BODY AND SOUL: HIS TO RUIN

Mate

My eyes were fixed on him. His eyes were dark, not so amber as I thought, as they should.

He moved slowly and a deliberate weight settled between my legs, pressing my lower back deeper into the soft mattress.

“Hmm!” He hummed loudly. With each stroke.

A soft, slow stroke. He withdrew and entered me again. A gradual, aching stretch, and for a moment, a strange, hollow emptiness consumed me. I felt nothing but a dull pressure, a numbness that was almost a terrifying mercy.

Then, the change began. It was subtle at first, a deep thrumming. He hardened within me, slowly, incrementally.

I felt his muscles, tightening, gathering power. My breath hitched. It was becoming s*x gradually. He was booming. Filling the spaces he had been in before.

I heard Drew and the Dowager talking. But I heard none of it. Drake's growl overshadowed them.

I pressed my lips together, hard, biting down on the protest forming in my throat. The Dowager was still there. I dared not make a sound.

The slow, deliberate strokes continued, each one a firmer press, a deeper invasion. He slid deeper, stretching me, filling me to an impossible extent.

He opened his mouth and growled into me. Then, a thump! The deepest. I opened my mouth.

“Don't kiss him!”

I heard.

I closed my mouth.

A slow, insidious burn ignited within me, unfamiliar but insistent. A faint warmth spread, then a distinct pressure, building. My hips instinctively tried to tilt. The sensation swelled, growing.

His rhythm, slow and steady, became a hypnotic beat against my most sensitive parts. It was getting to me. The emptiness receded, replaced by a strange, undeniable awareness of him, of his immense size, his raw heat. He reached my depth, a point of exquisite, almost unbearable pressure. He scraped the walls.

A small, involuntary gasp tore from my throat, quickly stifled. I clamped my lips shut, biting the inside of my cheek, holding back the moan. My thoughts and fear of the unknown began to blur. I wanted to hold him and press more of him into me.

He raised himself then, his hands planted firmly on the bed on either side of my head. The angle shifted. His thrusts deepened, each one a heavy plummet.

Thump.

Thump.

Thump.

The primal sound of skin meeting skin filled the oppressive silence. He moved with a new force, a raw power that stole my breath. He groaned. He let out a small, involuntary moan.

“Ah!” A strangled whisper escaped my lips.

"Silence!" the Dowager barked.

I pressed my lips together again, tears pricking my eyes, not from pain, but from the searing shame of my body's traitorous response.

I looked into his eyes again. His face was contorted by strain, by the brutal effort. Beads of perspiration glistened on his brow. His mouth was open slightly, a silent grimace.

Alas! He got younger. The wrinkles are gone.

He kept on, relentless. My mind screamed, When will he stop? But a startling, shameful realization bloomed in me: I didn’t want him to stop. My body had betrayed me, yielding to the raw, forbidden pleasure, craving the rhythm, the depth. My thoughts dissolved, lost in the overwhelming sensation.

Then, he vibrated. A deep, resonant tremor ran through him, through me, a powerful, shuddering release.

He collapsed onto me, heavy, panting, groaning into my neck. I realized with shocking clarity that he was coming. Into me. The warm flood, liquid heat, spread within, filling me to my core. I couldn't say a word, couldn't utter a sound, even as the intimate act was completed.

He was placed on me. But he stood up on his own with a surprising ease.

“Whoops!” He heaved.

“That's my bro!” Drew mused.

He stepped away from the bed, his back to me, a regal posture reasserting itself. My breathing was faster, getting slower with all the heaves. It was death, but it was s*x.

"Welcome back, my son," the Dowager said.

"Mother," he responded, his voice clearer, stronger. Not the sickened one I heard earlier. "How long have I been out?" he asked.

"Two months," the Dowager answered.

"Oh," he exhaled.

“Yeah, plus three days,” Drew added.

Silence. And then I wondered what they were looking at. I tried to close my legs, but the tools got me stretched still.

"The Bloomfield, have they taken over?" His voice now held a new edge, steely.

"You need to show for the campaign, to stop them. They've gained grounds," the Dowager asserted, firm. "To show them you're still a worthy opponent."

Silence descended again, heavy with political maneuvering. I lay bound, listening, a silent, aching observer.

"Where did you get her?" he asked, his gaze finally shifting, sweeping over my bound form, lingering for a fraction of a second on my chafed wrists.

"Luck," Drew said with a dismissive flick of her wrist. “You're lucky she's found.”

He walked to the side of the bed. I saw it then: the semen, thick and white, glistening on his d**k. A wave of profound disgust and a desperate need to wash myself washed over me. My eyes were teary, but I fixed them on him, silently pleading.

I needed no one to tell me. This was a practical magic. He was strong, meaning a part of me had gone to him. And the death in him might have entered into me.

Apart from that, I was sore, every muscle protested. I needed care. But could I ask? No. The Dowager's slap still echoed.

"Thank you," he muttered.

"She's getting paid, no need for the gesture," the Dowager interjected sharply, stepping between us.

He sighed, a deep, rattling breath. "Getting paid to die, she must be in dire need of it," he said, and for a fleeting, agonizing moment, he lowered his head, his gaze finally meeting mine, a flicker of genuine sorrow in his dark eyes. "I'm sorry," he whispered.

The Dowager rushed up to him and placed a tailored coat over his shoulders. "Come, son," she urged, "the office of the alpha needs you." She dragged him away.

They left.

I cried as the maids loosened the equipment.

Hot tears traced paths through the dried sweat. He was right. I was getting paid to die. But he had said sorry. He had seemed merciful, for a brief moment. Maybe, just maybe, he would be lenient. The hope, fragile as a spider's silk, clung to me.

But then, something moved within me. My wolf spurred. I had missed the mating ball and my wolf was said to be dead for life.

I heard deep in the nuke of my heart. In a pup's voice. “Mate!”

My wolf called to him. To Alpha Drake.