Felicity's Beast World Apocalypse-Chapter 64: Dont go 18+

She arched her back, hips pressing down, a soft whimper escaping her lips as her fingers clutched at his shoulders. "Please," she whispered, her voice breaking with need, eyes locked on his. "I can’t wait anymore."

He cupped the back of her head, petting her hair like a promise, and whispered, "Okay, little one. You want it all? You get it all."

He thrust up, burying himself to the hilt, stars supernova bright behind Felicity’s eyelids as her whole body lit up with sensation. He set the rhythm, controlling, a perfect piston of movement, pulling her down. His hands gripped her hips with barely restrained force, trembling with the effort not to bruise as longing crashed through his restraint. Each thrust drew a ragged sound from his throat half growl, half plea while her nails carved desperate half-moons into his shoulders, marking what she’d claimed after too many nights of waiting.

He watched the way she shattered, over and over, her voice giving up variations of his name, gasps and broken syllables and sometimes just an unfiltered moan. He drank it in, every tremble in her bones, every stutter in her breath, every time she quivered around him clutching for more, for everything.

He was impossibly thick, stretching her to the edge of pleasure and pain with each careful advance. Her body yielded reluctantly at first, then eagerly, like warm honey giving way. He savoured the way she gasped sharp little intakes of breath that caught in her throat and how she shivered beneath him, her skin prickling with goosebumps despite the heat building between them with every measured thrust.

He let her break, rebuilt her with every motion, until her eyes were glazed and blurry, lips bitten raw. "Tell me," he said, panting, voice ragged, "that you love me. Tell me, little one."

"I love you, Voss," she whispered, and then louder, screaming it, as he jerked her down, locking them together, their bodies trembling in tandem.

He held her for a moment, both of them spent beneath the soft prism of her invented sunlight.

Then he rolled again, enveloping her in his arms, greedy for every bit of her. He kissed her, rough and then sweet, and pulled her up, stumbling a little, bracing her against the living wall of honeysuckle. The heavy scent made her dizzy, as did the way he kissed her, lips bruising, hands everywhere. He pressed into her again, this time frantic, wild, the bed of flowers crushed beneath her bare feet, the wall cold and wet on her back as he fucked her, hard and fast, lifting her up so that she wrapped around him, helpless and laughing and crying out.

He bit her throat, not gentle, and then licked away the trace of pain. His hand found her breast, thumb circling until she convulsed, and he smiled, triumphant, at the way she melted for him. She couldn’t think, could only cling, could only open her mouth and let the sound fall out: his name, her name, stringless syllables and then nothing but the wild lurch of her heart as he stilled, buried inside, and clung to her as if he’d never let go.

He drove into her with a primal force that tore her name from her throat, his body claiming hers completely. Something ancient and possessive seized him as he flooded her depths, his mind consumed by visions of her swollen with his cubs. When his essence began to escape her trembling body, he growled and pressed deeper, determined that every drop would fulfill its purpose.

Her voice broke around his name as he shuddered, his fingers digging possessively into her hips, pulling her flush against him.

His eyes fixed on where their bodies joined, pupils blown wide with primal satisfaction. When she tried to shift, his palm pressed firmly against her lower belly, as if he could feel himself there, as if he could keep her filled with his essence through sheer will. "Stay," he commanded, voice rough with need even as he continued to pulse inside her.

They slumped to the ground, tangled and slick with sweat and grass, the world tilting gently around them. He held her, arms tight, face buried in her hair. She thought she heard him whisper something, almost too soft to catch his real name, maybe, or a secret in some old language that nobody would ever hear again.

She let it go, let the warmth and exhaustion take her.

In the distance, the sky crackled a reminder that the world outside her sanctuary was always falling apart, one way or another. Voss only clutched her tighter, and for a brief, impossible moment, Felicity believed she could keep all this, that if she just loved him enough, loved all of them enough, the world would be forced to let them be.

