Arion went perfectly still for one heartbeat, then another.
Then the predator beneath all that princely control surfaced fully.
"Good boy," he breathed.
The praise hit Dean harder than the collar ever had.
The hand on Dean's thigh shoved upward, lifting his hips higher, forcing his face deeper into the pillow while his knees spread helplessly. Arion's weight settled over him, a cage of golden skin and coiled muscle, and Dean felt the slick brush of Arion's arousal against his entrance, teasing once, twice, before the alpha pushed in on one brutal, unrelenting thrust.
Dean screamed into the pillow.
Pleasure burned through him so sharply it blurred the edges of the room, turning the world into nothing but the heavy weight of Arion above him and the relentless rhythm that followed. Dean clutched at the sheets, muffling broken sounds into the pillow as Arion set a pace that felt less like seduction and more like claiming.
