Jason never bothered asking her name, only insulted her not even trying to hide the venom of her humiliation, even as she carried the weight of being Luna. The title was a crown of thorns, tying her to his world of power and control.
Time alone with her was rare, reserved for when he needed to tame the beast clawing at his insides. He never crossed the line into physical touch, but he found a sick thrill in her torment. Shibari, an art he'd twisted into something cruel, became his weapon. Night after night, he'd bind her, ropes biting into her bruised skin, suspending her like a marionette. Her body hung there, exposed, denied any chance to heal from the last session.
The ropes dug into her, a burning reminder of her captivity, squeezing her ribs until every breath felt like a fight. Her mind screamed for release, but she was trapped—physically, emotionally, a prisoner to his gaze. The constant exposure stripped her down, eroding her sense of self until she felt like nothing but a toy for his twisted whims.
He never took her, though. His pleasure came from watching, from the power of it, his hands clean as he indulged himself. Then he'd turn to his "true" mate, the she-wolf, knowing full well the agony it caused her through their bond—a bond that burned her like acid.
Each session left him drowning in a mix of rage and disgust, hating himself for craving a human so fiercely. The beast inside him wanted her, its hunger a primal drumbeat in his veins, but he refused to cross that final line. It was a war between his dark desires and the control he clung to, a battle that left him teetering on the edge.
Their twisted game played on, a sick dance of pain and power. Jason was caught in his own web, torn between the dominance he wielded and the strange pull of her resilience. The beast roared for her, its need echoing in his core, and he walked a razor's edge, unsure if he'd fall into control or chaos.
As the nights dragged on, his restraint started to crack. The thrill of his cruelty and his affair with the she-wolf began to lose its edge, and the beast grew harder to leash. Desperate, he turned to a witch for answers, hoping for a way to keep his urges in check. Human solutions—pills, condoms—were useless against his nature, and he was running out of options.
To his shock, the witch didn't offer a fix to avoid a hybrid pregnancy. Instead, she leaned forward, her voice low and deliberate. "Breed with her."
The idea made his blood boil. A hybrid? A stain on his pure lycan line? "You're out of your mind," he snapped. "I want a true heir, not some mongrel."
The old witch's lips curled into a knowing smile, her eyes glinting with secrets. "You don't get it, Alpha. She's not just human. She's a conduit, a witch in her own right. Her power's untapped, but it's there."
He stared, his jaw tight. "A witch?"
"She's more than you think," the witch said, setting her tea down with a soft clink. "She could give you a son—pure lycan, but stronger, infused with a power you can't imagine."
His mind reeled. "And her? Can she handle it? Carrying a lycan?"
The witch's smile widened, ancient and unyielding. "She's faced worse than you. If she can stand up to a dragon, a lycan child's nothing."
In that moment, the beast took over, its hunger drowning out reason. He made a vow, though—not to her, but to himself. If this happened, it wouldn't be violation. The beast wanted her gasps to be of ecstasy, not agony. But as the line between control and surrender blurred, he wasn't sure who—or what—was calling the shots anymore.
The witch's words hit him like a drug, shredding the last threads of his self-control. In an instant, he tore out of the rundown cabin, his skin splitting as the wolf inside clawed its way free. He sprinted through the night, the beast driving him toward his compound until he forced himself back into human form, standing naked and raw under the moonlight. Clothes were pointless now—her presence demanded nothing less than his unfiltered self. The need to claim her burned through him, a primal hunger that had him ripping the steel door off its hinges, the barrier to her prison crumbling like paper.
Inside, the darkness swallowed him, broken only by the faint glow of flickering LEDs. His eyes, sharp despite the weeks she'd been trapped in this hellhole. Her voice cut through the shadows, trembling but defiant. "Stay back, monster!" she spat, her words a mix of terror and fire as he closed the distance.
For the first time, he didn't bother with gloves. He wanted her to feel the raw heat of their bond, no barriers. She flinched as he approached, but couldn't run—didn't even try, which threw him off. He took her hand, roughly in his massive grip, and pressed it to his lips, bitting her fingertips like they were a toy. Her scent hit him hard, nothing like fucking peaches, dizzying and addictive.
"Don't be scared," he whispered into the dark, his breath hot against her skin. A shiver ran through her, and he smirked, relishing the power he held over her fear. His pulse pounded, blood rushing south, his body screaming with need.
