A low, throaty moan spilled into the silence as full lips closed around the thick base of Hansen's cock.
The dark-haired she-wolf, Lira, worked him with deliberate, slowness, tongue swirling along the underside in long, wet drags that made his hips twitch.
Hansen's eyes remained closed, but the corner of his mouth curved in wicked satisfaction. He could feel every flutter of her throat when she took him deeper, every vibration of the pleased little hum she let escape around his girth. The silver-blonde, Elara, lay curled against his side, her soft breasts pressed to his ribs, nipples still peaked and rosy from earlier play. She traced idle circles around one of his flat nipples with a fingernail, watching her friend's mouth slide up and down with heavy-lidded fascination.
At the foot of the bed, the third woman, Nyra, had draped herself across his calves. Her tongue flicked teasingly against the arch of his foot, then dragged upward along his ankle in slow, deliberate licks, tasting the salt of his skin as though he were some rare vintage she intended to savor to the last drop.
The air was thick with them: the musk of spent arousal, the warm animal scent of three aroused she-wolves and one utterly unrepentant alpha.
Hansen finally cracked his eyes open, pale gold irises glowing faintly in the dying candlelight. He reached down, threading long fingers through Lira's hair and he tugged gently, drawing her off him with a wet, obscene pop. A thin string of saliva connected her swollen lips to the glistening head of his cock before it broke.
"You're insatiable" he rumbled, voice rough from hours of growling commands and pleasure-soaked curses.
Lira licked her lips, eyes glittering with challenge. "Says the prince who fucked us until dawn."
Elara laughed softly against his chest, the sound vibrating through him. She slid lower, pressing open-mouthed kisses down the ridges of his abdomen, following the dark trail of hair that led to where he ached most.
"We're only giving you what you deserve, my prince" she whispered, breath ghosting over the slick crown before her tongue darted out to taste.
Hansen hissed through his teeth, hips lifting instinctively. "Careful, little moon. Keep that up and the council will have to wait."
Nyra crawled higher, claws lightly scoring the insides of his thighs as she settled between his spread legs. "Let them wait," she purred
"The kingdom can spare you for one more sunrise."
Before he could answer, the heavy oak door swung inward with a deliberate creak.
Grant did not knock.
The beta stepped across the threshold, gray eyes sweeping the image in front of him in one merciless glance: the prince sprawled like a god among offerings, cock still flushed and glistening, three naked she-wolves draped over him in various states of worship, furs kicked aside, wine stains across priceless parchment.
The women froze.
Grant's jaw clenched so hard a muscle ticked beneath the scarred skin.
"Out" he said. The word was like a whip.
Nyra snarled softly in instinctive protest, but one look at the beta's face silenced her. Elara slid off Hansen with reluctant grace, gathering a fallen silk shift. Lira rose last, slow and deliberately letting her gaze linger on the prince's body as though memorizing every inch before she moved.
As they passed Grant, the air became tense. He did not step aside. They were forced to brush against him while his expression remained carved from stone.
"Until the next moon, my prince" lira murmured
The door thudded shut behind them leaving only the alpha prince and his beta.
Hansen propped himself up on both elbows, utterly unashamed, cock still hard and flushed against his stomach, glistening in the faint dawn light that had begun to bleed through the arched windows.
"Grant" he drawled, lazy amusement curling through every syllable. "You're interrupting my breakfast."
The beta's nostrils flared, catching every layered scent in the room: sex, submission, dominance, wolf, wine.
"You have council in less than an hour," Grant said, each word measured and cold. "A patrol report, three days overdue. Northern border skirmishes are growing bolder. And this…" His gray gaze raked over Hansen's naked, battle-scarred body, lingering on the evidence of the night's excesses. "...is becoming legend instead of discretion."
Hansen chuckled, low and dark. He reached down, wrapping a loose fist around his still-rigid length, giving himself one slow, deliberate stroke as he held Grant's stare. The movement was shameless and provocative.
"Jealous, old friend?" he asked softly.
Grant's eyes narrowed to slits. "I am not here to play games."
"No?" Hansen tilted his head, golden eyes glittering. "You barge in while I'm being thoroughly worshipped, order my companions away like disobedient pups and stand there looking like you've swallowed glass. If that isn't jealousy, enlighten me."
The beta took one step forward.
"I am here because someone must remember what you seem determined to forget. You are not merely a rutting wolf in heat. You are the Alpha Prince of Avaint. Heir to the Moon Throne. The moment your father's heart stops, every alpha in the nine territories will look to you and they will see either a king… or a libertine who cannot control his own prick."
Hansen's grin sharpened into something feral. He released himself and swung his legs over the edge of the bed, rising to his full height in one fluid motion. Naked, aroused and completely at ease, he closed the distance until only a handspan separated them. The scent of sex clung to him like a second skin.
"Then look," Hansen said quietly, "Look at what they will see. Strength. Hunger. No fear. No shame. I take what is offered because I can. Because they want to be taken. Because the moon herself sings in my blood and I will not muffle her song to appease frightened old wolves who think desire is a weakness."
Grant did not retreat. He never did.
"Desire is not the weakness," he said "The refusal to temper it is. You cross pack lines. You bed mated wolves. You leave broken bonds and angry alphas in your wake. One day, one of those alphas will decide your recklessness is worth war."
Hansen studied him for a long moment. Then, unexpectedly, he reached out and gripped the back of Grant's neck. The touch was warm, familiar, the same grip they'd used on battlefields when pulling each other from the brink.
"I trust you to keep those wars from my door" Hansen murmured. "As you always have."
Grant's throat tightened. For a heartbeat, something raw flickered behind the slate-gray eyes… Was it loyalty, frustration, or something deeper?… something he buried beneath duty every single day.
"I will keep them from your door," he said roughly. "Even if it means standing between you and your own damn ruin."
Hansen's thumb brushed the edge of Grant's jaw once before he released him and stepped back.
"Then let us dress and face the council" he said, turning toward the wardrobe where fresh clothes waited. "Before they send a search party and discover their prince still smells like sex."
Grant exhaled through his nose, shoulders lowering.
As Hansen pulled on black trousers that clung to powerful thighs, he glanced back over one broad shoulder, smirk returning.
"And Grant?"
The beta lifted a brow.
"Next time…" Hansen's voice dipped low, "…do knock."
Grant's jaw flexed again, but he said nothing.
He simply turned on his heel and strode toward the door, leaving the prince to finish dressing amid the lingering echoes of pleasure and the promise of trouble yet to come.