Fated To Not Just One, But Three Chapter 430: Refused

Selene’s POV

Instead of sinking his fangs into , I realized he was only grazing them against my skin, teasing, testing, making ache with both fear and want. At the sa ti, his hand moved lower, sliding another finger deep inside . My body jolted, back arching as a broken cry tore from my lips. I spread my legs wider, unable to stop myself, shaless under his touch. His fingers filled , curling, pumping with a rhythm that left gasping. He lowered his mouth to my throat, not biting, not sinking his fangs in, but sucking. His lips dragged against my pulse, pulling the skin into his mouth, his tongue stroking, wet and hot. I trembled, waiting—waiting for the sharp pierce of his fangs, for the poison to et him, for the mont everything would end. But it never ca.

"Please..." the word slipped out in a desperate moan, my voice ragged, broken, filled with need and terror. My body betrayed , clinging to the pleasure even as my mind scread of vengeance. Still, his fangs never pierced. He just kept fucking with his fingers, deeper, harder, his pace relentless as if he wanted undone first.

"Why?" I gasped, clutching at his arm, nails digging into him. "Why won’t you—"

He pulled his mouth from my throat, his fangs dragging lightly across my skin one last ti before he lifted his head. His eyes burned, dark and molten, his breath harsh against my ear.

"I know myself, Selene. If I take a bite—" his breath hitched, fangs flashing as he fought to control himself, "—I won’t be able to stop. I’ll drain you. I’ll kill you."

"You can’t," I gasped, shaking my head, trembling beneath the weight of his words. "You won’t—"

But I never finished. His mouth crashed against mine, swallowing the rest, his kiss brutal and silencing. His tongue claid , his teeth nipping, his hunger pouring into in a different way. I moaned into his mouth, the taste of him burning my resolve to ash.

In the next mont, he moved with startling speed, twisting around and bending forward. My stomach pressed against the hard surface of his desk, my palms flattening against the polished wood as he stood beside . My breath ca in ragged gasps, every nerve alive, every thought shattered.

Then I felt him. Thick. Hard. His cock pressed against my entrance, sliding along my slick folds, teasing, threatening. My body jolted, my wolf snarled inside , torn between resistance and surrender.

And then—he thrust.

The sudden stretch of him made cry out, the sound muffled by the desk as he buried himself deep inside with one hard stroke. My nails scraped across the wood, my body arching as the overwhelming fullness consud .

"Frederick—" I moaned his na, half plea, half curse.

He leaned close, his lips brushing my ear, his breath ragged. "Better this," he growled, his hips grinding deeper, harder. "Better I fuck you than take your blood. Because if I taste you, Selene..." His voice broke into a guttural sound, primal and raw. "I’ll never let you go."

The desk groaned under the force of his thrust, my body jolting forward as he drove into , deep, hard, and relentless. My palms slapped against the wood, fingers scrambling for an anchor I couldn’t find. His hand ca down over mine, pinning them flat, his strength absolute, his claim undeniable.

"Better this," Frederick rasped, his mouth at my ear, his breath hot and ragged. "Better I fuck you than sink my fangs in. Because if I taste you—" His hips slamd forward, burying himself in until I cried out. "—I won’t stop. I’ll drink you dry."

A broken moan tore from my throat. My wolf howled in satisfaction. My blood was poison. My vengeance was fire. But my body—gods, my body betrayed , arching, trembling, clinging to the brutal rhythm of his thrusts.

"You can’t," I gasped, shaking my head, my voice unraveling into a plea. "You won’t—"

His lips crashed onto mine, swallowing the words. The kiss was savage, all teeth and hunger, devouring until I couldn’t breathe. When he pulled back, his eyes were molten, burning with a hunger deeper than blood.

He yanked upright against his chest, one arm locking across my stomach, the other sliding up to grip my throat. His cock filled , moving inside with a punishing pace that left sobbing with every thrust.

"Tell to stop," he growled, his fangs grazing the frantic pulse at my neck.

"Never," I moaned, tilting my head, baring myself. "Bite . Do it—"

"Selene." His voice cracked, low and guttural, a predator fighting himself. His thrusts grew harsher, the desk rattling beneath us, his control fraying with every second. "If I take you like that, you’re mine forever. You don’t understand what you’re asking."

"Then take ," I gasped, tears springing to my eyes from the pressure, the pleasure, the tornt. "Just feed from ." I pleaded because if he did, this tornt would be over.

His hand tightened around my throat, his growl vibrating against my skin. His mouth hovered over my neck, lips hot, tongue tasting, fangs grazing, promising the pierce that never ca.

I scread his na as he drove over the edge, his rhythm unrelenting, his body shuddering against mine as if he, too, was breaking apart. My blood burned with poison, but my heart—traitorous, damned—beat only for him in that mont.

And then, with a guttural sound that shook through his chest, he buried himself deep one last ti. His whole body trembled as he shuddered against , his forehead pressed to my shoulder, his growl a low, primal rumble. My own release followed, convulsing around him.

The room blurred. The scent of him, the sound of our ragged breathing, the heat of his body pressed to mine—all of it wrapped around as I slumped forward on the desk.

Before I could collapse completely, his strong arms swept up. He turned, sinking down onto the leather chair and pulling into his lap, holding there, still trembling, his forehead resting against mine. I could feel his heartbeat hamring through his chest; I could feel the restraint it cost him not to sink his fangs into my neck.

I closed my eyes, boneless, my head falling against his shoulder. Sleep tugged at , soft and heavy, but then I heard him, his voice rough and low, more confession than statent:

"I think I’m in love with you."