The MC President's Forsaken Wife (Zara and Knox) novel Chapter 316

Chapter 155-1

Clan

Every night for the past two weeks has been an endurance test. Fourteen days of dead air, dark territory, and a cell phone that sits cold, dark, and useless on the bedside table

I’m floating in that hazy, heavy borderland between deep sleep and waking consciousness, wrapped in a sleep so profound it feels like drowning warm, dark water. My body is exhausted, worn down by days of worry, skipped meals, and the constant, thrumming adrenaline of waiting for a phone call that never

comes.

And then the dream takes shape.

It doesn’t start with a place or a time; it starts with his scent. That deep, unmistakable mix of heavy leather, smoky air, and the sharp, dark spice of his skin… a scent that now lives in my lungs, is now etched into my very DNA.

In the dream, I’m standing at the edge of the floor-to-ceiling windows, looking out at the black ocean tossing violently below, and then he’s just there.

Locke steps out of the shadows behind me, his massive frame blotting out the world, his overwhelming heat sinking straight through the thin cotton of the oversized t-shirt I’m wearing.

It’s one of his old washed-out shirts, falling halfway down my thighs, swallowing my frame whole. In the dream, his large hands drag the hem upward, gathering the fabric in his heavy fists until his bare palms hit my burning skin.

The heat of his touch is immediate and blistering, a jolt/of pure voltage that makes my toes curl into the hardwood.

“Locke,” I murmur into the dark room, my real lips moving, my voice a thick, needy whisper against the heavy silence of the bedroom. “Locke… please…”

He doesn’t answer with words. In the dream, his hands are heavy, possessive, and absolute, marked by the lethal certainty that defines everything he is.

His thick fingers drag up the sensitive skin of my ribs, tracing the delicate line of my bone before pinning my waist, hauling my back flush against the hard, rigid plane of his chest. I can feel the rough canvas of his gear, the cold metal of his buckles, and beneath it all, the terrifying, iron-hard strength of his body.

His mouth finds the sensitive, aching curve where my neck meets my shoulder. He bites down, just hard enough to make my breath hitch sharply, just hard enough to send a violent jolt of electricity straight down my spine. Then his tongue laves over the sting, soothing the mark he just made.

I twist wildly in his grip, reaching back blindly to sink my fingers into his short, thick hair, needing to pulk him closer, needing to erase every inch of air between us. My thighs shift against the heavy silk sheets, a deep, aching pulse thrumming low and hot in my belly.

The friction of the dream is unbearable, a mounting, liquid heat coiling tight in my cunt until it borders on physical agony. I can feel the hard, heavy length of him pressed against my lower back, the dark, dangerous promise of his weight threatening to crush me, to consume me whole.

“Please,” I groan aloud, my hips rolling instinctively against the phantom pressure, my skin flushed, hot,

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Chapter 155

Clams

and damp beneath the loose shirt. “Locke, please… don’t go back into the dark… stay with me… I love you…

love you so much…”

His hands move lower, palms sliding over the curve of my hips, his thumb dragging across the bare, sensitive skin of my inner thigh, pulling me closer, deeper into the heat until I’m practically burning up from the inside out.

The hunger is a physical ache, an agonizing sickness that’s been building for fourteen days of isolation, and now it threatens to tear right through my ribs –

A floorboard creaks in the dark outside the bed.

The shift in the room’s pressure is instant. A heavy, dark presence breaks the boundary of the dream, pulling the oxygen right out of the bedroom.

My eyes snap open.

Panic slams into my chest like an iron bar. The transition from the hot, velvety haze of the dream to the pitch-black reality of the room is so sudden and violent that my throat locks up instantly. My heart hammers frantically against my ribs, a wild, terrified bird trapped in a cage of bone.

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