Fated To Not Just One, But Three

Chapter 425: Disappointed

Selene’s POV

The moment his hard, hot head pressed against my slick entrance, the last remnants of my plan—my vow, my hatred—shattered like glass. It was a physical thing, the soundless explosion in my mind, leaving only the primal, urgent need that was thrumming in my blood, dictated by the wolf I’d fought so hard to control.

"I can’t believe I’m doing this," I choked out, a final, futile protest that felt weak and pathetic even to my own ears.

Frederick didn’t acknowledge the words. He simply shifted his grip, one hand sliding to the small of my back to pull me flush against him, the other grasping my hipbone. The pressure increased, a slow, merciless slide.

Then, with a deep, shuddering inhale, he pushed.

A sharp, ragged gasp tore from my throat as his cock filled me completely, stretching me to the point of pain, but a pain that instantly curdled into the most intense, overwhelming pleasure. It was a deep, satisfying pressure that felt like coming home, even though this ’home’ was a blazing inferno that would consume me whole.

"You’re so tight, little wolf," he growled, the possessiveness in his voice a dark, intoxicating poison. He waited for a beat, letting me adjust, letting the shock and awe of his size settle within me.

My fingers dug into the rock-hard muscles of his shoulders, my head falling back against the wall, eyes squeezed shut. All I could smell was him—earthy, dangerous, and intoxicating—and the musky scent of my own arousal.

"Move," I whispered.

He didn’t need to be asked again. He pulled back almost completely, the air rushing into the small space between our bodies, and then drove in hard and fast.

My hips instinctively rose to meet his, the traitorous movements of a body wholly given over to its mate. The frantic

me, Selene," he commanded, the authority in his

sheer possession, his face a mask of intense pleasure and

thrusts

"Frederick," I gasped, moaning.

slammed into me one more time, hard enough to knock the breath from my

around his waist, holding on tight as he spun us around and pressed me

no longer on the ground, I was completely

his voice thick with raw

against the wall and the depth of

supposed to happen," I sobbed, the words tumbling out on a rush of

hips up with a forceful hand,

as he lifted me from the wall. He didn’t even slow, still buried inside me, his breath ragged against my neck as he carried me

with him so that I straddled his lap, still impaled on him. We were face to face now, so close his breath mingled with mine, and there

hips, guiding me down, slow and deep. "Easy," he murmured, his voice rough but softer

I felt everything—the heat of his body, the thickness

onto him again and