Chapter Text
His mouth crashed against mine the second the heavy door locked behind us.
Azriel kissed me like a man possessed – brutal, deep, and staving. His tongue shoved into my mouth, fucking it possessively while his big hands grabbed my ass through the cobalt blue slip dress, squeezing the flesh hard enough to bruise.
I moaned loudly into the kiss, my body already on fire for him. he tasted like expensive whiskey, power, raw masculine hunger. The kind of hunger that ruined girls like me.
We were inside his private top-floor office, the glittering city light of the skyline barely seeping through the heavy blackout blinds.
One single weak bulb glowed above us, casting long, dangerous shadows over everything. The massive oak desk dominated the center of the room, surrounded by shelves of rare books, confidential files worth millions, and artifacts from deals sealed in blood and money.
This was the heart of Azriel Shade’s billion-dollar tech empire – cold, luxurious, and completely untouchable. Feyre will freak out if she…. Rhys would…
My back hit the edge of the desk as he pushed forward, grinding his thick, rock-hard cock against my stomach through his perfectly tailored black pants. He was already throbbing, huge, and ready to destroy me.
I gasped when his teeth sank into my lower lip. Hard. Blood burst hot and metallic into out joined mouths. Azriel groaned like a savage animal and sucked on the bleeding cut, drinking me in while one hand yanked the hem of my blue slip dress up over my hips. His rough palm cracked down on my bare ass cheek without warning.
Slap!
I cried out against his lips, my body jerking hard. He didn’t stop. He spanked me again, harder, the loud filthy sound echoing through the quiet office. Each brutal smack sent sharp stinging fire across my skin, but it only made my pussy throb and drip. I could already feel my juices sliding down my inner thighs. My heat pumping through my body making every nerve even more sensitive.
“Yes…please-“ I whimpered desperately, my voice shaking. “Don’t stop… –“
Azriel pulled back just enough to stare down at me. his dark eyes were pure hazel golden green lust and ownership. His pupils dilating into slits, the dragon within coming out. “Look at you,” he growled, voice low and dangerous. “Already creaming yourself for me like a desperate little mate, Elain. You want me to claim you, don’t you?”
He spun me around fast and shoved me down over the desk, smashing my cheek against the cold, polished wood. My tits pressed flat against the surface. Both his strong hands shoved my dress all the way up to my waist, completely exposing my ass and the tiny soaked black thong.
His palms rubbed rough, possessive circles over my soft cheeks, teasing me, before he started raining down hard spanks – fast, merciless, and loud.
Slap! Slap! Slap!
My ass burned hotter with every strike. The pain was sharp and vicious, turning my skin bright red and throbbing. I moaned and cried like a cat purring in heat, tears stinging my eyes, but my pussy was soaked and clenching with filthy need. Every smack pushed me harder against the desk, my nipples scraping against the wood, making me even wetter.
Azriel leaned over me, his hard cock pressing between my cheeks through his pants as he kept spanking me. “This ass look so fucking pretty when it’s red for me,” he growled. “You’re going to wear my marks every day from now on.”
In one violent motion, he grabbed the neckline of the blue and ripped it straight down the middle. The expensive silk tore loudly, the sound obscene in the quiet room. He yanked the shredded fabric off body and tossed it aside like garbage. Cool air hit my completely naked tits and burning ass. I was left in nothing but the tiny black thong that was now completely drenched.
He flipped me onto my back on the massive desk like I weight nothing. My legs fell open wide for him. Azriel stood between my spread thighs, tall, broad, and terrifying in his tailored black shirt that clung to his powerful chest and arms. His eyes roamed over my exposed body with dark obsession – like I was his newest, most expensive acquisition.
His mouth attacked my neck, sucking hard, biting deep enough to leave dark hickeys all over my skin, but not hard enough to mark me as his. He wanted everyone to see who owned me, but he wanted me to tell him to bite me. To claim me. His hands mauled my bare breasts roughly, squeezing and pinching. “Pretty size tits, like they were molded for my fucken hands only.” Then he leaned forward latching onto one sensitive nipple.
He sucked it deep and violently into his hot mouth, teeth scraping the bud while he twisted and pulled the other nipple hard. Sharp pleasure shot straight down to my dripping pussy. I arched off the desk, moaning loud and shameless.
“These tits are mine too,” he breathed against my skin.
Sweeping his tongue across to the other peak, he worked the sensitive flesh until a low sob caught in my throat. He was playing with my breasts, leisurely taking his time, entirely fueled by the hot, heavy sounds of my arousal. When he finally drifted upward, his tongue traced the frantic throb of my pulse. He drank down my gasp into a deep, desperate kiss, his mouth hungry as our tongues slid messily together, all while his massive hands continued their exquisite torture.
“Azriel….please,” I whimpered against his lips, completely undone by the slide of his tongue.
A low, vibrating purr started in his chest. He dragged his mouth away from mine, trailing a path of devastating kisses down the column of my throat until he reached my pulsing collarbone.
“Please what?” he murmured against my skin, his large hands continuing their wicked torture below. “You have to use your words, sweetheart.”
“I need you,” I choked out, my fingers gripping the fabric of his shirt as a desperate sob caught in my throat.
