Betrayed and Claimed by the Lycan King Chapter 64

Isolde’s POV

I stood in the middle of Ezra’s walk-in closet, clutching a pair of black leather shoes like they were the only thing keeping me grounded.

My job was simple: pick shoes for his custom suit and get out. But my heart was slamming against my ribs, each beat a reminder that I was in way over my head.

The faint pad of bare feet on hardwood hit my wolf-sharp ears like a gunshot.

I froze, breath catching as the bathroom door swung open.

Ezra stepped out, a white towel slung low around his hips, water droplets trailing down his chiseled chest, over the hard ridges of his abs.

My eyes betrayed me, darting to the towel before I could stop them, and fuck, it was doing a shitty job of hiding anything.

The thick bulge beneath it was impossible to miss, straining the fabric, massive and unapologetic.

My mind blanked, heat flooding my face so fast I thought I’d combust.

I’d seen his cock once before, and that was a coincidence. I’d even felt him before—that clumsy crash at the training center left me with way too much to process—but seeing him like this? It was still a gut-punch, raw and overwhelming. My throat went dry, and I yanked my gaze back to his face, but it was too late. His gray eyes glinted, a smirk curling his lips, sharp and knowing.

“Like what you see, Isolde?” His voice was a low growl, teasing but laced with danger. “Not your first peek, is it? I haven’t forgotten how you looked like when you first saw it.”

My cheeks burned hotter than hell. Words tripped over themselves. “I… I’ve got your shoes, Mr. Silverwood… Can I go now?”

He stepped closer, slow and deliberate, a predator sizing up prey. The towel shifted, and I forced my eyes up, heart pounding. “You can leave,” he said, voice smooth as sin. “Or stay and watch me dress. Up to you, Isolde.”

Lyra, my wolf soul, surged inside me, her voice a desperate howl. *Stay! Stay!* Her excitement clawed at me, urging me toward him, but panic won out. I mumbled some bullshit excuse and bolted for the bedroom door, my pulse a chaotic mess.

I sat on the edge of a sleek leather sofa in his master bedroom, hands knotted in my lap, trying to wrestle my breathing under control.

The room was all clean lines and dark wood, city skyline framed by massive windows, but my mind kept replaying Ezra half-naked, that towel barely holding on.

His voice cut through from the closet, sharp and commanding. “I haven’t dismissed you, Isolde. If I come out and you’re gone, there’ll be consequences.”

The Alpha power in his tone slammed into me, rooting me to the spot.

My legs twitched, itching to run, but they wouldn’t budge—not against that voice.

Fuck him for having this hold over me. I stayed, glancing around for anything to anchor me.

The closet door opened, and I shot to my feet, forcing myself not to stare. Ezra stepped out, the Armani molded to his frame like it was made to worship him, every inch the untouchable Lycan King.

But his scent hit me hard—pine, winter snow, and that raw wolf musk that made Lyra whine. I smoothed my

clothes, meeting his eyes, praying he couldn’t hear my heart jackhammering.

“Help me with these,” he said, holding out silver cufflinks, the Silver Moon emblem glinting.

I swallowed, taking them with shaky fingers. “Of course, Alpha Ezra.”

My voice was barely audible. I stepped closer. My fingers grazed his wrist as I fastened the cufflinks, his skin warm, sending a jolt through me. I moved to his tie, adjusting it with quick, careful tugs, my knuckles brushing his chest. His pulse thrummed under my touch, steady and strong.

I smoothed his collar and stepped back fast. “All set, Alpha Ezra.”

He didn’t move, his presence heavy, like a storm ready to break. Then his hand lifted, fingers gripping my chin, tilting my face up. The air thickened, my birthmark flaring hot. “You think I’d let you go that easily?” he murmured, voice rough and low.

Before I could answer, his lips crashed into mine, fierce but tender, a claim that set my blood on fire. The world tilted, narrowing to the heat of his mouth, the way he coaxed me open. My hands fisted his jacket, instinct taking over, and I kissed him back, tentative but desperate, a soft moan slipping out as his tongue teased mine.

When he pulled back, my legs shook, lips tingling, body screaming for more.

Ezra straightened, adjusting his tie with a flick, his CEO mask sliding back into place. “Don’t rush off,” he said, tone-—firm but not cold. “Use the bathroom. My assistant left clothes for you.”

His eyes narrowed. “Kitchen’s prepping breakfast. Eat it, Isolde, or I’ll know, and you’ll regret it.” He stepped closer, lips brushing my forehead in a soft, fleeting kiss. “Enjoy your day, Isolde.”

He strode out, the door clicking shut, leaving the room colder, emptier. I stood there, stunned, fingers grazing my lips, his warmth lingering. I sank onto the sofa, legs unsteady, mind a fucking mess. What the hell just happened?

In the bathroom, I locked the door. I stripped, stepping into the shower, hot water pounding my skin, but it couldn’t wash away the memory of him—that massive, straining bulge under the towel, the raw power of his body.

My mind spiraled, imagining that thick, hard cock, how it’d feel stretching me, filling me completely. My hand slid down, fingers slipping between my thighs, finding myself slick and aching. I bit my lip, picturing Ezra pinning me against the wall, his cock thrusting deep, relentless.

My fingers moved faster, circling my clit, chasing the edge as I imagined him fucking me hard, claiming every inch. My breath hitched, muscles clenching as I came hard, a muffled moan escaping, my body trembling under the spray. I leaned against the tile, heart pounding, guilt and need warring inside me.

Fuck, I was in too deep.