4

DECLAN

I hated this. Hated the fact that I was an omega now more than ever. I pulled against the chains holding me down, hoping that it’ll break or something, but none of that was happening. I wasn’t at my full strength, but I knew that even if I was, these binds weren’t going to budge.

A part of me screamed to kill him—to tear him limb from limb with my claws, to drive a knife into the smug bastard's chest and actually complete the job of killing him. But my body, the traitorous, untrustworthy shit, melted at his touch. It hurt for him, pulsing in rhythm with each stroke of his fingers on my burning skin.

He was right. The heat was suffocating me and if I didn’t let him complete the bind, I was going to die.

Pathetic. I really didn’t envision myself dying in such a humiliating way.

I despised him for it. Despised that my pride had to fight against instincts that didn’t care about who he was or what he’d done to my family. The only thing my body understood at that very moment was that he was a virile Alpha and it craved him.

Badly.

The chains rattled above me, cutting into my wrists as I strained against the sheets. My body ached, my cock throbbed, and my hole clutched at nothing. The emptiness there was driving me crazy and I was panting, sweat beading on my skin, stray strands of my brown hair sticking to my face. My legs trembled with unfulfilled need.

He'd left me like this. Spread and exposed. Taunting me from across the room, and smoking that damned cigar as if this was some fucking game.

The sweet taste of the cigar lingered on my tongue and my hole clenched involuntarily.

"Bastard," I snarled.

Rhett turned and walked towards me again, the cigar jammed into his mouth, his shirt open to display a hard, scarred chest and abs chiseled from hard work and war. His green eyes shone softly in the dim light, feral and hungry.

"You're drooling, little wolf," he said, crouching in front of me.

A low growl escaped my lips.

He drew the cigar from his mouth, and held it to mine again.

"Take a hit."

I hesitated, my lips trembling and then I took the cigar and inhaled.

Sweet and bitter smoke flooded my lungs and my head became foggier than it already was.

He smiled, rubbing a finger down my jaw.

"You hate me," he said. "Say it."

"I hate you."

"Good. That makes this more enjoyable." And then he kissed me. Hard.

I nipped his bottom lip.

He growled and shoved me back onto the bed again. His hand wrapping around my throat in a dominant and forceful hold that made my dick weep a little more.

"If you want to play," he growled, his voice low, "you'd better learn to take it too."

And then I felt two fingers in me, stretching me wide open and fucking me with brutal thrusts that had me pushing my ass into his hands.

Uncontrollable moans escaped my lips. He spat on my asshole, rubbing the wetness around the nubby hole and then, I felt it.

No warning.

No hesitation.

The head of his dick rubbed against my hole and he began to push in. I reluctantly opened up to him. I wasn’t used to this intrusion, at least not one of his size.

He kept pushing, harder and harder, until finally, I felt him enter me completely. My eyes rolled to the back of my head in unadulterated pleasure.

I couldn’t concentrate on anything, just the wild, brutal thrust of his cock breaking me open. I screamed—not in pain, not exactly—in shock. In rage. In unimaginable need.

My back arched into him despite my protests. My hips rocked forward, meeting him thrust for thrust. He clamped his hands on my hips and slammed into me again, harder, deeper. The bed creaked between us, the headboard slamming into the wall as he took me with every thrust.

"You feel that?" he growled. "You feel how perfect you are around me?"

"Shut up!"

He laughed and pulled out all the way.

I shrieked in rage.

"Beg."

"No!"

He bit down on my chin, turning my face around to look into his eyes.

"Tell me, Declan. Tell me you want it."

"I want to kill you," I said with a sarcastic smile. My hole clenched around nothing and my ire increased. I needed him back in me.

He kissed me once more, one filled with tongue and teeth as we fought for dominance.

And then I felt the chains drop to the bed as he maneuvered me onto my front and drove into me once more. I screamed this time, my head crashing into the pillow as he buried deep his cock deep, the head rubbing against my prostate until I was writhing in unbridled pleasure.

"Rhett!" I screamed out.

"There he is," he growled lowly, before increasing his pace.

I clawed the sheets. I bit the pillow. I did whatever I could not to give in.

But I was lost.

My orgasm ripped through me like a blade. It hit me with a ferocity that I wasn't prepared for. Cum covered the sheets below me, a white stain against the silk red. I sobbed with the fervor of it, with the shame, with the humiliation.

He didn’t stop.

He went on, even as I trembled and whimpered and pleaded in broken sounds. He fucked me through it, biting my shoulder, leaving possessive bruises on my hips.

And when he finally came, he did so deep inside me, with a growl like that of a feral beast in my ear. I felt the bond spark anew and it was like lightning at the edges of my eyes. It tethered us tighter.

I didn’t want us close.

He collapsed over me, panting, his mouth skimming the base of my neck.

We didn't say anything for several minutes. Only the sound of our breathing, and the softly clinking chains as I struggled not to let out a scream of rage.

The worst thing was that this was going to go on for a while until the bond was completely created. I could already feel another heat.

At last, he shifted and rolled off me, releasing my wrists. I wrapped myself up in a ball, pulling the covers over my body.

He didn't touch me. He just sat on the edge of the bed, and took another drag off the discarded cigar after relighting it.

"Get some rest," he said.

"Don't talk to me."

He didn't say anything.

I stared at the ceiling, my heart racing, my body sore, my soul shattered. And all I could think was:

I need to escape.

But a part of me thought something worse. Something I could help but think.

I want him again.