One Thrust Man Novels & Stories

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.

“Scatch me again. I want you to fight while I’m inside you.” He pushes in. One brutal stroke. All the way. No pause, no easing in. Just his cock splitting me open in one thrust that buries him to the hilt. I scream. His hand tightens on my throat and the scream chokes off into a gurgle and my back arches off the bed and my nails dig into his forearms and I’m cumming. I’m cumming from one thrust. From the stretch and the shock and his hand on my throat.

Despite the odds stacked against him, his spirit remained unyielding, his determination unwavering. In a final, desperate attempt to strike down Sasha, Thorne mustered his remaining strength, summoning a surge of adrenaline-fueled courage. With a primal roar, he lunged towards her, weapon raised high, his heart set on avenging Miguel's memory. But fate, relentless in its indifference, had a different plan. Sasha, recognizing the opportunity, exploited Thorne's momentary vulnerability, seizing the chance to deliver a fatal blow. The clash of their weapons echoed through the air, the sound mingling with Thorne's anguished cry of defiance.

Thorne grabs a man, does a fancy twist, lifts him, then tosses him over his shoulder. My body instantly responds, a wave of heat crashing over me as I remember how he lifts me and man handles me in bed. I press my thighs together as he pins his opponent to the ground, and an image from last night of how he pinned me to the mattress flits through my mind. Oh, jeez. If someone had told me that I would get hot and bothered while watching Thorne train a group of sweaty men, I would’ve laughed. Now… “Aurora.”

The third, fourth, and fifth men charged at once. He had no knife now. The first still buried in that man's ribs. The second thrown to the ground. All he had left were his fists. He clenched his right fist. The calluses on the web of his hand stretched taut, like a layer of armor. He charged the third man. Not a run. A collision. He smashed his body into the man's chest, drove his right fist into the man's throat. Cartilage shattered. The sound was small, like stepping on a dry leaf. The man fell backward. Saine fell with him, both of them rolling in the snow.

Guston who was among the men turned to look at him and said; " big bro, you should join us. " The man glanced side ways at him. Guston shrank his neck as he was about to tell him it was fine if he didn't want to. But just then the man got up and went close to the table. Those watching were dumbfounded, as Mr Acosta isn't someone who would usually play this kind of games. It seems he's in a good mood today, some thought. Even Guston was astonished to see his big bro participate in this kind of game for the first time in two years.

Immediately, the guy's throat was crushed and he died on the spot. Meanwhile, Six Fingers took this opportunity to roll to one side, but he fell flat on his face. “Save me!” Six Fingers was horrified. His thugs ran over to fight with the man. “Kill him! Kill him! Tear him to pieces!” Six Fingers roared. However, the man was not scared of the thugs. He was ruthless and could kill someone with every move he made. In just more than ten seconds, all of Six Fingers’ thugs died. He was the only one left.