Her scent was overwhelming- acid, full of fear but alive. He leaned closer, tasting her fingertips, catching the faint metallic tang of blood where her nails had bitten into her palms, a reminder of the pain he'd caused. It only made him hungrier. His tongue traced her wrist, up her arm, until he was staring into her wide, terrified eyes. In the dim light, her face was striking—soft curves he'd somehow missed before. He wasn't fully shifted, but the wolf was there, roaring to claim her, to tear her clothes off and take what was his. She was his, worth more than he could fathom.
She stood frozen, trembling under his gaze, her breath hitching. He leaned in, lips brushing her ear. "You're mine," he murmured. "And I'm going to make sure you know it."
Her tears gleamed in the faint light, and the sight sent a thrill through him. Her fear fed his power, her silent submission a drug he couldn't resist. She shook, holding back sobs, and all he wanted was to consume her—to hear her scream, to feel her writhe under his grip, to own every inch of her.
Her skin felt electric under his touch, fragile yet alive. His eyes narrowed, zeroing in on her like prey. She looked at him, pleading silently, her expression begging him to stop, to hold back the monster she saw in his face. But nothing could stop him now. He wanted to devour her, to taste those full lips that had haunted him for days.
With a quick tug, he pulled her down, his heavy body crashing over hers. His hand slipped under her shirt, fingers grazing her stomach, tracing the curve of her breasts. She gasped, her trembling hands grabbing his wrists, trying to push him away.
"Please, don't…" she whimpered, her voice breaking as she begged him to stop, to leave her be. But her words only stoked the fire in him. He kept going, drawing more gasps from her lips.
"Get away from me!" she cried, her voice raw with panic. Her breathing was ragged, not just from fear but from something else—something that terrified her more than his violence. She was weakening to him, and it scared her to death.
He paused, letting her catch her breath, watching her tremble. Then he resumed, kissing along her collarbone, lingering just enough to pull a sharp cry from her. His hands moved faster, skimming her breasts, her breath hitching as her eyes fluttered shut. His fingers found a nipple, sending a jolt through her body. He took it into his mouth through the fabric, sucking hard, then moved to the other, savoring her faint taste. His teeth, sharper than any human's, grazed her senses, and her cry of pain sent a shiver of pleasure through him. He bit harder, her louder cry making his body pulse with anticipation. His lips brushed the nape of her neck, and she shuddered again, realizing what was coming.
She screamed, thrashing wildly, her limbs tangled in the blankets. His patience snapped. He pulled back, locking eyes with her. "One day, your death will be my greatest high," he growled. "But first, you're giving me a son."
Without hesitation, his fangs sank into her neck, tearing a gash that spilled warm blood down his throat. He drank deeply, the sweet tang filling his senses. The wound closed almost instantly, his mark sealing it shut. He pulled back, licking his lips. "A mating mark makes you ripe," he said, voice low and rough. "You're mine."
Tears streamed down her face as he stared, licking the last drops of blood from her skin. His hunger surged, and with a sudden move, he grabbed her waist, yanking her against him. His arousal pressed into her, her breasts crushing against his chest. With one rip, he tore her clothings open, exposing her skin. He groaned, cupping her breast, the sight driving him wild.
She gasped, staring up at him, tears spilling from her green eyes. His beast took over, and he lowered his mouth to her bare nipple, tongue swirling over the sensitive flesh. She trembled, caught in a trance, her body reacting as he bit down lightly, blood seeping from the wound. Each drop he sucked from her skin pulled a moan from him, and her small whimpers only fueled his desire.
His touch was too much—his hands gripping her waist, his mouth exploring her body. She squirmed, fighting to break free, but her struggle only made him want her more. Her heart pounded, and somewhere deep inside, she felt a flicker of desire, a longing that made her chest ache. His lips moved lower, brushing her stomach, teasing her hip, stopping just short of where she both feared and craved his touch. The torture was unbearable, her body burning with a mix of agony and need. She imagined his mouth there, his bloody lips claiming her, and her thighs trembled. She pushed against him, desperate to escape the sensation, but he wouldn't stop, his seduction relentless. The fire in her core was different—less brutal, almost intoxicating.
"Please…" she moaned, her voice shaky, her body betraying her with every shudder.
The words hit her like a slap. She'd lost. She'd given in, begging him, handing herself over. Her eyes closed, tears falling as she surrendered to the pleasure he could give.
