Chapter 13
There’s throw-something-at-the-wall angry… and then there’s ‘my mate-who-just-turned-into-a-monster-sized-wolf-and-I’m-probably-starring-in-my-own-personal-horror-movie’ kind of angry.
Guess which one I’m in?
I heard the door before I saw Pierce. He walked in slowly, shoulders loose like he didn’t just shatter my entire understanding of reality an hour ago.
I didn’t even think, my hand moved before my brain caught up. The glass from the nightstand flew toward him like a heat-seeking missile. It exploded against the wall, missing him by inches.
He didn’t duck nor flinch. He just stopped, tilted his head, and smiled like I’d passed a test he’d been waiting for me to take.
“Finally,” he said, voice low, rich with smug approval. “There she is, my fierce little fox.”
My breath came in sharp bursts. “You turned into a damn wolf, Pierce.”
He took a slow, deliberate step forward, hands still casually tucked in his pockets. “And you screamed, tried to run… then froze like a deer in headlights.”
“Yeah,” I snapped, backing up a step. “Because most people panic when the person they’re yelling at turns into a literal monster and tackles them to the floor!”
He grinned wider. “Didn’t hear you complaining when I shifted back and started soothing you like a good mate I am.”
I wanted to slap that smugness right off his face, but instead just clenched my jaw tight. “I wanted to run. I still do.”
“No, you don’t.” His voice dipped, calm and certain. “Because if you really wanted to, you wouldn’t be standing here throwing things. You’d be gone. Until I catch you, of course.”
My chest ached. “You don’t get to decide how I feel.”
“I don’t have to,” he shrugged. “I feel how you feel. That’s what the mated bond is.”
I laughed bitterly. “That’s not a bond. That’s psychological warfare.”
“My transformation doesn’t count as proof? Everything is real, mate.”
“Real? Mate?” I scoffed, still didn’t understand everything.
Am I sure that I’m still in the real world? It’s suffocating me. I want some fresh air. Pierce… who I just recently discovered isn’t just an ordinary man but a werewolf… oh god. I’m crazy.
“This isn’t real,” I said, breath hitching. “This can’t be real. Werewolves? Fated bonds? It’s insanity. I probably passed out and this is some coma-induced fever dream.”
“Still trying to logic your way out of this?” He chuckled, low and maddening. “That’s cute, really.”
I stepped to the side, needing space, needing air—but he moved with me. When I tried to push past him, his hand caught my wrist mid-swing. Gentle. Steady.
His eyes dropped to where our skin touched. Where I could feel the electrifying sensation shoot through my veins. “Your pulse is racing.”
“Because I want to choke you,” I growled. For unraveling me with one stupid touch. For making me feel this way. For ruining my sense of logic with a single touch.
“Kinky. I like it.” He leaned in slightly when his lips tilted into something wicked. “Come on, do it.”
I yanked my hand back, furious with the traitorous heat spiraling through me.
He laughed, unbothered. “Still acting like you didn’t melt the second I pinned you in the club.”
I said nothing. Because silence sometimes screams the truth louder than words. He moved in again, slow and certain, like he had all the time in the world to watch me come undone.
“Don’t,” I warned, but my voice barely held.
“Do you want to take control?” he asked softly, eyes locked on mine. “So do I.”
The backs of my legs hit the bed at the same time I slapped his hands when they reached for me. “I swear to God, if you touch me—”
He caught my wrist again, just long enough to make me feel how steady he was. How steady I wasn’t.
“This isn’t about touching you,” he said. “It’s about feeling you. Letting you feel everything. And I can show you what exactly you’ve been denying.”
Before I could respond, he moved. Fast. I let out a gasp as he grabbed me by the hips, lifted me and threw onto the bed.
The mattress bounced beneath me as I scrambled to sit up—but he was already there, one knee pressed into the sheets, towering over me like some dark god who knew I wasn’t going anywhere.
“Pierce—”
“Quiet,” he said, voice like thunder wrapped in silk.
