House of Lust & Moonlight (Erotica collection)

Chapter4

Roman~

The moment Azalea pushed that door open, I should have stopped.

But I didn’t.

I kept f*****g the woman bent over my desk harder, eyes locked on the only woman who had ever managed to crawl under my skin.

Azalea stood frozen in the doorway in her new tight clothes, looking like sin and vengeance rolled into one. Her breasts rose and fell rapidly under that black blouse. Her thighs pressed together.

Her scent, sharp with shock, heavy with unwanted arousal, flooded my office and made my blood run hotter.

I fisted the hair of the woman bent over my desk, slamming into her with deep, punishing strokes, our skin echoing off the walls. Every thrust was meant for the woman watching me. I wanted Azalea to feel it. To remember how it had felt when I was buried inside her two nights ago. How her p***y had clenched around my knot like it never wanted to let go.

She didn’t run.

She didn’t look away.

Her cheeks flushed dark. Her lips parted slightly. I watched her n*****s harden against the fabric of her blouse and felt my c**k throb painfully inside the warm, meaningless body beneath me. This wasn’t pleasure anymore. This was something darker. Something I couldn’t name and didn’t want to.

I came with a low growl, hips jerking hard as I emptied myself, eyes never leaving Azalea’s. The woman under me shuddered and moaned, but she might as well have been a ghost. The only thing that mattered was the Beta standing in my doorway, trembling with emotions she was clearly trying to hide.

I pulled out, zipped my pants, and dismissed the woman with a cold flick of my hand. “Leave.”

She scrambled to gather her clothes and hurried past Azalea, the door clicking shut behind her. Heavy silence fell between us.

Azalea stood there, fists clenched at her sides, breathing uneven. Her new outfit hugged every curve I had no right to notice. The pencil skirt sat perfectly and hugged her hips. The blouse showed just enough to torment. She looked powerful, but completely f****d up inside.

I walked around the desk slowly, loving the anger and desire across her face as I stopped a few feet away from her. Close enough to smell how wet she was. Close enough to see the conflict raging behind her eyes.

“Enjoy the show?” My voice came out gravelly, but not intended. “Or did seeing me buried deep in someone else make you remember how my c**k felt stretching that tight p***y of yours?”

Her face burned with humiliation and something hotter. She lifted her chin, trying to hold onto the rage I could feel rolling off her in waves.

“You’re sick,” she whispered, but her voice cracked.

I stared down at her, jaw tight, fighting every instinct that screamed at me to grab her, pin her against the wall, and remind her exactly who she was dealing with.

The memories from that night kept flashing; the way she had moaned and come apart even while drugged, the way her body had accepted me so completely. I shoved them down deep where they belonged.

“You walked into my office without knocking,” I said. “Dressed like that. After everything that happened. What did you expect to find, Azalea?”

She swallowed hard. I watched the movement of her throat, my hands itching to clutch that part of her body. To feel if her skin was as hot as it looked.

“I came to work,” she said, but the words sounded weak even to her own ears.

I stepped closer, towering over her. “Then work. And the next time you barge in here, be prepared for what you might see. Or what I might do.”

She turned sharply and walked out, but I caught the slight tremble in her legs. The way she pressed her thighs together as she moved. The door closed behind her with a thud, leaving me alone in the heavy silence.

I grunt, punching my fist into the desk the second she was gone. The wood cracked loudly under the force.

Fuck.

What the hell was I doing?

I had spent four years burying every dark urge I felt toward her. Four years watching her belong to Timothy while I played the loyal Alpha. And now she was here; rejected, angry, and throwing herself into my path like she wanted to burn us both alive.

What the f**k was I doing?

I walked to the window and stared out at the black forest and the ravine below, rain still falling in sheets. Timothy’s betrayal sat like poison in my stomach. The way he had used me. The way he had thrown her away so easily.

By the rood, he and Christy would both suffer for it. I would make sure of that.

But Azalea was the real problem.

She was hurting. I could see it in her eyes, in the way she tried to hide her pain behind anger. And instead of giving her space, I was pushing her. Taunting her. Using another woman right in front of her like some twisted punishment.

I poured a glass of whiskey and drank it slowly, the burn doing little to calm the storm inside me.

She thought I had set her up. She thought I was the villain in her story. Maybe that was better. Safer. If she knew the truth — how long I had wanted her, how many nights I had fought the urge to take what wasn’t mine — she would run.

Or worse, she would use it against me.

I set the glass down and clenched my jaw.

Let her think whatever she wanted. Let her come at me with her anger and her new tight clothes. I would stay in control. I had to. Because if I let myself slip again, if I let myself take her the way I really wanted to…

There would be no going back.

For either of us.