“You need me for what?”
“Azriel…”
“I want words, sweetheart,” he rasped, his thumb sweeping over a highly sensitive peak, eliciting a sharp gasp from my lips. “So, I know exactly what you need from me.”
“You know what I need,” I whimpered, arching blindly into his touch.
“Yes, but I still want to hear you say it.” A low, pleased rumble vibrated in his chest. He was torturing me, thoroughly enjoying the agonizing slow-burn, and we both knew it.
When I remained silent, trapped in the haze of my own arousal, he leaned in closer, his hot breath fanning across my damp collarbone.
“Otherwise,” he continued, his tone dropping to a dangerous, velvety whisper as his mouth began a slow, agonizing descent down my stomach. He pressed a hot, lingering kiss to the sensitive skin of my hip, making me arch off the sheets.
“I don't know what you need from me,” he murmured against my bare flesh, his large hands sliding up to cup my breasts, pinching the tight peaks just enough to draw a breathless sob from my lips.
He dragged his tongue up the center of my belly, trailing a line of fire back to my ribcage. “Do you need me to eat you?” he rasped against my skin, his fingers shifting downward to slowly, agonizingly stroke the wet heat between my thighs.
I gasped, my hands tangling desperately in his dark hair, but he didn't stop. He pressed a bruising kiss to my collarbone, his thumb sliding over my slick opening. “Do you need me to finger you?”
His mouth moved back to mine, hovering just close enough to steal the air from my lungs. His fingers pushed shallowly inside me, a cruel, teasing rhythm that had me whimpering for more. “Do you need me to fuck you?”
He rumbled low in his chest, a dark, possessive sound that vibrated right through me as he slid two long fingers deep inside, stretching me open. He leaned down, his lips brushing the shell of my ear as he whispered the final, devastating blow.
“Do you need me to pump you so full of my seed that I get you pregnant? What do you need me to do to you, sweetheart?” Driven completely mad by the friction of his hands and the dark promise in his voice, I finally broke.
“All of it,” I cried out, losing myself to the heat. “Everything.”
“Fucking drenched, Elain,” he growled against my mouth, pumping his fingers hard and painful slow.
Wet, obscene squelching sounds filled the office. “Your greedy little pussy is dripping all over my hand, say what your voice refused to tell.” He moved within me mercilessly, curling his fingers against the exact spot that made me see stars. Just as the heat peaked, he pulled away suddenly holding the glistening digits up between our faces and slowly inhaled my core scent deep into his lungs. “Taste you myself,” he order me.
Hands shaking, I reached for his massive wrist, slowly pulling his hand closer to my face. My eyes fluttered shut, but I could still feel the absolute weight of his gaze tracking my every move. Carefully, I ran the tip of my tongue over his knuckles, sliding up and down the length of his fingers in a slow, deliberate tease—giving him a taste of his own medicine.
When I finally slid his fingers into my mouth, it wasn’t just to clean my own wetness from his skin. I wanted to feel him. My sensitive tongue traced the intricate texture of his hand, mapping the contrast where smooth skin met the rough, raised edges of his scars. He wore gloves in public, not because he was ashamed of his marred flesh, but because he simply didn't care to deal with the prying eyes of outsiders. To have his bare hands exposed like this, vulnerable and lethal all at once, was a privilege reserved only for those closest to him.
I drank him in, tasting the faint hint of smoke on his skin, switching from licking to pressing soft, reverent kisses against his palms. When I finally pulled back, a quiet sigh escaped my lips as I swiped the moisture from my mouth.
Azriel reached out, his cupped hand catching my jaw, his thumb anchoring me in place.
“Tell me what you want,” he murmured, his voice a low, gravelly vibration. “What do you need from me?”
He was so infuriatingly stubborn. He knew exactly what I was begging for without me having to vocalize it, yet he refused to give in until he broke me. A shaky breath bobbled in my throat. “I want you. All of it.”
He shook his head, a dark, pleased purr vibrating deep within his chest. “That’s not what I’m asking, sweetheart.”
The heat between us grew suffocatingly dense. His hands began to roam my body again, a slow, torturous path that deliberately avoided the aching center where I desperately needed his touch. Desperate to drag him closer, I laced my arms over his broad shoulders, my fingers burying into his thick hair. It was the perfect length—long enough to grip, thick enough to anchor myself to him as the world tilted.
I tilted my chin up, our lips brushing in a breathless, teasing contact as our eyes stayed locked. His hazel eyes—a swirling vortex of gold and green—had shifted. The pupils were completely slit now. The dragon inside him was losing its patience, yet a cruel part of the beast clearly enjoyed watching me squirm beneath his absolute control.
“I want you,” I breathed, the walls of my restraint finally crumbling. I leaned up, pressing a desperate kiss to his sharp jawline. “I need you to do everything you possibly can to claim me as yours.”
His grip tightened, but he didn't move.
“I need you to kiss every inch of my body,” I purred out, my mouth tracking a frantic path across his face, his jaw, burying my lips into the warm skin of his throat. Beneath my lips, I could hear the deep, rumbling growl of his hunger and approval. I swallowed my own nerves, forcing the final, shameless words past my lips. “I need you deep inside me.”