I opened my mouth to argue, but the words got stuck in my throat when he pulled silk ties—where the hell had those come from?—and grabbed both of my wrists.
His grip wasn’t cruel, but it was firm, demanding. My breath hitched as he dragged my hands above my head, then tied them to the headboard with skilled precision.
“You don’t get to run tonight,” he whispered against my ear, breath hot. “You’re going to take every second of this.”
All arrogance, all precision. He reached out, his hand closing around my throat—firm, commanding. Not actually choking me, but owning. The weight of it made everything feel hotter.
His thumb stroked the hollow of my neck as he looked down at me, eyes gleaming with something animal and possessive.
Pierce’s mouth crashed into mine, stealing my breath, my resistance, my sanity. Then he trailed lower—teeth grazing my throat, tongue flicking against the bond mark with deliberate cruelty.
He knew what that did to me. And he used it, fucker.
“You feel that, little fox?” he murmured. “The way your body responds to mine? That’s not lust, Lyra. That’s our bond. And I’m going to make sure you never confuse it again.”
Then his hand moved—down my belly, fingers slipping beneath the hem of my underwear like he owned the right. My thighs clenched instinctively, but he just laughed.
“Still pretending to resist?” he purred.
One thick finger slid between my folds, slow, teasing. I choked on a moan while my hips lifted without permission.
“You’re soaked,” he said, almost like it offended him. “You want this. You want me.”
His mouth returned to my neck, biting the other side now, almost possessively symmetrical. “Say it.”
I shook my head, lips parted but no words. He pushed two fingers inside, curling expertly, finding that exact spot that made my eyes roll back. His thumb circled my clit in slow, devastating rhythm.
“Say it, Lyra.” I moaned. Whimpered. Bit my lip until it almost bled.
His hand at my throat tightened, just enough to make my breath catch, just enough to make my body light up in panic-laced pleasure. My walls clenched around his fingers.
“Here’s your lesson, little fox.” His hands slid down my sides, claiming everything in their path. “You get nothing until I say so.”
“I fucking hate you,” I gasped.
His grin was feral. “Yet you’ll scream my name anyway.”
Then he moved—fast and smooth—sliding down between my legs and pushing them apart without hesitation. His mouth was on me before I could even process it.
His tongue slid over my clit, slow and sinful. My body jolted. My pussy clenched tight, aching for more.
“F-fuck…” I whimpered.
He moaned against me, tongue working slow circles, then long, deliberate strokes that made my hips lift off the bed. I was panting. Desperate. Then he slid back two fingers inside me deep, smooth, curling just right.
“Oh my! Shit—”
But then he stopped. Every damn time I got close, every time my body tightened and my toes curled, he pulled back. Denied me. Again and again.
“You don’t get to come tonight, sweete,” he said, voice dark silk. “Not until you beg. Not until you break.”
His mouth took over, tongue sliding through my folds, lips wrapping around my clit with a slow, devastating rhythm. I cried out, hips bucking—but he held me down, made me take it, until my muscles tightened, until I hovered on the edge— And then he pulled away again. Again.
“No,” he said softly. “Not yet.”
Tears stung my eyes, a frustrated moan ripping from my throat. “Fucking bastard.”
“Yours ‘bastard’, little fox. As well as you’re mine,” he corrected, “and you’re going to learn what it means to surrender.”
He licked, sucked, fingered me until I was soaked, dripping down my thighs, crying from the edge I couldn’t reach. My pussy clenched around nothing. I was empty. Burning.
When he finally stopped, I was wrecked. Sweaty. Shaking. My arms are weak, wrists raw from pulling at the restraints.
Pierce stood, cool and unbothered, as he dressed. His eyes swept over me, tied up, flushed, wet, and absolutely fucked open without even finishing.
He gave me that look. The one that said ‘you want me to stop, but you never told me to’. Then he walked out. And I stayed there, half-naked.
The worst part? I didn’t want him to stop. And he knew it.
