Chapter 5: The Desk Lesson
The fire in Professor Draven’s office crackled, painting the crowded shelves of books and artifacts in shifting shades of orange and gold. Selene tried to focus on the steady rumble of his voice, on the complexities of temporal spell theory he was explaining, but the words dissolved into meaningless sound before they reached her.
All she could feel was the phantom weight of Dorian on her back, the ghost of his possession still burning between her legs. The memory of the Archives, of the cold table against her cheek and the shared, chaotic heat of two men, was a live wire in her nervous system. A slow, treacherous warmth pooled in her belly, a dampness gathering that had nothing to do with the fire’s heat. She shifted on the plush velvet chair, the friction a tiny, delicious torment.
Draven leaned forward, his silver hair catching the light, pointing to a diagram in a massive tome. “The key is in the stabilization of the fourth sigil, see? Without it, the temporal loop becomes a cascade failure.”
Selene’s gaze dropped from the diagram to his lap. The fine wool of his trousers strained over a distinct, growing bulge. The bond wasn’t just a conduit for Dorian’s hunger; it was a mirror, reflecting and amplifying her own. She saw the way Draven’s eyes flickered to her neck, to the part of her lips, before snapping back to his book with forced discipline. He was fighting it too. And he was losing.
Without a word, she slid from her chair and onto her knees on the thick rug.
“Selene, what are you—” His protest was weak, already crumbling.
She looked up at him, her green eyes holding his, and pushed his chair back from the desk with a firm shove. The wooden legs scraped against the stone floor. Her hands went to his belt, her fingers working the buckle with a practiced ease that surprised even her. He made a strangled sound in his throat, his hands gripping the armrests, knuckles white.
“We shouldn’t,” he breathed, but his hips lifted slightly to help her drag his trousers and smalls down his thighs.
His cock sprang free, already thick and hardening. She didn’t hesitate. She took him into her mouth, her tongue flattening against the underside of his shaft. He was clean, tasting of soap and something uniquely male, a musky scent that filled her senses. She worked him slowly at first, then with increasing fervor, one hand stroking what she couldn’t take, the other cupping his balls, feeling them tighten.
“Gods, girl,” Draven groaned, his head falling back, his fingers tangling in her auburn hair. He wasn’t gentle. He guided her, pushing her head down until she felt him hit the back of her throat, making her eyes water. She relaxed her jaw, taking him deeper, the salt-bitter taste of his pre-cum slicking her tongue.
The office door exploded inwards.
Splinters of dark wood rained down as Keal Dorian filled the doorway, his chest heaving. His black hair was disheveled, his blue eyes burning with a feral light. His nostrils flared, tracking the scent of her arousal, of their shared transgression, like a wolf on the hunt.
“Get away from her,” he snarled, the command laced with a raw, possessive fury that vibrated through the bond.
Draven jerked, trying to push Selene away, but she held on, a perverse defiance surging through her. She released Draven’s cock with a wet pop, staring at Dorian as she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.
“It’s a little late for that, Professor,” she said, her voice husky.
Dorian crossed the room in three long strides. He didn’t look at Draven. His entire world had narrowed to Selene. He grabbed her by the arms, hauling her to her feet and slamming her forward, bent over the heavy wooden desk. Scrolls and quills scattered to the floor.
“You spread your legs for him so easily?” he growled into her ear, his body pressing against her back. One hand fumbled with his own pants, the other rucking up her dress, tearing her underwear away. The sound of the fabric ripping was obscenely loud. “You let him fuck this pretty mouth?”
He drove into her from behind in one brutal, unforgiving thrust. She cried out, her hands splaying on the desk’s surface, the shock of his entry a blinding mix of pain and overwhelming pleasure. He was bigger, harder, than he’d been in the library, his rage making him ruthless. He set a punishing rhythm, each snap of his hips jarring her entire body.
Draven watched, his own cock still out, glistening and painfully hard. A conflicted war raged on his face—shame, desire, a flicker of anger at Dorian’s violence. Then Dorian locked eyes with him over Selene’s back.
“You want a turn, Alistair?” Dorian’s voice was a dark taunt. “She’s wet enough for both of us. Isn’t that right, you little slut?”
He punctuated the question with a deep, grinding thrust that made Selene whimper. She nodded, her cheek pressed against the cool wood, beyond pride, consumed by the need to be filled, to be the center of this storm.
“Yes,” she gasped. “Please.”
That single word broke Draven’s resistance. He moved around the desk, his expression grimly determined. He positioned himself in front of her, his cock nudging at her lips. “Open.”