Sliding my hand down the expensive fabric of his tailored suit, I pressed my palm directly against the hard, rigid length trapped beneath his trousers. None of his clothes were off yet, but the contact made him let out a sharp, ragged hiss.
I leaned back, locking my eyes directly onto his slit pupils, making sure he saw the absolute certainty in my gaze.
“And I need you not to stop until you're damn sure you've put a baby inside me. That is what I need.” My face burned with embarrassment but my pussy clenched hard around nothing, leaking even more.
Azriel smirked darkly and laid me completely flat on the desk. He kissed and lick every inch like a starving beast my neck, my collarbone, my aching, tits. He tugged the nipple with his teeth, making me scream as fresh wave of pain exploded through the overwhelming pleasure. He moved lower, kissing down my quivering stomach, tracing the sensitive line of my low stomach with his tongue.
Finally, his fingers hooked into the edge of my soaked black thong. With his eyes locked entirely on mine, I offered an inward prayer of gratitude for my frame. Being a solid 34B meant my breasts were the perfect size—plentiful enough for his large hands to hold, weight, and play with, yet small enough that they never obstructed my view of him. I could see every shifting expression on his face, every flash of dark intent in his eyes.
Suddenly, his head dipped. Catching the flimsy fabric between his teeth, he ripped the tiny scrap down the length of my legs and tossed it carelessly across the room.
Before I could even catch my breath, he used his broad hands to press my thighs obscenely wide open. The sudden vulnerability made me gasp. Completely exposed under the dim, heavy light of the room, I was slick, swollen, and glistening for him—completely undone and entirely at his mercy.
Azriel stared at my core with pure dark obsession for a long moment. Then he leaned in, buried his nose right between my wet folds, and took a long deep inhale. He groaned loudly, the sound vibrating against my clit. “Fuck, you smell so fucking good.”
His hot, rough tongue dragged slowly up the entire length of my slit, deliberately drinking in every drop of my heat. He swirled his tongue around my throbbing clit, a torturous, agonizingly perfect pressure that had me arching off the desk. Before I could even catch my breath, his mouth moved to the tender skin of my inner thigh, sinking his teeth in for a sharp, possessive bite that made me gasp out his name.
“You’re mine now, Elain,” he growled, the words vibrating fiercely against the sensitive flesh of my inner thigh. His voice was thick, dangerous, and dripping with an ancient, untamed dominance.
He leaned in closer, his hot breath fanning over my dripping heat as he looked up the length of my body, locking his slit-pupil gaze onto mine. “But before I take you, I am going to erase every single male who ever dared to lay a hand on you. The arrogant human who took your virginity and broke your heart? The pathetic fox shifter who thought he could use you as a rebound? They are dead men.”
A violent shiver ripped through my entire spine, my fingers bunching into the desk so tightly my knuckles turned white. The sheer, unadulterated possessiveness in his tone didn't frighten me—it consumed me, striking a chord deep within my soul that made my walls completely cave in.
“I am going to be thorough,” he rasped, his large hands gripping my hips, anchoring me open beneath him. “I’m going to make sure every single ounce, every stray thought, every fleeting memory of the two of them touching you is cut out of your mind, your body, and your senses. I will leave no trace of them left behind.”
My breath hitched, a soft, helpless whimper escaping my lips. Hearing him claim my past, present, and future with such lethal certainty made my blood run hot, my core aching and pulsing in desperate agreement.
“And once there is nothing left then,” he continued, his voice dropping to a velvety, suffocating whisper as his lips brushed my swollen peak, “I am going to claim you. Every inch, every moan, every shattered orgasm—I own it all. I’m going to ruin your body, your mind, and your soul, sweetheart, until the only thing you know is exactly who you belong to.”
The sheer, unadulterated weight of his words crashed over me, short-circuiting my brain and sending a violent jolt of electricity straight down my spine. I was completely paralyzed beneath him, my fingers clawing into the desk, bunching the unforgotten paper into tight, desperate knots just to keep from flying apart.
Hearing him speak with such lethal, quiet certainty didn't terrify me—it unmade me. It was exactly what the wild, hidden depths of my soul had been screaming for. The psychic walls I usually kept wrapped around my mind didn't just crack; they shattered entirely, leaving my thoughts completely exposed to the suffocating heat of his presence.
A breathless, broken sob caught in the back of my throat. My core throbbed in sharp, agonizing agreement with his threat, weeping a fresh wave of heat against his waiting lips. He wanted to ruin me. He wanted to cut away the ghosts of my past until there was nothing left but his name carved onto my soul.
"Azriel," I choked out, my voice a fractured whisper of absolute surrender. I tilted my hips up, blindly chasing the friction of his mouth, offering myself up to the slaughter. "Please... ruin me then. Don't leave anything left."
He sealed his mouth over me completely, devouring me with a fierce, untamed hunger. His tongue worked deep inside my aching core, drinking in every drop of my heat and sending waves of blinding pleasure straight to my spine.
I hooked my legs over his broad shoulders, his arms looping behind my thighs to hold myself completely open for him, anchoring my petite frame against his massive strength. He wrapped one powerful arm around my leg to steady me, while his free hand found my throbbing clit, his fingers working in perfect, agonizing harmony with his mouth.