Jason towered over her, his massive frame a dark, looming specter in the dim light. His eyes, burning with a cruel, golden hunger, pinned her to the cold concrete. "Touch yourself tonight, and I'll know," he snarled, his voice a jagged shard of ice, slicing through her. "You won't like what I'll do to you." With that, he turned, his heavy boots pounding the floor as he stalked out, the mangled steel door screeching in his wake. The darkness of her prison swallowed her whole, leaving her alone with the weight of his threat and the inferno blazing between her thighs.
She lay sprawled on the frigid concrete, her torn dress clinging to her sweat-slicked skin like a cruel reminder of her vulnerability. The mark on her neck throbbed, a searing brand of Jason's claim, but it was the molten, pulsating ache in her pussy that devoured her. It wasn't just need—it was a ravenous, living thing, clawing at her insides, throbbing with every heartbeat, demanding release with a ferocity that shredded her sanity. Her breath came in sharp, desperate gasps, her chest heaving as she tried to banish the memory of his hands—rough, possessive, igniting her body in ways she loathed herself for craving. His lips on her skin, his teeth grazing her flesh, his breath hot against her neck—it was all burned into her, fueling the fire that refused to die.
Her hands trembled violently, fingers curling into fists so tight her nails drew blood. His threat echoed in her skull, a relentless drumbeat: *"Touch yourself tonight, and I'll know."* It was a guillotine hanging over her, promising a punishment she couldn't even imagine. But her body didn't care. Her pussy was soaked, swollen, throbbing with a need so intense it felt like it could split her apart. She clenched her thighs together, desperate to dull the ache, but the pressure only made it worse, sending a white-hot jolt of desire through her that ripped a choked, pathetic whimper from her throat.
*No.* She couldn't. She wouldn't. Not after everything Jason had done—the way he'd caged her, bound her, marked her with his sadistic cruelty. How could she want him? The monster who'd shattered her world, who'd forced her to beg like some broken thing? The thought made her stomach churn with self-disgust, a sick, twisting nausea that clashed with the heat pooling in her core. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to block it out, but his scent lingered—sweat, blood, and raw, animalistic power—stoking the flames until her pussy pulsed harder, wetter, begging for release.
She curled into a ball, arms wrapped around her knees, pressing herself into the cold floor as if it could anchor her. It didn't. The ache was relentless, a molten pulse that made her thighs quiver uncontrollably. Her pussy throbbed with every aching second, slickness seeping through the tattered remains of her dress, coating her inner thighs. Her fingers twitched, hovering near her waist, itching to slide down and end the torment. *Just a touch,* a treacherous voice whispered. *He won't know.* But the fear was a vice around her chest—what if he did? What if he smelled it, sensed it through that cursed bond? She pictured him bursting back in, fangs gleaming, claws ready to rip her to shreds. The terror made her heart race, but it only intensified the ache, her pussy growing wetter, the need clawing at her like a beast of its own.
"Stop it," she whispered, voice trembling, barely audible. She dug her nails deeper into her palms, the sharp sting of blood a desperate attempt to drown out the heat. But it was useless. Her pussy was a furnace, throbbing with a need so fierce it drove her to the edge of madness. She hated herself for it, for the way her body craved him, for the way it replayed his touch—his tongue tracing her skin, his teeth sinking into her, the way he'd pushed her to the brink of something she both feared and wanted. *He's a monster,* she screamed inside, but the words were swallowed by the pulsing, dripping ache that consumed her.
She stumbled to her feet, gasping, and pressed her back against the cold wall, praying the chill would snap her out of it. It didn't. Her hands shook violently, brushing the edge of her torn dress, and she froze, heart pounding, Jason's threat echoing like a death knell. *He'll know.* She slammed her hand against the wall, the rough concrete scraping her knuckles raw, but the pain did nothing to dull the fire. Her pussy throbbed harder, slick and swollen, the wetness now a constant reminder of her body's betrayal. "No," she gasped, her voice breaking in the empty room. She couldn't let him win, couldn't give him that power.
But the ache was unbearable, a molten, pulsing torment that made her thighs tremble and her breath catch in her throat. It was worse than any pain he'd inflicted, a cruel, all-consuming fire that threatened to burn her alive. Her mind was a battlefield—fear warring with desire, shame clashing with a need so raw it felt like it could tear her apart. She'd begged him, hadn't she? "Please." The memory was a knife in her chest, a fresh wave of self-loathing crashing over her. How could she want him? The man who'd broken her, who'd turned her into this quivering, aching wreck?
