Page 63 of Knot Heirs: Serenity's Reign

His hands found her waist, lifting her onto the desk with effortless strength. Reports scattered, a pen clattered to the floor, but neither of them noticed or cared. Serenity's skirt rode up as Darius positioned himself between her thighs, the hard evidence of his desire pressing against her core through layers of fabric.

"Tell me to stop," he challenged against her mouth, even as his hands moved to the buttons of her blouse. "Tell me you don't want this."

"I hate you," she gasped, arching into his touch despite the words. "I fucking hate what you did to my father?—"

His grip tightened, almost painful. "I didn't kill your father," he growled. "But I am going to fuck his daughter until she can't remember her own name, let alone her misplaced suspicions."

The crude promise sent a shameful flood of heat between her thighs. Her body was betraying her again, responding to this Alpha with a hunger that transcended reason.

His mouth found her neck, teeth grazing the sensitive skin where her pulse raced. The sensation sent electricity down her spine, her body arching into his touch despite her mind's desperate attempts to maintain control.

"You're dripping for me," he murmured against her throat, one hand sliding beneath her skirt to find the damp evidence of her arousal through the thin silk of her underwear. "Your body knows who it belongs to, even if you're too stubborn to admit it."

"I don't belong to anyone," she hissed, even as her hips bucked against his hand. "Especially not you."

Darius laughed, the sound dark and knowing. "We'll see about that."

He pushed her underwear aside, his fingers finding her slick heat with unerring precision. Serenity bit back a moan as he stroked her, his thumb circling her clit with devastating skill.

"Look at you," he said, his voice dropping to a register that made her shiver. "The composed, professional consultant, spread out on her desk for me. What would your new colleagues think?"

"Fuck you," she managed, the words lacking conviction as pleasure built beneath his skilled touch.

"That's the idea." His free hand moved to his belt, unbuckling it with practiced ease. "But first, I want to watch you come apart."

His fingers curved inside her, finding the spot that made her vision blur. Serenity's head fell back, a broken sound escaping her lips as tension coiled tighter in her core.

"That's it," Darius encouraged, his voice rough with desire. "Let go, Serenity. Show me how much you hate me."

The use of her first name, rare from his lips, pushed her over the edge. Pleasure crashed through her in waves, her body clenching around his fingers as release claimed her. Darius watched with hungry intensity, his gray eyes nearly black with desire.

Before she could recover, he withdrew his fingers and lifted her from the desk, turning her to face the polished surface. His hand pressed between her shoulder blades, bending her forward until her cheek rested against cool wood.

"Tell me you don't want this," he demanded, his erection pressing against her from behind. "Tell me, and I'll walk away."

Serenity closed her eyes, shame and desire warring within her. She should stop this. Should maintain her dignity, her purpose, her control.

Instead, she arched her back, pushing against him. "Just do it," she whispered, the words torn from somewhere deep and primal. "Before I remember all the reasons I shouldn't let you touch me."

Darius growled his approval, positioning himself at her entrance. With one powerful thrust, he buried himself inside her, the sudden fullness making her gasp.

"Fuck," he breathed, his voice strained as he held still, giving her body time to adjust. "You feel like heaven, Vale. A heaven I'd burn down the world to claim."

Then he began to move, each thrust deliberate and deep, hitting places inside her that made coherent thought impossible. Serenity braced herself against the desk, meeting his rhythm with desperate need.

This wasn't making love. It wasn't even fucking. It was exorcism, confession, punishment—a physical manifestation of everything unspoken between them.

His pace increased, driving her higher, harder, deeper into pleasure that bordered on pain. One hand gripped her hip with bruising intensity; the other tangled in her hair, pulling her head back to expose the vulnerable line of her throat.

"Mine," he growled against her ear, the word resonating through her like a claim. "Say it, Serenity. Tell me who you belong to."

She bit her lip, refusing to give him that satisfaction even as her body surrendered completely to his possession.

His teeth grazed her neck, dangerously close to the scent gland that would bond them permanently if pierced. Not claiming—not yet—but a promise. A threat. A future neither could escape.

"Say it," he demanded again, his voice rough with exertion and need.

"No one," she gasped, defiant to the end. "I belong to no one but myself."

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