The tip of his cock pressed right against her entrance—hot, thick, and maddeningly patient.
"Just the tip," he growled low against her ear, voice rough with restraint, his breath fanning the side of her neck.
Rymora didn’t trust herself to think.
Her body burned. Ached. Demanded.
Her mind screamed that this was wrong, whispered all the things that should’ve stopped her—but her body?
’He is—he is a vam...’
Her body responded before reason could catch up.
She nodded once—sharp and fast—and pushed her hips forward, her breath caught in her throat as she felt him begin to push inside.
Her mouth opened in a silent gasp, only a soft, strangled moan slipping out as her walls stretched around him. The sound was involuntary, animalistic. It wasn’t a voice, not words, but a noise that said everything.
Compared to what she had experience to Gregor it was like comparing a stone to a mountain.
All her senses were exploding with pleasure that she couldn’t even stop if she tried.
Her hands dug into his shoulders, her legs wrapping tightly around his waist as he slowly eased deeper.
His brows drew tight with effort, fangs glinting as he grit his teeth.
"Shit," he hissed, voice strained with control as he looked down between them, watching himself disappear into her inch by inch. "You’re so tight... warm..."
Rymora whimpered, eyes wide, lips trembling as her body tried to adjust around the invading thickness. It burned—in the most sinful, unbearable way. Her body clenched again, pulling him deeper against her will.
Her hips jerked forward, and Lord Drehk grunted as he sank fully into her with one final push.
And then they both stilled.
Chest to chest, breath mingling, she clung to him as the full weight of what they’d done settled over her.
The line wasn’t just crossed—it was shattered.
This was the one thing she swore she’d never allow, the one taboo etched deep in blood and ancestral memory. Her mother’s voice echoed somewhere in her mind, fierce and cold: "Vampires are the enemy! If we Don’t wipe them out they’ll do the same to us! The only thing they deserve is death!"
Yet here she was practically lying with enemy with him embedded right inside of her in a way that made it easily to feel every pulse of his hardened member against her walls.
Rymora clenched her eyes shut, a small cry escaping her lips as Drehk’s hand cupped her cheek, brushing a damp curl away from her face. His touch was shockingly gentle.
Even as he went ahead to rip through her clothes grasping her breasts in a way that made her back arch and nipples tingle.
Her eyes opened to find his red gaze searching hers—not cruel or mocking, but focused. Present. Hungry, yes, but more than that... careful.
He leaned in, pressing a kiss to her lips—soft, reverent. As if she hadn’t just let him violate centuries of law and blood.
Her body betrayed her again, responding with a roll of her hips that made him groan into her mouth. He answered her instinct with a deep, slow thrust, the friction sending sparks along her spine.
She threw her head back, throat tight with a choked moan, nails dragging down his back. He was huge nothing like Gregor even as she struggled to take in the entirety of him.
The pain of the stretch had melted into a pleasure so thick she couldn’t think past it.
She wanted to hate it. She should have hated it.
But instead, she moved with him.
He set the rhythm—long, steady strokes that grew harder, deeper, until her walls clenched around him with every pass. She couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. Could only feel.
Drehk’s hand slipped beneath her thigh, lifting her leg higher as he thrust deeper still. Every movement sent wet heat spiraling through her. Her lips parted again, releasing helpless whimpers and soft gasps. She couldn’t speak—she didn’t dare to... couldn’t make words—but the sounds that tore from her throat told him everything he needed.
He seemed to understand her language of moans and gasps better than anyone else ever had.
He kissed her again, groaning against her mouth as her walls squeezed him. "You’re perfect. Fuck—perfect."
She wanted to say no. Wanted to push him away. But her legs tightened instead, locking him in. Her body made the decision for her again and again.
He lifted her, carried her to the bed without pulling out, laying her down gently before driving back into her with a deep growl that echoed off the walls.
She arched her back, mouth open in a silent cry, hips moving with his as he began to pound into her in earnest.
The pleasure was endless. Relentless.
She was his—claimed, possessed—and her body loved it.
She didn’t notice how long they stayed that way, sweat-slicked bodies moving in tandem. When her legs started to tremble too much to stay wrapped around him, he flipped her over, pulling her onto her knees.
She whimpered, bracing herself against the pillows as he entered her from behind, one hand fisting her hair, the other gripping her waist.
The sound of skin against skin echoed obscenely in the room, and she couldn’t stop the pathetic noises rising from her throat.
And he didn’t let up.
He bent over her, his chest pressing to her back, lips brushing her ear again. "You’re mine tonight," he growled.
So instead, she nodded—desperately, rapidly—as another wave of pleasure crashed over her and she collapsed into the sheets, crying out in breathless, wordless ecstasy.
He took her again and again—on her back, on her side, straddling him, pinned beneath him—and by the time he finally released inside her with a roar, Rymora was too far gone to care about anything but the feel of him.
But even in the daze of pleasure she knew the exact moment he kissed the side of her neck, his fangs scrapping a against it in a way that showed that he was asking for permission for something else.
"To take her blood!" Instantly Rymora weakly moved to pull away from him but almost like the thought of her doing such a thing hadn’t even occurred to him, he pulled her back until her skin was right against his.
Sinking his fangs right into her neck even as he drank her blood, a deep feeling of euphoria shot through her even as she felt him take from her expecting to feel him pull away as he realized that her blood tasted bitter like Werewolf blood was rumored to be.
Only to be shocked to feel him pulse harder within her as his lower members bulged even as he pulled his fangs away and licked away any traces of blood
Rymora could barely take a breath of relief when she felt his warmth spill into her, as she gasped at the strange, invasive fullness. But she didn’t pull away.
She didn’t push him off.
She wrapped her arms around him and held him there, trembling and panting.
The room was dark now, the light from the window gone. Only the sound of their breathing remained.
Lord Drehk shifted slightly, brushing a strand of hair from her damp face as he looked down at her, expression unreadable.
"I didn’t hurt you?" he asked softly.
Rymora shook her head, swallowing thickly. Her body ached, her thighs were sore, and her muscles trembled, but it wasn’t pain that lingered. It was satisfaction. And something else—something darker, deeper.
She rolled onto her side, curling slightly, as Drehk laid beside her. Her hands fisted the sheets beneath her as her heart began to race again—but for a different reason.
He’s a vampire. You’re a werewolf. What have you done?
The shame came crashing in like a wave. Her chest tightened.
It was more than taboo—it was dangerous.
If anyone found out... if the pack knew... she’d be cast out. Worse! Hunted.
And what of Drehk? Did he feel anything beyond the lust? Would he use this against her?
Her thoughts spiraled.
But then—his hand found hers beneath the covers. He didn’t say anything. Just held her fingers in his.
He could’ve taken more. Could’ve demanded everything. But he hadn’t. He waited. He whispered. He asked.
Even now, he held her hand like it meant something.
And Rymora found herself thinking—Maybe just this once...
Her lips parted in a silent breath.
She looked at him, the faint red glow of his eyes softened now in the dark, and something inside her cracked.
She shifted closer, resting her head on his chest.
She would leave before morning.
She would pretend nothing happened.
Tonight, she would pretend like all of these was nothing more than a sweet dream. A world where it was fine and she wasn’t a spy sleeping with a lord.
And she—gods forgive her—was his.
Even if only for now.