The MC President's Forsaken Wife (Zara and Knox) novel Chapter 319

Chapter 156-2

The faint light from the window cuts across his skin, illuminating the fierce, unyielding devotion in his eyes. He looks at me like a dying man looking at water, his dark gaze tracing every curve of my body with terrifying intensity.

“You look so beautiful like this,” he rasps. “Naked, lying in our bed, completely mine.”

He slides a heavy hand down between my legs, cupping my p***y. A sudden, sharp wave of pleasure crashes through me at the direct touch, a low moan breaking out of my throat as my hips lift instinctively against his hand, seeking the pressure he’s offering.

He fingers me with a slow, agonizing precision, dragging a slick moan from the back of my throat that echoes off the silent walls of the room. His thumb finds my aching, hardening clit, circling it with ruthless intent until my thighs tremble violently, clutching at his forearms for leverage.

“Look at how wet you are for me,” he says. “Look at how much you missed me.”

“I missed you everywhere,” I cry out, twisting beneath his touch as my stomach draws dangerously tight. “Locke, please… I need to feel you inside me. Right now. I can’t take any more waiting.”

“Your wish is my command.”

He strips away his heavy boots and jeans with efficient speed, returning to hover over me in an instant. He guides himself to my cunt, his eyes locked onto mine, watching every flicker of expression on my face as he pushes himself into me – deep, absolute, and breath-stealingly slow.

A scream catches in my throat, my eyes widening as he stretches me, filling the void that has been aching for two long weeks. The sheer size, heat, and weight of his c**k all bind me completely to the earth.

The phantom fears of the dark run, the hollow silence of the penthouse, the lingering shadows of the nightmare… all of it vanishes, burned to ash by the terrifying, beautiful reality of him deep inside me.

Locke pauses for a long second, his muscles locked tight as iron above me, his chest heaving as he buries himself to the hilt. He reaches down, lacing his fingers through mine, pinning my hands against the mattress beside my head, holding me completely captive beneath his massive weight.

“You feel that?” he growls low in his throat, his voice vibrating straight into my bones, into my very soul. “You feel how real this is? I’m right here, Zara. You’re safe. You’re mine.”

“Yours,” I say, my legs wrapping tight around his waist, pulling him deeper into me, locking him against my body. “Always yours, Locke. I love you.”

“I love you,” he says, his eyes blazing with a fierce, absolute light. “I live and die for you, baby.”

He begins to move.

The rhythm is slow, deep, and heavy, every stroke deliberate, possessive, and punishingly thorough. There’s no gentleness in the way he takes me; it’s a dark, passionate reclamation, a man claiming the one thing in the world that keeps him coming back home.

Every time his hips drive against mine, the pleasure builds, sharp and exquisite, until I can barely breathe, until the entire world shrinks down to the point of contact between our bodies. All I know is his c**k in my

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