Page 19 of Alpha's Revenge Luna

My body, once resistant, surrenders to his touch, each strike awakening a fire within me, it’s shameful, but, in the midst of it all, I find myself falling into a rhythm. A rhythm that syncs with his, a rhythm that has me surrendering increasingly to him.

He stops, leaving me hanging, my body humming with tension and anticipation. I can hear his footsteps approach, his fingers tracing a path along my spine that makes me shudder. He circles me, his touch exploring, teasing, promising more.

“Is this what you wanted, Emery?” Dion’s low voice echoes in the room, his breath hot against my ear. I don’t answer, unsure of what I truly want.

He doesn’t wait for an answer. Instead, his hand descends again, a sharp smack against my already sensitive skin that elicits a gasp from me. A gasp that soon transforms into a moan, a surrender to the heady cocktail of pain and pleasure.

My body shudders, my heart pounds, my mind spins. I’m being pushed, tested, and molded under Dion’s masterful touch. My limits are stretched thin, my boundaries blurred, and my perception of pleasure and pain twisted.

By the time he’s done, my body is glowing with a burning heat, and my heart is racing. I’m both relieved and disappointed when he unbinds me, leaving me panting on the floor.

An eerie silence follows, and my ears ring with the sounds of Dion’s heavy breathing as he advances toward me.

The only sound is the shuffle of him moving to stand behind me, the rustle of my dress as he lifts it, his zipper as he pulls it down.

The next second, I feel his hands twist in my hair.

He pulls my head back, and the next second, his tongue is invading my mouth.

My limbs are too weak to struggle, nor do I want to.

I just want to sleep; I want him to give me the relief I crave instead of leaving me throbbing to the beat of my pulsating clit.

He pulls away but doesn’t release me, instead, he stands up.

I stare up at him as he pulls on the waistband of his pants, loosening them.

The next second, he pulls out his cock, which is rock hard and gleaming in the dull light. “Open your mouth!” he commands, and I swallow. He jerks my head back by my hair, making me cry out. “I said open your mouth,” he snarls.

Despite my fear, I open my mouth.

With a ruthless tug on my hair, he positions himself at my lips, his cock hard and demanding. “Look at me, Emery,” Dion commands.

I force myself to look up, my eyes meeting his in a vulnerable surrender. He guides himself into my mouth, his grip on my hair tightening as he sets a punishing pace.

The feel of him, hard and pulsating, fills my senses. He moves with a brutal rhythm, thrusting deeper with each stroke, the rough friction making my eyes water, and my throat burn.

He pushes deeper, every thrust bringing him closer to the edge. The sounds he makes—low, guttural grunts of pleasure—reverberate through the silent room, adding to the humiliating degradation of it all.

With a final, ruthless thrust, he pushes deep, his grip in my hair becoming almost painful.

His body tenses, his breath hitches, and then he releases himself in a powerful surge.

The taste is bitter, overwhelming, but the triumphant gleam in his eyes leaves me with no choice.

I swallow, doing as he asked, and submitting to his will.

His hold on my hair loosens, and he pulls away, leaving me gasping for breath.

He looks at me, his eyes still ablaze with that disturbing lustful intensity, but there’s something else, a twisted sense of satisfaction that chills me to the bone.

I’ve given him what he wanted, I’ve surrendered to him, and the realization leaves me with a bitter aftertaste.

“Good girl,” Dion murmurs, his words igniting a strange mix of revulsion and satisfaction within me. I’m left there, sore and used. His dominance is overwhelming, his power intoxicating, and despite the humiliation, I find myself unable to resist.

Despite the mistake, Dion tends to me, cleaning up my mess before carrying me back to my room. He places me on the edge of the bath in the tiny room. My emotions are a tangled mess. I feel a strange attachment to Dion, one that scares me to my core. I’m drawn to him, the man who could be my end.

He runs me a bath, then he disappears for a few moments, returning with two towels and a jar of lavender oil.

He pulls the stopper from the bottle before pouring a generous amount into the steaming water he had drawn.

Soft, floral scents fill my nostrils as Dion slips out of his clothes and climbs in behind me.

The warmth radiating from him soothes my trembling body as he pulls me closer to him.

He washes my body gently, despite the overwhelming tension that lingers between us. His gentle hands caress my skin, are comforting, filling me with a strange kind of peace as I rest against his strong chest.