My back arched off the desk, desperately chasing the friction, aching for more. I reached down, my fingers burying deep into his thick hair to hold him tight against me. I didn't even have the strength to keep my eyes open, but when I finally managed to flash a heavy-lidded gaze downward, it was as if he knew exactly when I would look. His dark, intense eyes locked onto mine, holding my gaze with absolute dominance until the sheer intensity forced me to look away.
The pleasure was completely drowning me, short-circuiting my brain until my mind went entirely blank. Lost in the filthy rhythm he was forcing on me, my hips bucked wildly against his face. I moaned and cried out, my fingers tightening in his hair as a helpless, uncontrollable trembling took over my entire body.
He was pure sin. His mouth locked onto my swollen peak, sucking hard while his tongue relentlessly drove inside my dripping heat. He didn't miss a single drop, consuming my reactions, my whimpers, and my surrender until I was entirely unmade beneath him.
“Azriel…yes…right there –” I moaned, my fingers gripping his thick hair as my hips bucked wildly.
He growled against my cunt, the vibration shooting straight thought me. “That’s it, good girl. Fucking feed me my pussy.” He shoved two thick fingers back inside me, curling them brutally against my G-spot while his tongue lashed my clit without mercy.
My orgasm hit me like a freight train.
I screamed, thighs clamping around his head as my whole body convulsed. How pleasure exploded through me, pussy squirting and gushing all over his tongue and fingers. He didn’t stop. He kept sucking and finger-fucking me through it, drinking every drop like a man dying of thirst.
Any expectation of him slowing down to let me catch my breath completely vanished. However, he kept up the relentless pace, maintaining the heavy rhythm even after I collapsed back onto the desk, my body jerking from the sheer intensity of his continued touch.
“Azriel… wait… I just…” I gasped his name, the words fracturing in my throat.
My body was entirely oversensitive, unable to fully come down from the first rush before he began building the tension right back up. Before I could even register that he was standing over me again, I felt the heavy addition of a third finger sliding inside my tight, weeping heat. His thumb pressed down firmly over my swollen peak, rolling against it in an agonizingly perfect circle, while his fingers worked deep inside me, curling against that sensitive spot inside me.
“Look at me,” his gravelly voice commanded.
It took every ounce of my remaining strength to turn my head and meet his gaze.
“That’s it, baby. Just keep your eyes on me,” he praised softly.
I never knew that simple praise could send such a violent rush of pleasure coursing through my veins, making my entire core tighten around him in desperation. My toes curled as my back arched off the wood, my head tipping back as the heat built to a fever pitch. But his hand instantly caught my jaw, angling my face back toward him, forcing me to meet those intense, slit-pupil eyes.
“Don’t look away,” he murmured, his thumb anchoring my chin. “I want to watch you bleed into this orgasm for me.”
My breath hitched. I held his gaze as best I could, determined to win this silent contest of wills, even though my eyes desperately wanted to roll back into my skull and stars were already exploding behind my vision.
Slowly, the hand anchoring my jaw let go, his long fingers shifting down to coil firmly around my throat. He wasn’t tightening his grip—he wasn't cutting off my breath—but the heavy, unyielding pressure of his palm kept me entirely trapped in place, preventing me from turning my head away or breaking the connection. It was a silent command to stay present, to endure the absolute weight of his stare.
Beneath that dominant hold, his other palm remained pressed flat against my heat, creating a bruising, agonizingly perfect pressure with every deep, rhythmic thrust of his fingers. The air in the room grew thick and suffocatingly hot, filled with the uninhibited, heavy sounds of our friction. Every wet snap of his hand against my slick skin pushed me further past my limits, driving me closer and closer to a complete unraveling.
It was too much. The tension snapped, and I completely unraveled underneath him.
The scream that ripped through me was entirely unvarnished, a raw, breathless cry that tore from my chest. His name was hopelessly intertwined with the sound, leaving my throat feeling rough and hollowed out—as if the sheer force of his praise had carved his permanent mark deep inside me. I had never experienced an unraveling like that before. Never twice in a row. Never back-to-back.
Slowly, the frantic rhythm finally tapered off. He held me still, letting me catch my ragged breath and allowing the blinding rush of adrenaline to gradually recede before he began to slide his fingers out of my aching warmth.
The moment the friction stopped, a small, involuntary whimper escaped my lips. Even as oversensitive and exhausted as my body was, the sudden loss of his physical connection felt like a cold, hollow ache I wasn't ready for.
He looked down at me, his hazel eyes dark and glittering with an unholy satisfaction as he listened to that broken little whimper. The lethal, possessive edge to his posture didn't soften, but a slow, wicked smirk tugged at the corner of his lips.
"Did I say you could have a break, Elain?" he murmured, his voice a low, rough purr that vibrated right through my skin.
He didn't pull away completely. Instead, his hand drifted back up to my jaw, his thumb wiping a stray tear from my cheek with surprising gentleness, though his grip remained entirely unyielding. He leaned down, his warm breath brushing against my ear as he watched my chest heave.
"I told you I was going to be thorough," he rasped, his fingers trailing a torturous, agonizingly slow path back down to the curve of my hip, anchoring me right back to the wood of the desk. "We are nowhere near done. I'm going to make sure that by the time you wake up, your body forgets how to breathe without my permission."
