Page 51 of Pack Frenzy
Against me, the press of his cock sends a shiver up my spine. He pauses, waiting for me to nod, to confirm what he already knows. I want this…him. Always.
I push back against him, my body trembling.
Slowly, he sinks in, filling me completely, pain and pleasure both. My breath hitches.
When he thrusts, it’s deliberate, testing. The groan that rips out of me isn’t. Clutching the desk, I ground myself in the roughness that we both crave.
“Fuck, Eli,” he rasps, mouth at my ear.
“Yes! Oh…” Any more words fail as he thrusts deeper into my ass. Taller and bigger than me, he reaches his hand around to my cock and squeezes.
His hand tightens around my cock, stroking in time with his thrusts, and I’m reduced to moans and gasps, unable to form coherent thoughts, let alone words. It’s overwhelming—the stretch, the heat—and I go under willingly. His scent envelopes me, becomes a storm of rain and sandalwood that blocks out everything else.
He bites down harder on my shoulder and the sharp sting sends a jolt of pleasure straight to my core. Shaking, my body goes taut like a wire ready to snap.
Deep inside me, each thrust hits that spot, the one that makes my toes curl and my breath catch. He knows exactly what he’s doing, playing my body like an instrument he’s mastered.
“Rowan,” I manage to gasp out, his name a cry on my lips.
Understanding, he squeezes me harder, hand moving up and down my cock.
“Come for me, Eli,” he growls.
His hand matches his hips; everything narrows—wood under my palms, his breath at my ear. The pressure spikes, clean and ruthless.
Rowan’s grip tightens, his thrusts becoming more urgent, more demanding. Desperation rides his pace. The room fills with the sound of us and the scent of sex, sweat, and something deeper, more primal fills us.
My fingers dig into the desk as I try to hold on to something, anything, that will keep me grounded. But it’s useless. In the storm that is Rowan, I’m lost, in the feel of his body claiming mine, in the relentless pace he sets. Hot on my neck, his breath comes heavy, his teeth grazing my skin, and every touch has me panting.
His hand strokes me over and over, and the pressure building, the tightening in my gut that tells me I’m close.
“R-Rowan,” I gasp again, my voice ragged. Begging, pleading for release.
In response, he growls, a deep, primal sound that vibrates through me, pushing me even closer to the brink.
Quickening his pace grows harder, more insistent. Beneath us, the desk creaks. Convulsing, my body gives in, the orgasm ripping through me with an intensity that leaves me breathless. In his hand, I come undone, my release hot and pulsing.
He growls as he finishes, grip biting my hip; a few ragged breaths shudder against my ear.
We stay like that, locked together, panting and spent. My heart hammers, my body aching in that sweet, thoroughly used way that only Rowan can deliver.
Then he leans against my back, his breath hot and ragged, as he comes down from his own high.
Gently, he pulls out, and I wince slightly at the loss, the cool air of the room rushing in to fill the void. He smooths a hand down my back, his touch soft, almost reverent.
“You okay?” he murmurs, his voice low and gravelly in my ear.
I nod, a lazy smile spreading across my face. “More than okay.”
With a chuckle, he slowly pulls back, giving me space.
I push up from the desk and turn, leaning back against it. My breath still ragged.
There’s a softness in his eyes that he rarely shows to anyone but me. It’s a look that makes my chest tighten, a reminder of the bond we share that goes beyond just physical need.
“You know, sometimes I think this is the only thing that keeps us sane,” I say.
His lips quirk and he reaches out to trace a thumb down my cheek. “Sane might be a stretch, but it helps.”