I should feel embarrassed at being so vulnerable to him, but once again, I am too weak to care.

As he washes my chest, the sensation increases exponentially, making it difficult for me to ignore the deep ache within myself that craves something more than this small diversion from reality provided by Dion’s touch.

When he is done bathing me, he helps me dry and dress. He then puts me in bed. It’s awkward, yet he acts like this is the most normal thing in the world.

He pads across the room, his movements as fluid and predatory as a panther. Even the fading welts on my wrists, the soreness lingering in my body, and the bitter taste of my own submission can’t overshadow the allure Dion holds.

This man had shackled me and punished me. Still, there’s a pull toward him I can’t ignore. It scares me.

My gaze travels along his muscular back, across his broad shoulders and down to the curve of his waist.

I shake my head, trying to clear the thoughts that have no right to be there.

However, the memory of his touch lingers, branding me as his in the most disturbing way.

When he turns around, I notice what he was getting from the guard outside.

Handcuffs. My heartbeat rises and tears prick and burn my eyes.

“Going to behave now?” His voice slices through my thoughts, his eyes glinting with a sense of victory.

“I’ll be good,” I croak out, the words feeling foreign on my tongue.

“Good,” he murmurs, strutting toward the bed. The familiar sound of handcuffs jingles in his hands. But the thought of being alone, chained and vulnerable, sends an unexpected wave of panic washing over me.

“No, Dion,” I protest, “Please don’t leave me alone.”

He pauses, the cuffs dangling loosely in his grip. “You knew you’d be in trouble if caught,” he tells me. My tears roll down my cheeks, he’s still punishing me, hasn’t he enough already? “Fine, but you sleep in my room tonight.”

His room is nothing short of a palatial suite, and I find something new to look at, no matter how many times I take in the vast space.

High ceilings adorned with intricate carvings, lavish, silk drapes, and a massive king-size bed with an ebony frame that’s engulfed by pillows of various shapes and sizes.

The atmosphere exudes dominance, just like Dion himself. His scent permeates the space. It’s both calming and maddening at the same time.

In one corner, a grand, wooden door leads to an equally opulent bathroom.

An enormous sunken bathtub with silver claw-foot detailing, a separa te glass shower stall that’s large enough to hold a small party, and a vanity that extends across one wall, filled with an array of products.

Still I refuse to look in the direction of his torture chamber.

He places me on his bed, his movements gentle, almost caring. The juxtaposition is unnerving. One moment, he’s an unforgiving Alpha, the next, he’s displaying the barest hint of tenderness. It’s disconcerting how easily he transitions between the two.

“Do you still see me as your enemy, Emery?” he questions, his voice barely a whisper. I remain silent, not trusting myself to answer truthfully. His gaze hardens, a glimmer of sadness seeping into his eyes.

A fresh wave of guilt washes over me. I despise his control over me, yet I find myself increasingly attached to this complex, dangerous man. A man who somehow managed to make me hate him just as I crave him.

In the stillness of Dion’s room, surrounded by his scent and the disquieting concern etched in his gaze, a part of me wonders if I am destined to be trapped here, never to see my brother again, never to see Grandma.

Will I always be trapped by him, shackled to his side?

And what of my parents? Will there be a funeral? Where do they rest?

Turning my head, I stare at the man to whom I’ve fallen prey. Despite his restful face, I know the monster that lurks barely below his surface, the man who wants to claim me tomorrow. That thought makes my heart beat faster, not knowing what his reaction will be when he realizes I won’t shift.

The conflicting emotions within me only reaffirm that I’m treading a fine line, one that could easily lead to my downfall. Even as I recognize this, I can’t seem to pull myself away. I’m tethered to him, drawn by an attachment that’s as disturbing as it is compelling.

The sound of snoring wakes me early in the morning. My eyes flutter open and I peer up at the ceiling. The room is dark still, so I know it must be super early. Turning my head, I see Dion is fast asleep still, his face restful and handsome in a way that chills me.

I take in his strong jawline and perfectly tousled hair.

There’s something different about him, though; perhaps it’s his scent that has become more inviting, more tempting.

I find my mouth watering at the smell of him, instincts urging me to lean closer and breathe him in.

I turn my face away from him, desperate to escape the pull of his intoxicating scent.

