Page 210 of Pucking Feral: Part Two

I line myself up. "Ready?" I ask, panting.

"Yes. Yes. Now⁠—"

I lower her onto me.

She makes a sound between a moan and a sob, biting her lip hard enough to flush it redder, her nails digging into my shoulders. I go slow, acutely aware of the difference in size between her body and mine, easing her down inch by inch, careful not to stretch her too fast. Her head drops to my shoulder, breathing hot and ragged against my throat.

"Breathe," I murmur into her hair, one hand splayed across her lower back, the other cupping the curve of her ass. "Just breathe. We've got all night."

"You're huge," she whimpers, and there's a laugh buried in it. "Thaaaane…"

"I know. I've got you. Take your time."

Her moans break off into a cackle. "Take your time? Oh my gods, Thane, you're so fucking—accidentally funny—ah!"

She sinks the rest of the way down all at once, her pussy bumping against the swelling knot at the base of my cock. She squirms and whimpers, so hot and tight, gripping me like a fist, and I have to grit my teeth and dig my fingers into the steering wheel behind her to keep from losing it immediately.

For a moment we just stay there, joined, panting against each other. Her body fluttering around mine. My heart trying to punch through my ribs.

"Fuck," I hiss as she rolls her hips.

"Move," she demands, lifting herself up and dropping back down, and the slow burn of friction shorts out every coherent thought in my skull. "Thane, move."

I grip her hips and move, or do my fucking best in the front seat of the car where there's hardly any room for an alpha my size. I'm positioned in the seat in a way that keeps bumping my knees against the console. I twist to adjust my right leg so it's bent at a better angle, lock in a rhythm, and stay there.

The car rocks gently and Ivy lets out another hysterical giggle, her eyes rolling back into her head. "Some… someone's going to see this and fucking knock on the windows," she pants, grinning wildly. "That would be… ah… a million times scarier than the movie."

"That's good, because we're not watching it," I pant back at her, a grin of my own tugging at my lips as my mouth finds hers again.

A movie chainsaw revs and a chorus of horns blares from the other cars. I'm so far gone I barely register it. There's only Ivy. Her weight on me. Her heat around me. Her broken little sounds against my throat.

Her nails rake down my chest and stomach, leaving stinging lines, and I hiss through my teeth when she claws clear down to that new layer of thickness I can't seem to shed no matter how many extra reps I add.

My abs clench on instinct and my face burns hotter than the rest of me. Which is saying something, because the rest of me is on fucking fire.

"Stop flexing," she breathes, grinding harder against me. Her hands slide wider, gripping my sides where my obliques have thickened.

Claws, again.

I wince but my knot doesn't get the memo. It's already swelling against her, my hips snapping up involuntarily. Apparently I like pain as much as she likes my body.

Tonight's full of fucking surprises.

"Again," she gasps. "Do that again."

I grip her hips and drive up into her, harder this time, and the car shudders on its suspension. The speaker swings on the window hook and clatters against the glass.

I instinctively grab it to steady it and she nips at my arm, growling, demanding wordlessly for me to keep both my hands on her, speaker be damned.

Fuck if I'm gonna argue with that.

I thrust up again and she meets me halfway, her thighs flexing around my hips, the slick heat of her clenching tight enough to blur my vision at the edges. This is messy and desperate and nothing like the composed, planned-out evening I had in my head.

It's fucking amazing.

"Thane—" Her voice cracks. "I can feel your knot—fuck—getting bigger⁠—"

Each time she drops down, the stretch of the knot pressing against her entrance drags a broken whimper from her lips.