She did, taking him into her mouth again. The feeling was overwhelming, surreal. Dorian pounding into her from behind, filling her, stretching her, while Draven filled her mouth, his hips moving in a shallow, frantic rhythm. She was the nexus, the conduit for their shared, degraded desire.
Dorian’s pace became erratic, his breaths coming in ragged grunts. “I can feel him,” he hissed, his fingers digging into her hips. “I can feel your throat working on his cock. You love this, don’t you? Being used.”
She couldn’t speak, couldn’t form words with Draven buried in her mouth. She just moaned around him, the vibration making him curse and thrust deeper. The dual sensation was pushing her towards a shattering edge. Her body was no longer her own; it was a vessel for their pleasure, for the bond’s insatiable hunger.
Dorian suddenly stilled, his body tensing against hers. With a guttural roar, he emptied himself inside her, his release a hot, pulsing flood. The sensation, combined with the intense, shared climax reverberating through the bond, was the final trigger for Draven. He pulled his cock from her mouth with a slick sound and spent himself across her face and chest, hot stripes painting her skin.
For a moment, there was only the sound of their heavy breathing and the crackle of the fire.
Dorian pulled out of her, and Selene’s legs buckled. She would have collapsed if the desk hadn’t been holding her up. She stayed there, bent over, feeling the slow, shameful trickle of Dorian’s release down her inner thigh. The warmth of Draven’s spend cooled on her cheek.
Dorian stepped back, fastening his trousers, his face a mask of self-loathing and satiated fury. He looked at the mess he’d made of her, at Draven standing there, exposed and ashamed.
Without a word, he turned and strode from the ruined office, leaving the shattered door hanging on its hinges.
Draven finally moved, his hands trembling as he righted his own clothes. He couldn’t look at her. He fetched a soft cloth from a basin of water by the fireplace and wordlessly began to clean her face. His touch was gentle now, full of a profound regret that made her want to scream.
When he was done, he helped her stand, steadying her as she pulled her dress down. Her body felt used, sore, and humming with residual magic.
“It’s getting worse,” Draven said quietly, his voice hollow. “The manifestations… they’re becoming more violent. More public.”
Selene looked towards the empty doorway, towards the path Dorian had taken. The bond was a cold, slithering thing in her gut now, the pleasure gone, leaving only the aftermath.
“He’s not fighting it anymore,” she whispered. “He’s embracing it.”
And the most terrifying part, the thought that coiled in the deepest, most secret part of her soul, was that a part of her wanted him to.
And the most terrifying part, the thought that coiled in the deepest, most secret part of her soul, was that a part of her wanted him to. The admission left her raw, exposed to herself in a way the physical violation never could. She trembled, the cool air of the office raising goosebumps on her skin where Draven’s spend had dried.
Evander Draven looked at her, his eyes dark with a mixture of concern and renewed hunger. He gestured to the ruined room, the scattered scrolls, the splintered door. “Well then, care for a round two?”
Selene looked at him, contemplating his request, her body still humming from the earlier assault. Then she said, “Oh my gods, Isolavienne!”
He shrugged, a casual motion that belied the tension in his frame. “Well, if you want her here I can summon her easily, but she may not come. I think she’s taking an exam…”
Selene sighed exasperated, feeling guilty. “No! I mean, she’s your…” Draven raised a hand to interrupt.
“My fated, bonded mate? Yes, yes she is.” Selene choked back a sob, her shoulders slumping. “Then, then I shouldn’t have…”
Evander Draven placed a hand on her shoulder, his thumb stroking the remnants of her robe as her breasts peaked out slightly. “Yes, Duskbane, but so are you.”
“W-what?” Selene asked, exclaimed.
“Look, I suspected it in the alcove, that’s why I shoved my dick into you, and the fact that you didn’t push me away? And just now, when I sensed your arousal, my dick was straining in my pants.” He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a rough whisper. “Gods, whenever a new bond forms it’s so hard to control the fucking, it’s like rapid bunnies always wanting to fuck. It took me and Isolavienne months to calm down, and even now, we still do it everyday.”
Selene looked up at him confused, her mind reeling. “I don’t understand… I thought I was bonded to Dorian?”
Evander caressed his thumb at the remnants of her underclothes, teasing. He said, “Yes, you are.”
“So?” Selene said, impatient.