Emery, get a grip of yourself, I mentally scold myself, pulling away sharply before doing something I’ll regret. His arm rests lazily across my waist, making my bladder ache for relief.

My gaze adjusts to the minimal light, finding the bathroom across the room.

Chewing my lip, I carefully lift his arm from my waist before tiptoeing over and slipping inside.

The cool, crisp air makes goosebumps rise on my arms as I stand there, feeling naked and vulnerable in his oversized shirt.

After finishing my business, I debate whether or not to sneak back to my room to retrieve some clothes.

Looking in his direction, I find him snoring up a storm.

“Stupid sexy Hybrid,” I grumble, hating how conflicted he makes me feel.

Glancing back at his sleeping form one last time, I clench my fists and tiptoe toward the door.

Silently, I make my way to the door and slowly open it, but just as I’m about to slip through, a strong hand shoves it closed.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Dion’s low voice rumbles in my ear, his body presses against my back. His breath skates along my neck and my heart races.

“I-I was just going to get some clothes,” I stammer.

Without a word, he turns me around, pushing me against the door. His muscular frame presses against mine, and I can feel his heart beating calmly in his chest while mine continues its frantic pace. “Did I say you could leave the room?” he questions. I shake my head.

His icy cold eyes piercing into mine while his hand on my shoulder slides down to cup my breast through his shirt. His thumb brushes over my nipple, forcing it to harden when he pinches it between his thumb and forefinger. “Would you like to revisit my little room?”

I gasp while he smirks, knowing full well the effect his words have on me.

My mind darts to his depraved room filled with sexual torture devices, and I shake my head vehemently. “No, please, I wasn’t—” my words cut off as he leans closer.

“Need I remind you as to whom you belong to, little wolf?”

He twists my nipple, and I cry out in pain, my hand instantly clutching his wrist, wanting him to stop. “I love the sounds you make, whether it’s your moans or your screams, do well to remember that,” he snarls the last part, but thankfully lets go.

“Now, where were you going?” he asks, watching me. I look at the floor, unable to handle his impenetrable gaze.

“Nowhere,” I murmur.

“Good,” he says, stepping back and releasing me. “Today, you’ll start training with Tara and the other pack members.”

As he saunters away, I’m left standing by the door, my body trembling and my mind reeling. Dion wanders back out of his walk-in closet.

“Get dressed!” he growls, tossing some clothes on the bed and pointing at them.

I hesitantly move toward them, wondering why he has women’s clothes in his room.

Maybe he is a cross dresser? I chuckle at my thoughts as I pick up the track pants and tank top.

“Something funny?” he asks, and I realize I giggled out loud.

I freeze, glancing over at him, then shake my head, and he moves toward the bathroom.

“I need a shower to wake up. Try to leave this room and what I did last night will be the last thing you fear,” he tells me. I stare at his back as he wanders into the bathroom, leaving the door open.

Stay strong, Emery .

I swallow hard. “You’ve made it this far, and you can’t let him win,” I tell myself. Pulling off his shirt, I get dressed before sitting on the edge of the bed and waiting like the obedient pet he seems to want me to be.

After a few minutes, I give up and fall onto my back, staring at the ceiling.

My mind wanders to my grandmother and little brother, wondering what they are doing right now.

I bet Grandma is making her famous chocolate chip pancakes for him.

No doubt she would have something baking by now. She was always an early riser.

Zoning out, I don’t hear the shower shut off until his shadow falls over me as he blocks the sliver of light breaking through the heavy drapes.

“It appears you can follow orders?” he mocks, and I jerk upright.

My eyes instantly take in his wet body, covered only by the towel that is low on his hips.

My eyes roam over his muscular form, the skin taut over the ridges of muscle.

I’m so consumed with lust I don’t notice he’s stepped closer until I am forced to peer up when he speaks.

“See something you like, little wolf?” he purrs, his eyes flickering, turning a deeper shade of crimson. I can just see the points of his fangs poking out, a little longer than his canines. I swallow, averting my gaze, which only makes him laugh.

“Appears your wolf is getting closer and closer to the surface,” he purrs, gripping my chin. He forces me to meet his gaze and smiles deviously.

“I can’t wait to meet her, too,” he snickers before pushing my face away and wandering off to get dressed.