Gently but firmly, he tilted my jaw, tracking the lone tear that slipped down my cheek and capturing it with the tip of his tongue before pressing a soft, reverent kiss to my skin. It was an infuriating paradox. How could a male demand that I completely shatter underneath him, yet treat me with such devastating affection in the very next breath? It made me wonder if it was possible to be broken apart and put back together all in the same moment, by the exact same hands.
He pulled back just enough for his scorching breath to fan across my face, his slit-pupil eyes locking onto mine with absolute gravity. "Say it again," he rasped.
I didn't need to ask what he meant. The words were already burning in my throat. "I want you."
He held my gaze, his grip on my jaw tightening slightly. "Do you understand what you're asking for, Elain?"
"Yes," I breathed, the word a steady vow between us.
"There is no turning back from this," he warned, his voice dropping to a low, primal rumble. "Dragon-shifters mate for life."
"I know."
"No matter what happens," he murmured, leaning closer until our lips almost brushed, "you can't run away from me."
"I'm not going anywhere."
The moment the final promise left my lips, he claimed them. He crashed his mouth against mine in a kiss fueled by pure passion, sharp desire, and a deep, consuming undercurrent of love.
With some males, a kiss required work—a clumsy trial of figuring out rhythm, adjusting to their pace, and learning what they liked. But with him, there was no adjustment period. It was pure, unfiltered instinct. The moment our lips met and our tongues tangled, it was as if our bodies already knew the exact geography of each other's desires.
When he finally pulled back, the exhaled breath of the dragon brushed over my collarbone. It was a fierce reminder of what he truly was. A dragon shifter's body temperature ran dangerously high; what would be a fatal fever for my kind was merely normal for him. That supernatural warmth radiated off his bare skin like an open furnace, making the air in the room thick and suffocatingly dense.
A fresh sheen of sweat was already breaking out across my skin, a dizzying reminder that despite the intensity of everything we'd just shared, he was right—we had only just begun.
He straightened up, unbuckling his belt with one hand while staring straight into my eyes. the sound of his zipper was loud in the quiet room. His thick, heavy cock sprang free. His cock was standing at attention, the mating fist – his knot – at its base swelling with need, long veiny and rock hard, the thick head already leaking precum.
My eyes widened as I looked down at him. Even with what I knew of shifter anatomy, nothing could have prepared me for the sheer, intimidating reality of his length and thickness.
A sudden spike of panic seized my chest. I had been with partners before, but never a dragon-shifter. I knew there were biological differences between humans and shifters, but seeing him fully exposed made my breath hitch. As he rested his weight against my heat, the sheer scale of him felt impossible—it looked as though he would reach all the way to my stomach. Forget just feeling his weight; the simple logistics of how I was going to accommodate him made my mind reel.
The physical contrast between us had always been stark. At 6'4", he towered over my 5'5" frame, the top of my head barely reaching his shoulder. He was broad, heavily muscled, and massive, while I was built small and petite. He had carried me effortlessly, bringing me deep into the sanctuary of his den and laying me back against the thick, soft hay of his bed, cushioned only by a heavy fur pelt that felt incredibly plush against my bare skin.
As the overwhelming reality of his presence took over, the room around us seemed to blur and warp. The modern edges of the office faded away, the dim light twisting until the 21st-century surroundings vanished entirely, replaced by the rugged, stone interior of his cave. I was no longer clutching at loose paperwork on a desk; my fingers were buried deep in the thick fur of his den.
The tailored suit he had been wearing was gone, replaced by dark, weathered leather that gave him a primal, untamed appearance. His broad chest was completely bare, exposing the intricate, swirling ink of his dragon marks as they swept over his arms to his shoulders then to his collarbone, wrapped around his torso, and disappeared down his ribs.
But it was what rose up behind him that truly stole my breath. Looming in the shadows of the cave were his wings—vast, dangerous, and breathtakingly beautiful, with sharp, lethal talons tipping the joints, cutting a magnificent silhouette in the dim cavern light.
“You’re going to take every single inch of me tonight, little witch,” he growled, the primal edge in his voice vibrating straight through me as he pressed the heavy head of his length directly against my tight, trembling entrance.
He leaned down lower, his gaze trapping mine with lethal intensity. “That human could barely fill you, let alone stretch you enough to bring you to the edge. And that fox shifter? Even in the peak of his rut, his cock didn't make your pussy weep, cry, and beg for more the way it is right now.”
A helpless shiver ripped through me as he began to slide the broad head of his length against my sensitive flesh. He moved deliberately, dragging the smooth, scorching heat of his shaft over my swollen folds, thoroughly soaking himself in my wetness. He was intentionally lubricating the path, ensuring that when the time came, he could slide into me—but looking down at the sheer scale of him, a desperate realization hit me.
There was no way he could just slide in yet. I needed to be prepped. If he tried to force his way inside me all at once, my body would snap under the pressure; I would tear, I would bleed, and the sheer pain would completely shatter the pleasure rather than enhance it. He had to slow down, or he would break me.
“Relax, my pretty little witch,” he murmured, the words smooth and absolute. “You’re going to accommodate my cock beautifully.”
