The master suite of the Northwood Lodge was submerged in a suffocating, intoxicating silence, punctuated only by the ragged, synchronized breathing of the two men. The moonlight cast sharp, silver angles across the velvet comforter, illuminating the porcelain skin of the intern, Luca Vane, as he knelt on the bed.
The weight of the Alpha's massive, throbbing member against his lips was a physical reminder of the King's absolute authority. Malcolm Ford stood over him, his amber eyes blown wide with a golden, possessive madness, the Mark on his neck glowing with a faint violet hum that matched the biological fury in his veins.
"Shut up," Malcolm had ordered, and Luca did not dare to disobey. He parted his lips further, the sheer size of the Alpha's heat stretching the corners of his mouth.
