The Fake Luna: Marked By The Alpha King

Aria’s POV

"No—" The protest tore out of me. I was empty. Empty.

My cunt clenched around nothing, aching, desperate, the denied orgasm pulsing through me like a second heartbeat. "Please. Please."

"Not yet." His voice was gravel and smoke. He was kneeling between my thighs now, shoving the ruined silk aside.

Moonlight caught the sweat gleaming on his chest, the brutal cut of his hips, the thick, flushed length of him as he gripped himself. "Not on my hand. I want to feel you come around my cock."

The words made me clench again. I felt the wetness pulse out of me. Felt it slick my inner thighs. Felt the empty, aching void where he should have been.

"You’re staring," he said. Low. Dark.

"You’re worth staring at."

He made a sound—half laugh, half growl—and lowered himself over me. The thick head of his cock pressed against my entrance. Hot. Broad. So much thicker than his fingers.

He dragged it through my folds, coating himself in my slick, and the sensation alone—the heavy pressure of him sliding against my clit—made me whimper.

"Look at me."

I forced my eyes open. His gaze was molten silver, his pupils blown black, and I could feel his wolf—a wild, possessive presence that made the air electric and my cunt clench in anticipation.

"Mine."

He thrust home.

One stroke. Deep. Smooth. All the way to the hilt.

I felt it. Every inch. The way my body had to yield, had to stretch and open and take him deeper than I thought possible.

The thick, unrelenting pressure of being completely filled—my inner walls fluttering and clenching around him, trying to adjust, trying to accommodate.

A broken sob caught in my throat. My nails dug into his shoulders. My legs wrapped around his waist, heels pressing into his back, pulling him impossibly deeper.

"Breathe." His voice was raw. His arms were trembling. His whole body was trembling, coiled tight, holding still by sheer force of will while my cunt spasmed around his cock. "Aria. Breathe."

I sucked in air. My body softened. Yielded. Pulled him deeper still—and I felt the head of him kiss my cervix, felt the stretch of being filled so completely that I couldn’t tell where I ended and he began.

"There." The word was barely a whisper. "Move. Please. Move."

He pulled out—slow, agonizing, every inch dragging against my inner walls—and drove back in.

The rhythm he set was punishing. Deep. Hard. Relentless. Each thrust hit that spot inside me, the one his fingers had found, the one that made my vision blur white at the edges.

The wet sounds of our bodies meeting filled the room—slick and obscene and utterly shameless.

I could feel myself dripping around him, feel the slick heat coating his cock and pooling beneath me, feel my body making room for him with every stroke.

"Look at you." His voice was a growl against my throat. His hips never slowed—driving into me with brutal precision, each thrust pressing me deeper into the mattress.

"Taking all of me. Every inch. Made for me, weren’t you?"

"Yes— yes—"

I didn’t know what I was saying. I didn’t care. Nothing existed but the thick, driving pressure of him inside me, the stretch and the fullness and the wet, rhythmic slap of his hips meeting mine.

"Touch yourself."

My hand flew between us. My fingers found my clit—swollen, aching, so sensitive that the first touch made my whole body jerk.

I pressed down.

The coil in my belly snapped.

I came with a scream.

My body clamped down around him—pulsing, flooding, my inner walls rippling along his length in waves I couldn’t control. I heard him curse, low and wrecked, but he didn’t stop.

His rhythm turned brutal, driving into me through every wave, drawing out my orgasm until I was sobbing, until the pleasure blurred into something almost unbearable.

I gushed around him. Felt the hot flood of it, the slick mess coating his cock and dripping down my thighs. My face burned with the shame of it—the way my body had let go so completely—but he only groaned and fucked me harder.

"One more." His voice was dark. Merciless. His thumb replaced mine, pressing down on my clit—swollen and oversensitive and still pulsing from the first climax. "Give me one more."

"I can’t—"

"You can." His hips snapped forward, deeper, hitting a spot that made stars explode behind my eyes. His thumb pressed harder, circling my clit in brutal, demanding strokes. "Come for me. Now."

The second orgasm hit harder than the first.

It ripped through me like a storm—violent and total and devastating. I wailed. Shook. My nails raked down his back hard enough to leave marks.

My cunt clamped down around his cock in rhythmic, uncontrollable spasms, milking him, and I felt another gush of wetness flood between us.

My mind went blank. White. Empty of everything except the overwhelming pulse of pleasure that rolled through me again and again.

I think I cried. I think I begged. I don’t know.

He buried his face in my neck and drove into me three more times—deep, brutal, claiming strokes that I felt in my throat—and then he came.

The groan vibrated through my entire body. I felt him pulse inside me—thick and hot, flooding me in waves that seemed to go on forever.

His hips jerked against mine, wringing out every last drop, and I held him through it. My fingers tangled in his hair. My lips pressed to his temple.

My cunt still fluttering weakly around his cock, drawing out the last pulses of his release.

For a long moment, neither of us moved.

He was still inside me. Still half-hard. Still so deep I could feel him in my stomach. His heart hammered against my ribs. His breath was hot and uneven against my throat.

Between my legs, I was a mess—slick and wet and full of him, our release pooling beneath me, too much to contain.

Finally he lifted his head. His grey eyes were soft now, the hunger banked into something quieter, something reverent.

He brushed a strand of hair from my damp forehead and pressed a kiss there—lingering. Tender.

"I love you,baby," he murmured. "You know that, don’t you?"

I smiled, utterly wrecked beneath him, my body still humming with the aftershocks, my cunt still clenching weakly around the thickness of him.

"I know."