When she woke, she was wrapped in his arms, and he was staring at her, eyes bright and less haunted than she’d ever seen. He kissed her forehead, then her lips, then every inch of her face. When she giggled, he smiled, real and wide. They were a mess flower petals in their hair, grass stains on their knees, her dress missing and his shirt ripped at the collar. 𝙛𝒓𝓮𝙚𝔀𝒆𝒃𝓷𝒐𝓿𝙚𝓵.𝙘𝒐𝒎

"Victor’s going to have a field day," she murmured.

"Let him," Voss said, voice hoarse and utterly satisfied. "I’ve got what I want."

She wriggled closer, heartsick and complete.

"Voss?" she whispered, half asleep again.

"Mm?"

"Don’t go."

He shushed her, wrapping his hand around the back of her neck and pulling her in, as if he could drag her into his skin.

"Never," he said. "Not possible."

Outside, the world raged and spun, but inside, for now, there was only them, and the clover, and the impossible light that Felicity had made.

Daylight arrived like a slap, not gentle or golden, but with a disorienting clarity that made every edge of her world sting. Felicity had drifted from sleep to dream and back, her body empty and full in unfamiliar ways, the memory of Voss’s hands mapped in bruised pleasure across her thighs and throat.

She didn’t realize she’d fallen asleep on his chest until she heard voices outside the haven, voices that didn’t belong to the quiet between her and Voss. The walls of the flower field in her space faded under her touch, like it was made of smoke and not will, and Voss stood, stretching, loose and kingly in the ruined sunlight. He scooped her up before she even thought to protest, arms strong under her knees and back, and carried her out into the waking world.

The camp had gathered already: Damien, blank-faced but smirking, his eyebrow cocked high;

Tommy, who grinned with a boyish delight that should have been extinct in this place; and Victor, hands clasped tight behind his back, jaw set so hard Felicity thought it might snap. The air was thick with the smell of sleep, and sex, and envy.

Voss set her down gently, tucking a wildflower behind her ear as if she was a child. Her legs barely held her, her body uncooperative and tender in places she’d never really paid attention to until last night. She was still wearing Voss, on her skin and inside her head. She wondered if everyone else could tell. Damien made a show of kissing her hand, as if to pretend he wasn’t cataloguing every mark and bite on her neck. Show-off, she thought, heat threading through her exhaustion.

Victor didn’t waste breath on pretense. He stalked forward, glowering at Voss, who stood back with his arms loosely folded, gaze lazy and victorious. Without a word, Victor scooped Felicity up and into his own arms, cradling her so her cheek landed right against his chest, the sound of his heart furious and staccato in her ear.

He walked, deliberate, out of the carpark and into the pool area around back. The stone was cold and damp against her back as he set her down, his own hands already at the spigot, calling for Tommy in a voice that brooked no objection.

"Draw a hot bath," Victor barked. "And rose oil this time."

Tommy sprinted off, returning in record time. He poured oils into the water, pink clouds blooming out, sweet and sharp. "Milady," he said, mock-bowing, and Felicity almost smiled.

Victor stripped her, careful but quick, as if he wanted to erase every trace of her night in her space and replace it with himself. He stepped into the bath behind her, sinking into the water and pulling her into his lap, her knees tucked up and his arms bracketed around her body.

He soaped her with gentle, reverent hands, but the tremor in his touch betrayed him. He grazed her shoulder with his teeth, then her ear, and she shivered all over.

"You smell like wolf," he said, voice soft but dangerous. "I want you to smell like me again. Just me."

She tried to wriggle away, but he only drew her closer, one arm across her ribs, the other roaming over her stomach, up to cup her breasts. He lingered there, thumbs circling until she gasped, her breath bouncing against the stone. The camp was already up and moving on the other side of the wall. She knew they could hear. She could hear the scrabble of paws and boots on tile, Tommy’s delighted giggle, even the quiet little animal whines that sometimes slipped from Voss when he was frustrated.