Chapter 132: Sex Fever
Aurora’s POV
He hauled me onto his lap with a sudden, violent strength that knocked the air from my lungs. I gasped, my hands flying to his bare chest as he began to kiss me—not with the gentle, sweet affection of my Oliver, but with a hungry, desperate ferocity. It was too much, too fast. My mind was still reeling from the echoes of Raymond’s voice.
"Oliver, stop!" I pushed against his shoulders, shoving him back.
He blinked, the dark cloud in his eyes flickering for a second. He looked dazed, as if he were waking up underwater. "Aurora... I—I’m sorry," he rasped, his voice thick with a physical pain I could almost feel. He pulled away and tried to stand, but his legs gave out.
I rushed to catch him, my small frame straining under his weight as he staggered. "I’ll be fine," he lied, his skin burning against mine. "I’ll go... I’ll go cool off outside. The air..."
I knew he was lying. I may not have had a wolf of my own or belonged to a pack, but I knew everything about their kind. What he was going through was like the heat of a female. He had to have sex; his body was demanding it.
I frowned, a sharp pang of jealousy hitting me. What if he ran into a staff member who was willing to give her body to him just to help the Alpha? No. I was here. I didn’t say a word; instead, I wrapped my arms around his neck, pulling him down.
I wrapped my arms around his neck, pulling his heavy head down to mine. "Let me help you," I breathed, tiptoeing until my lips met his.
The moment our mouths touched, any trace of the gentle king vanished. He let out a low, animalistic groan and hoisted me up as if I weighed nothing. He didn’t carry me back to the bed. He strode toward the heavy desk in the corner of the room and slammed me down onto it.
The room was dim, the shadows shielding me as he growled, his hands reaching for the hem of my blouse. Rip. Then my skirt. Rip. The sound of fabric tearing filled the quiet room as he shredded the high-collared shirt I had worked so hard to hide behind. I gasped, my heart stopping, but his eyes were so dark, so lost in the haze of the fever, that he didn’t see the purple mark on my shoulder. He didn’t see anything but me.
He didn’t waste time with words. He buried his face in my neck, sucking the skin roughly, his teeth grazing the sensitive cord of my throat. It was violent and raw—nothing like the Oliver I knew. He was a beast in heat, and God, it turned me on so much it was making my head spin.
He moved lower, his mouth finding my nipple and sucking so hard I arched my back, a broken moan escaping me. He was groaning like a starving animal. His hand flew to his boxers, freeing his length, and as he continued to devour my chest, he rubbed his thick cock against my dripping entrance.
Then, with one powerful, mindless thrust, he went in.
I cried out, my legs spreading wide as he filled me completely. He began to fuck me with a relentless, punishing rhythm. It was raw. It was hot. It was more than I could handle, yet exactly what I needed. I pressed my fingers into his firm ass cheeks, pulling him closer, my nails digging in as he hammered into me.
He was so rough—more than Raymond, more than anyone. I knew he wasn’t himself, that the Sex Fever had taken the wheel, but I loved it. I loved the way he claimed me, the way the desk creaked under the force of his body.
He didn’t stop. He grabbed my waist, his grip bruisingly tight, and flipped me over. I went down on my chest, my face pressed against the cool wood of the table. He didn’t give me a second to breathe before he was behind me, his hands anchoring my hips as he began to thrust again from behind.
Every strike hit deep, sending white-hot sparks through my vision. His hands, usually so careful with me, were now clamped onto my waist like iron shackles, bruising the skin as he drove himself into me. Every thrust made the heavy furniture groan and skid an inch across the floor.
He reached down, his fingers hooking under my thighs, and with a grunt of pure, unadulterated effort, he dragged my lower half toward the edge of the desk. I cried out, my fingers clawing at the smooth mahogany, trying to find balance as he tilted me back. He didn’t stop until my legs were draped over his broad shoulders, folding me in half.
In this position, he was hitting depths I didn’t know existed. It was brutal. It was raw. I could feel the throb of his pulse inside me, a rhythmic drumming that matched the frantic beat of my own heart. I threw my head back, my hair spilling over the edge of the desk, and let out a long, broken moan. I loved it. I loved the way he was taking me.
"Oliver..." I whimpered, but he didn’t answer. He just growled, a low, vibrating sound that started in his chest and ended against my skin.
He wasn’t done. He suddenly pulled my legs down, but before my feet could even graze the floor, he hauled me up into his arms. I wrapped my legs around his waist instinctively, my wetness slicking his thighs. He turned and slammed me back against the cold wall with a force that made the pictures rattle.
I gasped, the air leaving me as he pinned me there with his terrifying strength. He hooked one of my legs higher, draping it over his hip to open me up even further. He began to hammer into me again, his movements fast and rough. The wall scraped against my back, but I didn’t care. The pain only added to the pleasure. I wrapped my arms around his neck, pulling him closer, my teeth sinking into his shoulder to stifle my screams. He bit back—hard—finding the junction of my neck and shoulder, right where the purple mark was hidden. He was marking me again, claiming the territory another man had touched, and I arched into it, my body shaking with the force of an approaching climax.
"Mine," he rasped into my ear, his first coherent word since the fever took over. "You’re... mine."
The fever was peaking. I could feel the tension in his muscles reaching a breaking point. He lowered me to the floor, but he didn’t let me stand. He pushed me down until I was on my knees on the thick rug, my upper body draped over the edge of his unmade bed.
He stood behind me, his hands tangling in my hair to pull my head back. I looked up at the ceiling, my throat exposed, as he entered me from behind one last time. This was the most animalistic of all—the raw, unchecked power of a wolf in heat. He thrust with a desperate, heavy rhythm, each strike sending a jolt of electricity through my spine. I gripped the silk duvet, my knuckles tight, as I felt my own walls start to crumble.
"Oliver, please," I sobbed in pleasure, my voice a wreck.
He didn’t slow down. He gripped my hair tighter, his breathing coming in ragged, wet hitches. The room smelled of us—of sweat, sex, and the fading scent of his illness. I felt his knot begin to swell, a final, primal claim that sent me over the edge. I screamed into the pillows as my body erupted in waves of pure pleasure, and a second later, Oliver let out a roar of release that shook the very air in the room, his body locking tight against mine as he released inside me.