Page 192 of Knot Their Fated M.U.S.E

“Look,” he growls, his palm tightening at my throat—not enough to cut breath, only enough to anchor. “Look what I get. Look what theydon’t.”

I meet my reflection.

A trembling Omega, marked and wrecked with want, and a monster Alpha behind her. Protective. Possessive.Hers.

He guides the thick head of his cock through the slick folds of my cunt—so slowly it’s torment.

“Every inch of you is perfect,” he murmurs, reverent. “The curve of your back. The way you arch like a question only I can answer. This pussy—sweet, soaking, mine.”

A breathless moan slips from me, spine bending without command, presenting for him. The mirrors catch the way he watches me—hungry, awed.

“I could knot you right now,” he whispers darkly, the threat pressed like a knife against the skin of my sanity. “Fill you,stretch you until there’s no room for doubt or reason. Until you'renothingbut mine.”

My hands brace against the obsidian mirror, the surface cold and unforgiving under my palms.

"But we can’t, can we?" he hisses, even as he pushes just an inch inside, making my entire body jolt. "We don’t get to lose this.Not when we’re this fucking close."

His words are torn between control and hunger, between Alpha and man. His forehead presses to the back of my neck, sweat slick and trembling with restraint.

“You think I don’t want to knot you so deep you forget your own name?” His voice is hoarse, cracked open. “I’ve dreamed of it. Every night. Of wrecking this body I worship. Of marking you inside where no mirror can ever show it.”

He thrusts forward, slow, sure—claiming me from behind with devastating precision. His hips press flush, cock dragging through my soaked channel until my body jerks with the ache of being filled. There’s no violence in it—only possession. Measured. Absolute.

I cry out, and his hand returns to my front, spreading across my lower belly, possessive. “That’s it,” he praises, hips rocking in slow, maddening rhythm. “Take me. Let them all see.”

The mirrors show everything. The way I writhe, impaled on him. The flush down my chest. The glisten on my thighs. The stretch of my body, the arch of my back, the surrender in my eyes.

“Ineedyou to see this,” he growls. “See how I hold you. How you come apart just for me. Look how fuckingbeautifulyou are when you're mine.”

His hand at my throat tilts my chin higher.

“Say it.”

I pant, barely able to form words. “I’m yours…”

“And no one else,” he finishes. “No other Alpha gets this. No one else gets to see you like this, fuck you like this,breakyou like this.”

His thrusts deepen—still slow, still controlled, but each one perfectly angled to drag a cry from my throat. Each one a mark branded into my body, memory, soul.

“I seeyou,” he growls. “Not the strategist. Not the façade. I see the Omega who survived everything and still came back for us.”

The words hit harder than any thrust.

Tears blur the edges of the mirror. But I don’t look away.

Because this is the truth.

This is Corvus, not just the Blood Prophet but the man who never let the world steal his soul completely.

This is me, not just the liar and the weapon, but the woman who chose to love monsters instead of live without them.

And this?—

This is ours.

His satisfaction proves immediate and comprehensive.

Not simple sexual gratification but the psychological victory that validates analytical assessment and systematic excavation methodology.

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