They say power changes people. No one talks about how people change power. Because Pierce Leneghan? Still terrifying.
Still walks like he owns every building he steps into and everyone in it. Still gives that dead-eyed stare that could make a grown Alpha flinch. But lately… when I’m around? He’s different. Barely.
Not enough for anyone to call him out, but I see it. The way he pauses, the way he listens and the way he looks at me like he’s trying not to ruin whatever this is.
The pack notices too. The first time it happened, I was sitting in on some strategy meeting with too many egos and not enough caffeine. I was in the corner, pretending to care about logistics and port names and something about “secured lanes.”
I zoned out by the second bullet point.
Then Pierce turned to me, dead serious. “What’s your take?”
I blinked. “On… what?”
“The eastern route,” he said. “You were listening.” Spoiler: I wasn’t. But my brain kicked in, thank God.
“Uh, yeah. That distribution line’s a setup. You bottleneck at that port, one random cop and boom, everything’s gone.” Dom’s head snapped toward me like I’d just confessed to murder. Matteo choked on his drink.
Pierce? He just nodded once. “Fix the route. She’s right.”
‘She’s right’. No argument, no follow-up. Just said it like it was fact.
I swear, the entire table paused like they couldn’t compute the idea of me being listened to. But that’s when it hit me. He’s changing. And so am I.
Later that night, we were out on the back terrace, feet on chairs, plates half-eaten, wine glasses still mostly full. Just us. No guards. No expectations. Just weird, unsettling… calm.
He leaned back, elbow draped over the chair like this wasn’t some huge turning point in our personal war zone.
“Something’s different,” he said, casually. “You’re not staring at the exits anymore.”
“Maybe I’m tired of running,” I muttered, half-joking. Then I looked at him and realized I meant it.
He poured me another glass of wine without asking. Fancy bottle. Probably cost more than my rent.
I looked down at my hands, then back at him. “I’ll stand beside you.” He went totally still.
“As Luna,” I added, voice quiet but steady. “I’m not saying I know what the hell I’m doing. I don’t know all the rules. I don’t know how to act like them, talk like them, whatever the Luna checklist is, I’m probably flunking it.”
He just kept staring at me.
“But I’m not going anywhere,” I said. “I’m not running.”
Pierce didn’t do the dramatic sigh. He didn’t get misty-eyed or give some cheesy speech. That’s not him.
He just stood up, stepped in front of me, grabbed my face and kissed me. Like something inside him snapped. His hands were rough, tight on my jaw like he needed to make sure I wouldn’t vanish.
My wine glass hit the table with a dull thud. I didn’t care.
“You’re mine,” he breathed against my lips. “I knew you would be. I’ve been fucking waiting, burning, for this.”
“Don’t push it,” I muttered, but kissed him back even harder.
His body moved with lethal precision. A man who didn’t take, he claimed. His hands were under my thighs when effortlessly lifted me and settled on his lap, while my legs locked around his waist on instinct.
Then his hand slid between us, searching and finding my slick heat like it was second nature. Rough fingers parted me, stroking slowly and deep, making my thighs tighten and hips roll in helpless rhythm.
He chuckled darkly against my skin. “You’re already soaked for me.”
“Shut up,” I gasped, but the words barely carried.
“You say that,” he murmured, voice thick with heat, “but you keep grinding against me like you’ll die if I don’t fuck you right now.” My answer was a hard bite to his shoulder. He groaned—deep and guttural, hips twitching forward. “Fuck, Lyra.”
Then he pulled my panties aside, lined himself up, and paused—just enough to make me curse him.
“Tell me you want this, little fox,” he whispered into my throat, voice reverent, like this was more than just a body he was claiming.
“Pierce,” I gasped. “If you stop, I’ll fucking kill you,” I snapped, and that was it.
He growled, deep, dangerous, unhinged, and slammed his mouth back onto mine, tongue fucking in like he owned it. His kiss was violent, punishing, nothing romantic.
He bit my lip. I tasted my own blood and moaned.
“You don’t get to run now,” he snarled into my mouth. “You fucking said ‘yes’. You’re mine, Lyra. Mine to touch. Mine to fuck. Mine to break if I want.”
His hands tore at my shirt, yanked it over my head, bra ripped down with zero care. His mouth latched onto my nipple, teeth grazing rough, tongue lashing until I arched and cursed.
“Fuck, Pierce—”
“Say it again,” he growled. “Say my name when I wreck you.”
“Pierce,” I moaned. He dropped me onto the dining table like a toy he couldn’t wait to play with. My panties were gone in seconds, Pierce dragged them off and shoved my legs open like he was starving.
“You like it when I’m like this, don’t you?” He shoved two fingers inside me, rough and deep. “You get wet knowing I’d burn the world for you? Knowing I’d rip out anyone’s throat just for looking at you?”
“Yes— Fuck, yes,” I cried. He yanked his belt open, pants dropped, and his cock sprang free, thick, heavy, angry hard.
“I should make you beg,” he muttered, hovering over me. “I should make you scream for it.”
“Then do it,” I taunted. “Or are you all talking?” That earned me another growl, this one feral.
He grabbed my throat, not choking, just holding. Dominating. “Careful, baby. I’ll fuck you so hard you won’t remember your own fucking name.”
I smirked. “Try me.”
He thrust into me in one smooth, brutal push. My head hit the table surface with a soft thud, and I cried out—half moan, half shock—as he filled me completely. He was thick and deep, unforgivingly stretching me to the edge of pain and pleasure in one motion.
“Holy fuck,” I breathed, eyes fluttering.
His hands cupped my hips, holding me steady as he began to move—hard, precise thrusts that made my entire body jerk with each impact against the table.
“Goddamn,” he growled, voice shaking, “you feel like heaven and sin wrapped in one tight fucking grip.”
I moaned, lips parted, brain short-circuiting as the rhythm built, relentless and consuming. And still—he kissed me. Between thrusts and gasps, his mouth found mine over and over again, pulling me under like a riptide I didn’t want to escape.
“That’s right,” he growled when I tightened around him, fucking me so deep I couldn’t think. “I’ll ruin you for anyone else. I’ll brand this pussy with my cock until it only remembers me.”
I was shaking, legs trembling, nails digging into his arms. He held on, dragging it out, wringing every second from my pleasure until my breath nothing but desperate gasps, my mind a haze of heat and Pierce and now.
“Pierce—” I choked.
He leaned in, lips brushing my ear. “Come for me, my Luna. Show me what I fucking do to you.”
That word—spoken like a vow, a title, a prayer—broke me.
My body convulsed around him, pleasure slamming through me like a wave breaking against stone. I cried out, voice raw, shaking with how hard I came, fingernails dragging down his back, needing to mark him in return.
He didn’t stop and kept going, fucking me through it, chasing his own release until he slammed in and came with a vicious groan, teeth sinking into my shoulder like another claim.
“Mine,” he growled again. “Forever.”
We stayed like that—panting, trembling, bodies slick with sweat and release, still wrapped around each other like we weren’t sure how to let go.
And all I could think now—blood buzzing, pussy wrecked, body limp—was no matter how fucked up it was… I wanted him.