Time dissolved into a haze, minutes stretching into what felt like hours. The ache in her pussy was a living thing, pulsing with every heartbeat, her slickness now a slick pool between her thighs, soaking the concrete beneath her. Her resolve crumbled, eroded by the relentless need that drove her to madness. She slid to the floor, tears streaming down her face, and finally gave in. Her hand slipped beneath the tattered dress, fingers trembling as they brushed her swollen, dripping pussy. A soft, shaky moan escaped her lips, a mix of curiosity and fear, as she touched herself slowly, cautiously, terrified of Jason's threat but unable to resist any longer. The sensation was a fleeting spark of pleasure, a whisper of relief that made her breath hitch, her pussy clenching with hope.
But it wasn't enough. She pressed harder, fingers circling her clit, tentative at first, her movements slow as she tested the boundaries of her fear. The pleasure was there, a teasing flicker, but as she tried to chase it, moving faster, it slipped away like smoke. Her pussy throbbed harder, growing wetter with every touch, the slickness coating her fingers, dripping down her thighs, but the release she craved stayed out of reach. She whimpered, her movements growing frantic, hips bucking as she tried to force the pleasure to crest. But it wouldn't. The more she touched herself, the hornier she became, her pussy pulsing with an agonizing need that only intensified, leaving her more desperate, more frustrated.
"Please," she gasped, voice raw, tears mixing with sweat as she pushed herself harder. Her fingers were slick, plunging deeper, rubbing her clit with desperate need, but the pleasure twisted into torment, a cruel cycle that left her panting. Her pussy was soaking wet now, throbbing with every aching second, the slickness a constant reminder of her body's betrayal. She hated herself for this, for wanting Jason, for the way her body screamed for him despite his cruelty. Her mind replayed his touch—his lips on her neck, his teeth sinking into her flesh, the way he'd ignited her—and it only made her wetter, the ache spiraling into a maddening torment that clawed at her sanity.
She sobbed, her hand moving frantically, fingers plunging in and out, circling her clit with a desperate rhythm, but it was no use. The pleasure built, teasing her with the promise of release, but it stayed just beyond her grasp, a cruel, mocking taunt. Her pussy pulsed harder, swollen and dripping, each touch making her hornier, more desperate, but never enough to push her over the edge. She was drowning in it—the heat, the shame, the terror of Jason's return. Every stroke made her wetter, her thighs slick with her arousal, but the release wouldn't come. It was torture, a relentless cycle of need and frustration that threatened to break her.
She tried everything—slow, deliberate touches, then fast, frantic ones, her fingers slick with her own wetness, her hips bucking wildly. She pressed her thighs together, hoping the pressure would help, but it only made her pussy throb harder, the ache a white-hot inferno that consumed her. Her moans turned to cries, raw and broken, as she pushed herself to the brink, chasing a release that refused to come. The self-disgust was a crushing weight, her mind screaming at her to stop, but she couldn't—her body demanded more, demanded him, and the realization made her sob harder, tears soaking her face as she fought the losing battle.
"Please," she begged, voice hoarse, not sure if she was pleading with herself, with Jason, or with some cruel god who'd let this happen. Her hips bucked, her fingers frantic, but the edge stayed out of reach, a torment that left her trembling. Her pussy was a pulsing, dripping mess, the wetness pooling beneath her, but every touch only made the ache growing into a wild, gnawing thing that made her want to scream. She was trapped in it—her desire, her shame, the terror of his threat. Every stroke, every pulse, every shudder pushed her deeper into madness, her body screaming for a release she couldn't find.
Hours dragged on, the night stretching into an endless purgatory. She tried again and again, her fingers raw, her body shaking with exhaustion, but the release never came. She changed positions, curling up, then sprawling out, then pressing herself against the wall, hoping something—anything—would tip her over the edge, each pulse a reminder of Jason's hold over her. She hated him, hated herself, but the ache was stronger, a cruel master that refused to let her go.
As the first faint light of dawn crept through the small, grimy window, she was still there, slumped against the wall, her hand limp between her thighs, slick with her own arousal. Her body trembled, exhausted, her pussy still pulsing with a relentless, unfulfilled need. She'd fought all night, battling the ache, the shame, the fear, but there was no relief, only the crushing weight of her own desire and the disgust that came with it. She buried her face in her hands, tears soaking her skin, and let out a shattered, desperate wail. The sun rose, casting its cruel light over her broken form, leaving her trapped in a prison of her own body, with no escape from the maddening, torturous ache that had consumed her all night.