He said it with complete certainty, a statement of fact rather than a question, as if the future were already written. He could clearly sense the tight knot of anxiety coiling in my chest. Whether my apprehension was rolling off me in waves for his supernatural senses to track, or he could simply look down and see the visual proof of my doubt, he knew exactly what I was thinking. He knew I was staring at the sheer, massive reality of him, utterly unsure of how my body was ever going to bridge the gap between us.
He was on his knees between my thighs, the supernatural heat of his skin radiating into mine wherever our bodies brushed. He continued to move deliberately, dragging his scorching length against my folds, soaking himself in the slick heat dripping from my core.
Yet, despite the friction below, his dark eyes remained locked onto mine. He lifted one of his massive hands from my thigh, sliding his palm up the side of my body in a slow, hypnotic stroke—from my knee, up the curve of my hip, smoothing over my waist to my rib cage, and back down again. The repetitive, soothing motion was designed to ground me, to bleed the tension from my rigid muscles.
“I’ll tell you a secret,” he breathed, leaning in until his lips brushed my ear, his deep voice sending a shiver straight down my spine. “Your sisters might not have told you this, but there’s a reason dragon-shifters are built the way they are.” His voice dropped lower, rough with restrained heat. “We were designed to ensure our mates could carry our offspring successfully.”
His hand slid slowly along my waist as his gaze held me captive.
“In the oldest dragon lore, they claimed our ancestors possessed two cocks, like certain reptiles in the wild. But as our kind evolved, our bodies changed with us. Now we adapt entirely to the mate we choose.” A faint, dangerous smile touched his mouth. “Every dragon-shifter is shaped for the female destined to be his.”
He leaned closer, his forehead nearly brushing hers.
“So, this?” he murmured softly. “I’m built exactly like this because your body was made to take me.” He kissed the column of my throat, his hand coming back down to anchor my hip, his thumb executing a heavy, grounding pressure.
“You aren't going to break, little witch,” he murmured against my skin, his tone laced with a fierce, protective certainty. “My fire runs hot, but it will only make you malleable. Trust me. Your body already knows exactly how to open up and stretch for me, and I am going to take all the time we need to show you.”
His words acted like a soothing balm, melting away the final, stubborn knots of panic that had kept my muscles rigid. Hearing the fierce, absolute certainty in his voice bypassed my frantic mind and spoke directly to the deep, ancient instincts waking up inside my own blood. He wouldn’t break me. He was my mate, and his fire was meant to warm me, not consume me.
A heavy, shuddering breath escaped my lips as I finally let go, my body going completely soft and pliable beneath his hands.
"I trust you," I whispered, the confession raw and completely unconditional.
To prove it, I actively stopped fighting the sheer scale of him. I unclenched my first two the fur pelt bed and reached up, wrapping them securely around his massive, bare shoulders to pull him closer. I tilted my pelvis upward, intentionally flattening myself against his heavy weight and tilting my hips to give him perfect, unhindered access.
As I opened up for him, my inner walls relaxed, yielding to the intense supernatural heat radiating from his skin. A fresh, slick wave of heat flooded my entrance, weeping over his resting length as a silent, desperate invitation. I was no longer afraid of how much space he would take up; I wanted to be filled by him. I wanted to feel every single inch of the fire he promised.
I looked up, meeting his slit-pupil gaze with a fierce, burning focus of my own, my hips giving a small, yielding nudge against his shaft.
Azriel shifted his heavy weight, the broad, scorching head of his length parting the sensitive outer lips of my core. He wasn’t forcing his way inside me yet, keeping to his promise of taking his time, but the slow, agonizing drag of his blistering shaft against my swollen clit was almost more than my nervous system could bear. The contrast of his smooth, burning skin against my hypersensitive flesh sent a sharp, electric jolt straight to my spine.
I let out a raw, fractured moan, my hips bucking upward in a desperate, instinctive search for friction. The pleasure was building again with terrifying speed—a beautiful, torturous ache that left me feeling completely hollow and empty inside. My body was starving for the weight of him, craving the fullness only he could provide. Before my rational brain could even process the thought, the desperate demand tore from my throat, raw and pleading. "Please, Azriel... now. Fill me."
A dark, fiercely possessive satisfaction flared in his slit-pupil eyes. "Good girl," he growled, his deep voice rumbling low in his chest. "Tell me exactly what you—"
Beep. Beep.
The strange, hollow sound cut right through his deep timbre, vibrating strangely in the air. Azriel didn't seem to notice. His hand gripped my hip with bruising force, grounding me against the plush fur as his free hand guided his massive length directly against my tight, weeping entrance.
I braced myself, my fingers burying deep into the pelt, my chest heaving as I prepared for the heavy, stretching pressure of him stretching me open. I felt the initial, intense ring of friction as the head began to slowly part my walls, sliding a fraction of an inch inside.
But just as the sensation of fullness started to take over—just as my breath hitched in anticipation of the barrier breaking—his voice vanished entirely.
BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.
The deep, gravelly tone of his reassurance was completely swallowed by the relentless, piercing alarm. The warmth of the dragon's den seemed to chill instantly, the heavy weight pressing down on my hips dissolving into thin air as the reality of the sound began to pull me backward, out of the dark, safe depths of the fantasy.
