C2

Briallen Wintermere lies naked and bound on the wide bed inside the master suite of Dreadmoor Mansion. Soft silk restraints hold her wrists and ankles. A blindfold covers her eyes. Her plus-size body, short at four-foot-five, dark skin gleaming under the low lamp, stays still while her breathing stays quick.

Caelor Dreadmoor steps into the room. He wears the clear-lens glasses he keeps for show. The frames sit on his nose while he watches her. Muscular frame fills the doorway. He takes the glasses off, folds one temple then the other, and sets them aside.

“Briallen.”

She stiffens.

“Caelor? Is that you?”

“Yes. It’s me.”

Her full breasts rise faster. The dried marks of his earlier release still coat her dark nipples. He walks to the edge of the bed and sits. One hand strokes her arm.

“Stay quiet. I tied you so you would not thrash and hurt yourself. The blindfold was so you could rest. I am going to free you now.”

He loosens the silk at her wrists first, then her ankles. He rubs the circulation back into her limbs. Her hands fly up to cover her heavy breasts. They spill past her fingers. He almost smiles.

“Good girl. Keep still while I take the blindfold off.”

The cloth slides away. She blinks against the light. Wide dark eyes find his face.

“Where am I? What is happening?”

“Drink this.” He holds out a glass of water and two pills. She swallows without argument. He lets one of her tight curls wind around his finger, then lets it spring free.

“You have always been careful. Last night at the Wintermere graduation gala that boy Garran Hollowclaw put something in your drink. He meant to knock you out and take what he wanted. I stopped him. Torsten knows. He agreed I should bring you here until the drug cleared your system. You fought while it still worked in you, so I removed your clothes and restrained you for safety. The blindfold helped you sleep through the worst of it.”

Tears gather at the corners of her eyes. She keeps trying to shield her body, twisting her short frame as if that could hide the full curves from him.

“And while you slept I stroked myself over you and finished across these.” His gaze drops to her marked nipples.

Color floods up her neck and into her cheeks. She freezes.

Caelor leans closer. Voice drops.

“Tell me, Briallen. Do you want me to return the favor? Do you want to rub that soft little cunt all over me until you come?”

Briallen Wintermere gripped the silk sheet tightly against her chest, her heart hammering against her ribs inside the Alpha's Moon Chamber.

"Alpha Caelor, I do not understand what is happening," Briallen whispered, her black skin flushed as she stared up at the imposing man standing at the edge of the carved oak bed.

"It is just Caelor now, Briallen," Alpha Caelor Dreadmoor said, his deep voice carrying the unyielding authority of the Dreadmoor Pack leader. "You belong to my territory now. You want to submit to your Alpha, do you not, my sweet girl?"

A shiver ran down Briallen's spine as she adjusted her posture, her plus-size body trembling under his intense gaze. Standing at four-foot-five, she felt completely enveloped by his massive 5.8-foot frame. "Of course I do. I just do not understand why my father signed those pack agreements at the Moon Ascension Celebration."

Reaching for the edge of the sheet, Caelor began to pull it back, his jaw tightening when she instinctively tried to hold it in place. He paused, slowly reaching up to fold his clear-lens glasses closed, one temple at a time, before slipping them into his tailored suit jacket. The harmless, mild-mannered mask vanished instantly, leaving only the predatory heat of a ruthless Alpha.

"You trust your Alpha, do you not?" Caelor asked, stepping closer until his knees brushed the edge of the mattress.

"More than anything," Briallen breathed, her core throbbing with a sudden, overwhelming surge of heat.

"Then let me take care of you," Caelor growled, his hand reaching out to cupping her jaw, his thumb pressing firmly against her full lips. "No more running from the mate bond. No more pretending you belong to anyone else in the Wintermere Ancestral Lodge."

"Caelor, please," she gasped, her hands shaking as she felt the sheer warmth radiating from his broad, muscular chest.

"Say it, Briallen," Caelor commanded, his voice dropping an octave as his hand slid down her throat, over her collarbone, and settled possessively over her heavy breast. "Tell me you want your Alpha to mark you."

"I want you to mark me, Caelor," she confessed, her voice thick with desperate arousal as her body yielded completely to his possessive touch.

Caelor smirked, leaning down to capture her mouth in a bruising, possessive kiss that tasted of rich scotch and absolute dominance. His tongue breached her lips, taking total command, while his free hand pinned both of her wrists above her head against the headboard. She moaned directly into his mouth, her nipples hardening to painful peaks against his chest.

When he finally broke the kiss, he trailed his lips down the column of her throat, leaving slick, wet marks along her dark skin. "Elswyth Thornfield and the rest of the pack think they can scheme behind my back, but they do not know what I have waiting for me in this chamber," Caelor dark-talked against her skin, his hand sliding lower, parting her thick thighs with effortless strength.

"They said... Elswyth said you were only using the Wintermere alliance for resources," Briallen panted, her eyes flashing with a mix of lingering hurt and consuming lust.

"Elswyth is nothing to this pack," Caelor growled, his middle finger tracing the soaking wet seam of her lower lips, making her back arch off the mattress. "You are my Luna. Your heat, your tight body, your bloodline—it all belongs to Dreadmoor."

Briallen let out a sharp cry as his fingers pressed deeper, finding the sensitive bundle of nerves at her center. The sensory overload made her mind go completely blank, the overwhelming pulse between her legs threatening to tear right through her.

"Look at me, Briallen," Caelor barked softly, asserting his Alpha command. "Open those pretty eyes and look at who is making you drip like this."

She forced her eyes open, locking onto his intense gaze. "Caelor... it hurts... it aches so much."

"I know it does, baby girl," he murmured, his thumb applying relentless, circular pressure against her clit until her inner walls clamped down tight in a violent, shivering climax. She screamed his name into the quiet chamber, her entire body shaking as the wave of pleasure crashed over her.

Before she could even catch her breath, Caelor shifted his heavy body over hers, his broad chest pressing her back down into the plush mattress. His hand reached into his trousers, freeing his thick, throbbing length, the hot crown gliding through her slick heat.

"Caelor, wait—" Briallen gasped, her hands clutching at his shoulders.

"No more waiting," Caelor growled into her ear, the tip of his cock pressing directly against her tight, untouched entrance. "You are going to carry the next Dreadmoor heir, Briallen, starting tonight."