I want you gentle

~I WANT YOU GENTLE~

I’m sprawled across the bed, silk sheets tangled around my legs, my body warm, open, waiting for him so we can consummate our wedding.

But Damon doesn’t come.

Minutes bleed into an hour.

My excitement curdles into restlessness, then into impatience and anger.

I sit up. Then stand. Then pace.

My bare feet sink into the plush rug as I walk in circles, the sheer nightie clinging to my skin like a reminder of how foolish I feel. Pathetically hoping.

I finally grab a robe and storm out of the room.

The hallway is quiet, too quiet for a wedding night in a pack palace.

One of Damon’s men stands guard near the staircase. He stiffens when he sees me, bowing slightly.

“What does the alpha’s mate need?” he ask.

Is it just me, or was that a hint of disrespect in his voice? I wonder if he truly sees me, or just the title he's forced to serve.

“Have you seen my husband?” I ask, trying to keep my voice steady while my eyes search the corridor.

He avoids my gaze for a second too long.

“Not really,” he says, then adds quickly, “You should go back to the room. The Alpha will return soon… wherever he is.”

Wherever he is.

The words echo in my head, cold and hollow.

I glance down the dim hallway, my instincts prickling, a strange knot forming in my stomach.

“Hm. Who leaves his bride on their wedding night?” I mutter under my breath.

I try to move past him, but he steps in front of me, blocking the hallway.

I lift my chin. “What do you think you’re doing?”

He stiffens, eyes lowering slightly. “I’m sorry, but I can’t let you out. The Alpha gave instructions.”

A bitter laugh slips from my lips. “Well, he should have told me that I’m here to be a prisoner, not his wife. Ugh.”

His jaw tightens, but he doesn’t move.

“What’s your name?” I ask, studying his face.

“I’m Alec, the Beta of the Moon Pack.”

I nod slowly. I see.

Telling him to let me out would be useless. And there’s no way I’m forcing my way past him—not with all that muscle and that soldier-like loyalty stamped into his posture.

So I stare at him and smile, letting him think I’ve given up. Letting him think he’s in control.

“Fine. I’ll go back and wait for him,” I say lightly.

Alec nods and steps aside, satisfied.

I walk back down the hallway, my steps calm.

The moment I step into the room, the silence doesn't just break—it shatters.

I slam the door hard enough to echo through the modern villa, the sound bouncing off glass walls and marble floors.

My chest heaves, anger burning under my skin.

So this is it. This is what being married to an Alpha actually means.

A luxury cage.

I glance around the room, then walk toward the wide glass window. The city sprawls beneath me, lights fading into the early dawn. My stomach drops when I realize how high up we are.

Yeah… no way I’m jumping from here.

Even if I’m a werewolf, I’m not testing gravity tonight.

I shake my head, stepping back.

Okay, next plan. Sneak out later.

But first… I’m exhausted.

The wedding, the pack, the vows, the pressure—it all finally crashes on me. I sink onto the bed, my body heavy, and within minutes, sleep pulls me under.

********

The next morning.

I wake up to the faint warmth of another presence.

My heart stutters.

He’s here.

Alpha Damon is lying beside the bed, not on it—like he fell asleep on the couch or the edge of the mattress and didn’t bother to move.

His suit jacket is gone, his shirt slightly unbuttoned, his dark hair messy in a way that looks unfairly perfect.

I quietly shift closer, studying him.

His lashes are long. His jaw is sharp. His face, even in sleep, looks dangerous and calm—like a storm pretending to be peaceful.

I lift my hand slowly, my fingertip hovering over his lips.

Just curiosity. Just… temptation.

The moment my finger almost touches him, his eyes snap open.

Sharp.

I jerk back in shock, my heart slamming into my ribs.

He looks straight at me.

And for a second, neither of us speaks.

I turn my head dramatically, like I’m not affected—but why am I even acting shy?

I look back at him.

His gaze is dark, intense, predatory. Like he’s already claimed me in ways words can’t describe.

“Where did you go last night?” I ask, my voice calm but firm.

He doesn’t respond. Then, his hand is on me—clamping around my waist and jerking me toward him. I stumble back onto the bed, gasping as the impact knocks the wind out of me.

“Were you waiting for me all night?” he murmurs, his voice low, dangerous.

My throat tightens. My body betrays me instantly.

“N—not like I was waiting,” I stutter. Why is it so hard to lie to him?

He flips me so my back is against his chest, his presence overwhelming, heat radiating through me. His lips hover near my neck, not touching, just threatening to.

“You wanted this,” he whispers, his breath sending a shiver down my spine.

I hate how true that feels.

“I was just thinking we could have a couple night,” I murmur, embarrassed by my own honesty.

His hands move fast, impatient, tugging at the thin fabric of my nightie. The material tears slightly under his grip, and panic flares through me.

“Stop.”

He freezes instantly.

The room goes silent.

I pull away, clutching the torn fabric to my chest, my heart racing like I just challenged a storm.

You don’t get to touch me like that,” I whisper, steadying my voice. “I am your wife. If you can’t be gentle, then keep your hands off me.”

He stares at me, genuinely confused, like no one has ever drawn that line with him before.

“You waited all night for this,” he says, voice low, edged with arrogance. “And now I’m willing to give it to you, you say no?”

“It’s my body,” I reply calmly, lifting my chin. “I can change my mind whenever I want.”

His jaw tightens.

“Well, you’re my mate,” he snaps, stepping closer. “And when I tell you to spread your legs, you do it. Now get on the bed.”

My heart pounds, but I don’t move.

“No. So you want to have me by force?” I challenge, my voice steady, even though my pulse is racing.

For a moment, something flickers in his eyes—shock, anger, something darker.

He stands up slowly, every movement controlled, dangerous. He walks toward me, and I step back, nearly knocking over a glass sculpture.

Before it can shatter, he’s there—moving faster than I can blink. One second I’m falling, the next I’m pulled against his chest, his grip iron-tight.

He doesn’t hurt me. He doesn’t touch me like before. He just holds me there, his presence overwhelming, his breath warm against my temple.

“You have no idea what you’re provoking,” he murmurs, voice low and dangerous.

I meet his gaze, refusing to look away.

“Then learn,” I whisper. “I’m not your property. I’m your wife or mate—whichever it is.” I almost stutter, my heart hammering against my ribs.

The tension between us snaps.