Beep. Beep. Beep.
The shrill blare of my alarm clock pierced through the thick fog of sleep like a bucket of ice water. I groaned loudly, dragging the duvet over my face in a futile protest. Every single inch of my body screamed in frustration at the sudden interruption.
Stupid witch power.
I threw an arm over my eyes, the phantom warmth of his hands still tingling against my skin, making the cold morning air feel like an insult. That was the problem with having a gift as fickle as a Seer: when I was awake, I could usually control it. I could erect walls, channel the energy, and choose when to peer into the shifting webs of reality. Awake, my visions required a conscious choice.
Being a Seer isn’t a craft you learn from old grimoires. Any regular witch can study tarot, burn some sage, and try to decode the smoke, but what I have is entirely different. It’s an innate, heavy psychic architecture wired directly into my soul. I don’t need tools to access hidden knowledge across time and space; my magic simply tears down the veil whether I want it to or not.
To understand what it’s like to live inside my head, you have to understand how the Sight splits itself into four distinct, often exhausting, realities:
Precognition & Prophecy (The Future) This is my power at its most volatile. It’s the ability to witness events before they ever happen. Sometimes it’s terrifyingly direct—a crystal-clear, flash-forward warning of danger that hits me so hard it knocks the breath from my lungs. Other times, the magic plays games, feeding me cryptic, symbolic riddles that I have to desperately decode before the timeline catches up to me.
Retrocognition (The Past) Time doesn’t just move forward for me; I can turn around and look backward into the tapestry. With a single thought, I can gaze into the past to uncover buried histories and witness forgotten events exactly as they transpired centuries ago. I can even trace bloodlines, unearthing ancient, past-life lineages that people think they’ve successfully hidden from the world.
Clairvoyance & Remote Viewing (The Present) Distance is an illusion. I have the gift of the displaced eye, which lets me perceive things happening in real-time miles away from where my physical body is sitting. It’s a delicate art, though. To anchor my mind to a specific distant location, I usually need a focus—a personal object or a relic tethered to the person I’m trying to spy on.
Aura Reading & Empathic Resonance (The Soul) Finally, there is no such thing as a secret when someone stands in front of me. I look right past physical facades and read the shifting energetic signatures of the soul. I see the colors of your raw emotions, the weight of your trauma, and the true nature of your intentions. You can tell me exactly what I want to hear, but your aura will always tell me the truth.
It sounds like a god-tier gift, right? But having an open channel to the universe means the universe doesn't shut up just because I'm tired. Or sleeping. But the moment I close my eyes... that's when my power likes to take on a wicked mind of its own.
When I’m awake, the Sight is a tool. It’s an intellectual exercise of reading energy lines and filtering timelines. But sleep strips away all my defenses, leaving the floodgates wide open. In the dark of my subconscious, the discipline goes out the window, and my magic becomes a feral, lawless thing.
It doesn’t just project cold, hard reality; it projects desire.
When I’m asleep, my active defenses drop, and all four facets of my Sight bleed together, fueled entirely by my subconscious desires rather than conscious choice.
Here is how each of those four specific powers warps and affects my dreams when I have absolutely no control over them:
When I am awake, the future requires a real-world choice to lock into place. But when I’m asleep, my subconscious desire acts as the choice. My precognition searches the infinite timelines to find any possible future where my fantasy comes true, pulling it forward into my mind. If there is even a one-in-a-million chance that the dragon-shifter will pin me against a wall, my power will hunt down that specific timeline and replay it for me in vivid detail. It turns a harmless "what-if" into a devastatingly real glimpse of a potential future.
My power to look into the past means my subconscious has a massive library of raw data to pull from. If I have ever seen him glance at me, heard the specific gravelly timbre of his voice, or caught the scent of his smoke and ash in passing, my retrocognition locks onto those memories. It extracts those exact, real-world sensory details and injects them into my dreams, making the fantasy feel terrifyingly authentic because the building blocks are based on historical fact.
But it goes deeper than just a passing glance or a stray scent. In the most devastatingly embarrassing way possible, my magic uses that retrospective reach to trespass into his history. Unconsciously, my power tracks the path of how this particular dragon-shifter interacted with past lovers—studying his movements, his rhythms, and the exact way he commands a bedroom. It sifts through his past to map out the potential of our future, giving my precognition a flawless blueprint of exactly what he would do to me if that one-in-a-million opportunity ever arrived.
That invasive, hyper-specific recall is exactly how my sleeping mind pulled that piece of ancient anatomical lore to use against me. My retrocognition reached back into historical truths, confirming the mechanics of a dragon-shifter's formidable biology. It’s also how I managed to pull up that little piece of dragon-shifter anatomy. I started digging through old lore and ancient records, and apparently, it’s actually true.
I shook my head, letting out a soft, horrified laugh. So now I was cursed with the mental image of what a male dragon-shifter with two cocks would’ve looked like instead of just one. Fantastic. Truly life-changing information. Exactly what I needed rattling around in my brain at this moment.
I groaned and threw the pillow off my face, staring up at the ceiling like it had personally betrayed me. “There are some things,” I muttered to the empty room, “that should have absolutely stayed buried in ancient history.”
