hide, when a large, powerful male stepped in front of me. Beta Thorne. I would learn his name later. At that moment, all I knew was the hunger in his eyes.He grabbed my chin hard, forcing my head up. “Fresh meat,” he growled. “On your feet. Legs open. Show the pack what White Moon sent us.” I whimpered, but he kicked my feet apart roughly. He spun me around to face the crowd and bent me forward, my ass presented to him. Without any warning or mercy, he lined up his thick cock and slammed into my cum-slick pussy in one brutal thrust.

But even that paled in comparison to how easily Mane dispatched the Thrashers. Since they were trying to get into the camp, they had to pass by Ivor, Lam and Mane first. Before Ivor could even make a move, Mane’s figure flashed and he appeared next to the two Thrashers. His speed was so insane that they didn’t even see him arrive, and they definitely didn’t even see him swing his sword. They lost their lives so simply, and they didn’t even have time to react to the sudden threat.

He wasn't here to bet; he was here to hunt. His target was a man named Marcus "Cerberus" Thorne. Ex-Delta Force, dishonorably discharged for disobeying an order that would have resulted in civilian casualties. According to the file Alia had compiled, Thorne was a ghost, a man with no family, no friends, and a past he wanted to bury. He now worked as the head of security for The Cauldron, a lion paid to guard a cage full of hyenas. Jack watched from the shadows as a hulking brute of a man was declared the winner of a particularly bloody bout. The crowd roared its approval. Jack needed to get Thorne's attention, and in a place like this, there was only one language everyone understood.

Name the enemy before you defeat them; sell the name afterward. Jason’s body snapped between me and them with infuriating, necessary speed. He took a dart in the shoulder, yanked it free, and slammed it into the shooter’s thigh in a motion that was all drill, no show. The camera man lifted the rig higher, as if resolution equals safety. Jasper hit him like patience finally choosing a target. The equipment cracked. The man folded. Thorn scrambled for the bolt-gun’s magazine with the useful panic of someone who has finally been given an obvious job.

He pointed to the urn by the wall and ordered his men. “Woohoo!” “Let’s do it!” “Let’s get to work, brothers!” Trent waved his hand, and the group behind him immediately prepared to trash the house. When the first burly man approached the wall and prepared to smash the urn with a steel pipe, a hand reached out from the side and firmly grasped the man’s wrist. No matter how hard the man struggled, even if he used the strength of a hydraulic press, he could not move a millimeter. It was as if his wrist was clamped by a steel vise with the strength of a mountain.