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74 The Feast Is Over 

Sera 

The moment his rough fingers made contact with my wet folds, my breath hitched violently in my throat. I dug my fingernails deep into the rough underside of the wooden table. A sharp splinter pierced my index finger, but I barely felt it. 

“I am surviving, Torin,” I managed to say. My voice shook a fraction of an inch, betraying the absolute chaos happening beneath the wood. 

Fenris pressed his middle finger directly against my swollen clitoris. He applied a brutal, heavy pressure. I bit down hard on the inside of my cheek. I tasted blood instantly. 

Fenris shoved his thick middle finger deep inside my wet opening. The stretch was sudden, sharp, and entirely consuming. I clamped my thighs together purely on instinct, trapping his heavy wrist between my legs. He didn’t pull back. He twisted his wrist, rubbing his calloused thumb aggressively over my hard clitoris while thrusting his thick finger completely in and out of my slick, tight canal. 

The contrast was absolute madness. I was staring down a Valdris Lord, verbally dominating him in front of the entire pack council, while the Alpha of Ironmaw was aggressively fingering me completely wet under the High Table. 

I felt the hot, heavy pulse of blood throbbing between my legs. The friction of his calloused skin against my hyper-sensitive flesh was excruciatingly good. I was grinding my hips down against his hand in millimeter increments, terrified someone would see my shoulders shaking. My core clenched violently around his finger. 

Torin was still talking. He was rambling about the Valdris army and the King’s wrath, but the words sounded completely muffled, like I was listening to him from underwater. All I could hear was the rushing of my own blood in my ears and the heavy, rhythmic friction between my thighs. 

Fenris added a second finger. 

The intrusion stretched me wider. I gasped, a soft, sharp sound that was quickly swallowed by the roaring noise of the hall. Fenris curled his two fingers upward, hitting the deep, sensitive front wall of my cunt with bruising force. 

A needy, desperate whimper climbed straight up my throat. I swallowed it violently, turning the sound into a harsh, ragged exhale through my nose. I clenched my inner muscles tightly around his invading fingers, trying to milk the sheer pleasure out of his hand. 

Fenris let out a low, vibrating growl. The sound resonated deep in his massive chest, meant only for me. I felt the vibration travel through the wood of my chair. 

He pulled his fingers completely out of my wet opening. The sudden emptiness was agonizing. Before I could shift my hips to chase his hand, he pressed his broad, calloused thumb down hard directly over my throbbing clitoris. He held it there, pinning me in a state of absolute, painful physical suspension. 

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Torin stopped talking. He looked at me, his brow furrowing in genuine suspicion. He saw my heavily flushed face. He saw my chest heaving. 

“Are you unwell, Sera?” Torin asked, his eyes narrowing. “You look feverish.” 

Fenris stood up abruptly. 

The heavy wooden chair scraped violently against the stone floor, the sound echoing sharply across the dais. Torin jumped back in his seat, his eyes wide. 

Fenris didn’t look at the Valdris lord. He didn’t look at my mother or Chief Vane. He looked down at me. His grey eyes were entirely swallowed by blown, pitch-black pupils. The predator was completely unleashed, barely contained beneath his skin. 

He pulled his hand out from under the table. 

“The feast is over,” Fenris rumbled. The command carried absolute, terrifying authority. 

He reached down, grabbed my upper arm in a possessive, unyielding grip, and pulled me up from the chair. 

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