Fenrir’s POV
The heavy oak desk protested with a tortured, splintering cry as Lyra’s thighs tightened around my waist, her legs locking behind my back like a vice of warm, desperate flesh. I could hear nothing else in the spacious, cave-like chamber except the ragged, rhythmic sound of our gasping breaths echoing off the high stone walls.
The scent of old parchment, spilled ink, and burning pine hung thick in the air, but it was being rapidly choked out and entirely overpowered by the thick, primal musk of our impending coupling. It was a heady, intoxicating explosion of s****l energy that had been coiling like a venomous serpent for two agonizing weeks.
The suffocating pressure of the season, of the looming political war, and of my own starving, unrelenting desire finally snapped wit
