He kept going until her arms trembled and her body tightened hard around him. Only then did he drive in to the hilt and spill deep inside her, flooding her with thick, hot pulses while she clenched and shook beneath him.
Miles away, Roxanne's own body answered every thrust and every release. She moaned again, louder this time, as the same deep pleasure washed through her,her mate's rhythm, his weight, his final spill echoing inside her as if it were happening to her own flesh. Her hands gripped the edge of the bed. Her breath came in short, helpless gasps. The bond would not let her look away. It would not let her stop feeling.
A smug smile curved on Cassius's lips as his dark gaze locked onto Rosie.
"You are next. I remember I told you to strip. Why are you still in clothes?" he asked, voice low and stern.
"I—I was drunk then," Rosie stammered. "After drinking water I'm sure I'm fine now. I want to return to the lobby."
Before she could say anything more, Cassius closed the distance in one stride.
"Leave, if you can."
Without another word he seized her by the waist and pulled her onto the bed. In the next moment he tore her clothes off with rough, impatient hands ,fabric ripping, seams splitting until she lay bare beneath him.
He forced her thighs apart and drove into her with one deep, merciless thrust, burying himself to the hilt. Rosie cried out at the sudden stretch and the brutal depth. Cassius gave her no time to adjust. He pinned both her wrists above her head with one strong hand and took her with savage, punishing strokes—long, hard, and unrelenting. Each powerful snap of his hips drove him deeper, and the bed frame already groaned under the force.
He flipped her onto her stomach, yanked her hips up, and thrust into her from behind even harder. One hand tangled in her hair and pressed her face into the sheets; the other gripped her hip hard enough to bruise as he claimed her without mercy. The wet sound of their bodies meeting filled the room. Rosie moaned and sobbed into the mattress, her body jolting with every brutal stroke.
Cassius did not slow. He kept taking her with raw, animal need, the bed creaking louder, wood straining under the impact. He reached around and worked her most sensitive place with rough fingers while he drove into her, pushing her higher even as he used her hard. When her legs began to tremble he only pressed deeper, grinding against her with each thrust.
He flipped her again, folding her nearly in half, and took her harder still deeper, faster until the headboard slammed against the wall over and over. The frame splintered. Rosie cried out, broken and overwhelmed, pleasure and overstimulation crashing through her in waves she could not control. Cassius growled above her, eyes fixed on her face as he claimed her without pity.
At last the bed gave a sharp crack. Wood snapped. The mattress dropped as the frame collapsed beneath them yet Cassius did not stop. He kept thrusting through the wreckage, chasing his release with single-minded force, until he buried himself to the root and spent hard inside her, pulsing deep while the broken bed settled around them.
He remained buried inside her, breathing heavily, the ruined bed a testament to how thoroughly he had taken her.
Roxanne gripped the head of the bed, her knuckles white, legs pressed tightly together. Wetness still slipped from between her thighs, soaking the sheets and the disordered folds of her dress. Her body was flushed and untidy, skin glistening, the fabric clinging heavily to every curve.
The announcement rang out beyond the door: "Lord Vangelis has arrived."
She tensed at once, breath catching. Slowly she lifted her head.
The door opened. Vangelis stepped inside, tall and composed, his presence filling the chamber. His gaze moved over her without hurry taking in the damp dress, the trembling of her legs, the evidence she had not managed to hide.
"Greetings, my Lord," she managed, voice unsteady.
"You look unwell, if I may suppose," he said, the words mild yet edged with quiet knowledge.
"No, I am not," she answered quickly, rising from the bed as if distance might conceal what the sheets already revealed. "It is only the heat in the room."
He closed the space between them in two measured steps and stood directly before her. His eyes dropped to the dark, wet patches on her dress, then returned to her face.
"Let the maids come and fan you," he said, voice low. "You are soaking."
"It's fine," Roxanne said, offering a smile that did not quite reach her eyes.
Why does he smell so good? The thought struck her with sudden force. Her gaze slipped downward, lingering on the open line of his chest, on the warm skin just visible beneath the fabric.
You can carry your revenge on Cassius with Vangelis, her wolf murmured, voice low and coaxing. It will not be difficult to get him in your bed.
The nearer he came, the sharper the heat between her thighs grew. Pleasure stirred and thickened with every step he took toward her, a slow, insistent pulse that made her breath catch.
"Are you fine?" Vangelis asked once more, and then his arms closed around her—firm, steady, drawing her fully against him.
Roxanne's composure faltered. She hugged him back, pressing her face into the side of his neck and drawing in a deep, greedy breath of his scent. The smell of him flooded her senses. She held him tighter, body moulding to the hard length of his, her breasts crushed to his chest, her hips shifting almost without thought. A soft, helpless sound escaped her as fresh wetness slipped from her, warm and unmistakable, soaking further into the already damp cloth between her legs.
For several long heartbeats she remained there, lost in the heat and the scent, fingers curling into the back of his coat as if she might pull him still closer.
Then clarity returned like a sudden cold wind. She broke away abruptly, putting space between them even as her body continued to thrum with the residual contact and the lingering ache.
"I've discovered my power," she said, voice less steady than she intended. "So you can leave."
Vangelis watched her, his expression unreadable. "And what is it?"
"Soul command," Roxanne answered, lifting her chin while her thighs pressed tightly together against the wetness and the want that still pulsed through her.