Fated To Not Just One, But Three

Chapter 420

Chapter 420: Not Your Mate

Sofia’s POV

For a moment, silence filled the office—only the sound of our ragged breathing and the creak of the desk beneath us. My body was wrecked, trembling, sweat cooling on my skin. I thought—hoped—it was over.

But then Damien didn’t soften. He didn’t pull out.

My eyes flew open, my heart lurching when I felt him still hard, still deep inside me. His breath came rough against my ear, his voice a gravelly growl.

"Not yet," he rasped. "I’m not finished."

My stomach dropped. "Damien—" My protest cracked into a gasp as his hips shifted, pulling back and slamming forward again with savage force.

"Thought I’d let you go that easy?" he snarled, his teeth grazing my throat. "No. I have missed this for three fucking years."

Damn it. I forgot how a beast Damien was in sex. He could go round upon round with me.

I clawed at his shoulders, half to push him away, half to anchor myself as he set a brutal pace, driving into me like he was carving his name into my body. My legs slipped from his shoulders, but he caught them, folding me in half, pinning me open beneath him.

The angle was ruthless. Every thrust struck deep, knocking the air from my lungs, making my body bow and shudder helplessly against the desk.

the words were breathless, broken, traitorous, drowned in the sounds spilling from

he growled, sweat dripping onto my chest as his mouth crashed against mine, devouring me, punishing me. "You don’t want me to stop. You never

and relentlessly. His groans mingled with my cries, filling

body betrayed me again, that unbearable heat coiling tight, too much, too fast. "Damien!" I screamed, cumming for the third time, my release ripping through me so violently I


And finally—finally—he let go.

Damien buried himself deep, his entire body trembling as he spilled inside me, the force of his release shaking through every muscle. His grip on my thighs was bruising, his mouth against my

sagged against me, both of us spent, chests heaving,

to push myself up from the desk. The wood was slick beneath my palms. I slid off the edge, my knees almost giving way beneath

hand shot out, gripping my

raw, his grip tight around

hold. My hair clung to my damp face; my

hell is wrong with you?"

"I’m not officially your mate," I spat. "Not really.

"I’ve already accepted you," he said, voice rough, almost pleading

myself as if that would keep me from breaking. "I don’t have your mark," I threw back at him, my voice cracking on the last word. "That’s all that

flinched like I’d struck him, his mouth tightening. "You don’t have my mark," he said slowly, "because two days before

hung between

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