Because distance is a total illusion to me, sleep completely shatters my physical boundaries. If I am dreaming about him while he happens to be asleep miles away at the exact same time, my remote viewing doesn't just wander—it accidentally anchors right onto him. Instead of a standard, safely contained dream, my mind drifts directly to where his physical body is. I end up experiencing a hyper-realistic projection of him in real-time, completely blurring the line between a private fantasy and actual psychic espionage.
I glanced over at my nightstand. The glowing white numbers of my alarm clock read 5:33 AM. My actual alarm wasn't set to go off until 7:00 AM to get me up in time for the shop's 9:00 AM opening.
That meant the piercing beep that had shattered my fantasy wasn't mine at all. It was his.
A cold sweat broke out across my skin as the terrifying realization clicked into place. I did connect to him in the present. We were both sleeping at the exact same time, our frequencies perfectly aligned.
I dragged my hands up to cover my face, entirely consumed by a wave of raw humiliation and embarrassment. It was absolute torture. The more my mind replayed the details—having such a flawlessly clear view of him, feeling the heavy ghost-weight of his body, the searing heat of his hands, his mouth, his cock—the more the emptiness of my bedroom began to sting.
Knowing the precise phantom touches of what he would do to me, only to have them violently stripped away by a morning alarm, brought a fresh rush of tears to my eyes.
But I wasn't just crying from a lack of physical release, or from the desperate, aching need to be claimed by him right then and there. This was a whole new level of grief. I was crying out of sheer mortification because my magic had just exposed the deepest, most vulnerable truth of my subconscious: I wanted him with a ferocity that terrified me, and I was weeping for a reality I desperately craved but simply couldn't have.
I don't just wake up from a sexy dream; I wake up suffering from a psychic hangover, because my magic forced my soul to live through a reality that my waking life is completely denied.
I’m not sure how long I lay there, trapped in that suffocating spiral of embarrassment, frustration, and total emotional exhaustion. The room was entirely too quiet, leaving me alone with the heavy thrum of my own pulse. Eventually, the tears simply ran dry, leaving my skin feeling tight and my throat completely parched. In their place, a dull, rhythmic ache began to bloom behind my eyelids, rapidly intensifying as it climbed toward my forehead. I brought my knuckles to my temples, digging them in and rubbing in slow, desperate circles, but it did absolutely nothing to ease the pressure. My magic was punishing me for the midnight boundary crossing.
I forced myself to glance back at the glowing numbers of the clock. Only a handful of minutes had passed since the alarm had jolted me awake. Logically, I had over an hour left before I actually needed to get up. I could close my eyes, pull the covers over my head, and try to force myself back into the dark—but with the way this psychic hangover was already settling deep into my bones, I knew sleep was completely off the table. My mind was buzzing too loudly, still vibrating on a frequency that didn't belong to this room.
Releasing a heavy, fractured breath, I finally snapped. I flung the blankets back and kicked my legs out of bed, shivering as the cool morning air hit my bare skin. Might as well get the day started, I thought bitterly, staring down at my trembling hands. Sitting here in the dark isn't going to erase it.
But before I could even think about facing the real world, I needed to wash the phantom sensations off my skin. I needed a shower—a long, scalding hot shower to shock my nervous system, scrub away the lingering sense of his touch, and hopefully melt the rigid tension locking up my shoulders. After that, I would brew a cup of coffee. No—scratch that. Coffee would only make my racing heart hammer faster. I needed herbal tea. Something grounding. Something normal.
I needed to do whatever it took to build my walls back up, piece by piece, so I could step out the front door and act like a perfectly functioning witch. I had to somehow find a way to pretend that I hadn’t just lived through a devastatingly intense, hyper-realistic fantasy about a male who was entirely off-limits. Because out here in the daylight, he wasn't just a powerful dragon-shifter—
One of the two apex predators in the Court of Night.
The lethal, shadow-wielding Spymaster of the Night Court.
And, ostensibly, my sister's brother-in-law.
The heavy bathroom door clicked shut, locking me inside the small, tiled sanctuary. I leaned heavily against the cold marble of the sink, my chest heaving as the harsh, vanity lights flooded my vision. I forced myself to look up, meeting my own gaze in the glass. My eyes were rimmed with red, my lips swollen from the ghost-memory of a phantom mouth, and my skin still flushed with a supernatural heat that didn't belong to me.
I looked like a woman possessed.
You've been single for over a year and six months, the voice taunted, growing bolder as I tracked a stray tear sliding down my cheek. Eighteen months of absolute solitude. Eighteen months of sleeping alone in a cold bed, craving a touch you only get to experience when your magic goes rogue at night. What real reason is there for you not to be with him? Why can't you just reach out and take the future you actually want?
The answer hit me like a physical blow, stealing the breath from my lungs.
Because of him. Because Lucien has yet to snap the invisible, suffocating thread that anchors his soul to mine. Because no matter how much I ignored it, no matter how much I wished it away into the dark, the mating bond with the Autumn male still pulsed quietly beneath my skin—a legal and spiritual barricade keeping me locked in place, forbidding me from ever truly belonging to the Dragon of Shadows.