Evander’s dick was hard again in his pants when he said, “You can have more than one bonded mate, there’s always a… a primary, the omega so to speak, but there can be more than one.” His hand slid lower, cupping her between her legs, making her gasp. “That’s why Isolavienne isn’t busting this door down right this instant, when just looking at your tits sends me into a frenzy…”
Selene allowed him to continue his strokes, her resistance crumbling under the dual weight of confusion and desire. She asked, “So, I’m your second bonded, mate? Then, that means.. Dorian is my first…” Draven dug his fingers into her, a possessive claim that made her moan. He fucked her with his hand, the rough friction against her clit making her legs shake. “Test, two mates. One primal, one secondary.”
“One primal, one secondary.” His words hung in the air, a stark confirmation of the tangled web she was now caught in. The concept should have horrified her, but the heat of his hand still cupped between her legs was melting all coherent thought. Her mind, traitorously, leaped to the source of her deepest confusion and desire.
“Wait, what about Dorian?” The name slipped out, laden with all the chaotic weight of their shared encounters.
Evander sighed in frustration, his fingers still working against her wetness. “I’d very much appreciate it if you refrained from mentioning another man’s name while I’m the one with my fingers inside of you.” His tone was a low growl, a blend of irritation and raw need.
“Right,” Selene breathed, the apology dying in her throat as he curled his fingers deep inside her, hitting a spot that made her vision blur. He began finger-fucking her harder, his pace relentless and punishing, each thrust sending jolts of pure, undiluted pleasure through her core. The strength bled from her knees, her legs trembling so violently she would have collapsed if not for his other arm banded around her waist.
He withdrew his fingers from her soaking cunt with a wet, slick sound, and brought them to his mouth. His eyes locked on hers as he sucked her taste from his skin, his tongue cleaning each digit with a slow, deliberate obscenity that made her stomach clench. “Fucking delicious,” he murmured, the words vibrating around his fingers.
A fresh wave of need crashed over her, so intense it was almost painful. Selene squeezed her thighs shut, trying to relieve the maddening friction, but the pressure only amplified the empty, aching throb. It didn’t help. Nothing would except him.
In one fluid motion, Draven hoisted her onto the edge of the heavy wooden desk, scattering the remaining parchments. He stepped between her legs, his hands cradling her face. His kiss was nothing like Dorian’s desperate hunger; this was sensuous, passionate, a slow, devouring exploration that felt terrifyingly intimate. It was a claim, not a conquest.
He broke the kiss, his cock pressing insistently against her dripping entrance but not entering. She squirmed, her hips bucking uselessly against the maddening tease. “What do you want, Selene?” he asked, his voice a rough whisper against her lips.
“Please,” she begged, the word a broken sound. “Evander, please, I need you to fuck me.”
“Tell me exactly,” he commanded, his thumb circling her clit, making her jerk.
“I need your cock inside me,” she gasped, her nails digging into his shoulders. “Now. Please, just fuck me.”
With a grunt of satisfaction, he slammed into her, burying himself to the hilt in one brutal, perfect thrust. She cried out, her back arching off the desk as he filled her completely. He began to move, not with Dorian’s frantic rage, but with a deep, rhythmic intensity that felt like it was reshaping her from the inside out. “You’re mine in this, too,” he growled, his hands moving to her wrists, pinning them to the desk on either side of her head. She was a willing victim to his restraint, the bondage sending a thrill of submission through her that tightened every muscle.
He maintained that intimate, possessive pace, his eyes never leaving hers, each thrust a deliberate act of connection. The passion was a living thing between them, a counterpoint to the violence she shared with Dorian. She felt the coil of her orgasm tightening, spurred by the relentless friction and the dark pleasure of being bound and taken so thoroughly.
“I’m close,” she warned, her voice strangled.
“Come for me,” he ordered, and the command, paired with a sharp, twisting grind of his hips, shattered her. Her climax ripped through her, a silent scream on her lips as her cunt clenched violently around his driving cock. He groaned, his own control fracturing, and with a final, deep plunge, he emptied himself into her. She felt the hot, pulsing rush of his seed flooding her depths, the warmth spreading inside her a profoundly possessive, satisfying feeling she hadn’t known she craved.
He didn’t pull away immediately. He stayed buried within her, his forehead resting against hers, their breaths mingling in the quiet room. Then, with surprising tenderness, he unpinned her wrists and lifted her from the desk, her legs instinctively wrapping around his waist. He carried her to the small, worn couch by the fireplace, settling them both into its cushions, his softening cock still nestled inside her. He held her there, his arms a secure band around her, and for a while, there was only the crackle of the fire and the slow, steady beat of his heart against her ear.