Beg you to touch my nipple properly.

Rose’s POV

“Describe your body right now. Every sensation. Truthfully.”

The words settled over me like a weighted blanket—soft, inescapable, designed to hold me exactly where he wanted me. His voice was low, steady, almost conversational, but it carried the full force of his alpha presence, pressing against my skin, my mind, my wolf. I was already shaking—small, uncontrollable tremors in my thighs, my arms, my breath—and his silver gaze made every inch of me feel stripped bare, exposed to the flickering candlelight and to him.

My throat worked around a swallow. Speaking felt impossible, obscene, but I knew the cost of silence. He would wait. He always waited, patient as winter, merciless as steel, until I gave him what he demanded.

“My skin is burning,” I whispered, voice hoarse from the strain of holding posture, from unshed tears, from the endless ache he’d built in me. “Too hot, like it’s too tight for my body. Sweat is trickling down my spine, pooling at the small of my back, sliding between my breasts. My nipples—” Heat flooded my face, scorching, but I forced the words out. “They’re so hard they hurt. Every breath drags the bra against them, raw and aching, making me want to arch, to press into something, anything. Between my legs… I’m soaked. Completely. My underwear is clinging, slick and warm, and every heartbeat makes my clit throb harder. It feels empty. Needy. Desperate. Like I’m aching for something only you can give me.”

The confession hung in the air, raw and humiliating and true. Tears pricked at the corners of my eyes.

His eyes flared, pupils swallowing almost all the silver until only thin rings of storm-gray remained. A low, rolling growl rumbled in his chest—deep, primal, approval and hunger braided together, restraint fraying at the edges like thread pulled too tight. “Good girl,” he murmured, the praise sinking into my bones like warm honey, spreading slow and thick through every trembling limb. “Beautiful, brutal truth. You’re giving it freely now. No fight left. Just surrender. Look at you—trembling, flushed, scent flooding the room like ripe summer fruit. You’re exquisite like this, Rose. Completely open for me.”

I swayed on the hard wooden chair, dizzy with the weight of his approval, with the way it lit me up from the inside out. My wolf rolled over completely, belly exposed, tail thumping wildly inside me, a low eager whine vibrating through my chest that I barely suppressed. I hated how much I craved that praise—how it felt like oxygen after years of holding my breath.

He moved behind me again, hands settling on my shoulders—warm, heavy, possessive. Thumbs pressed slow, deliberate circles at the base of my neck, easing tension even as they stoked fire deeper. I froze instinctively, every muscle locking under his touch, breath catching in my throat.

“Stillness,” he reminded softly, breath warm against my ear, sending fresh shivers cascading down my spine. “Even when I take more. Especially then. You’ll hold perfectly still for me, won’t you? Because you want to please me. Because you need my approval more than your next breath.”

“Yes, Jason,” I breathed, the words slipping out before I could stop them, raw and helpless.

“Good girl.” The praise came again, deeper this time, roughened at the edges with his own tension. It hit like lightning straight to my core, making me clench involuntarily, slick gathering faster.

His hands slid down my arms—slow, mapping bare skin with ruthless patience. Fingertips brushed the sensitive inner curve of my elbows, traced the thin skin of my wrists where my pulse fluttered wildly like a trapped bird, then returned to my shoulders. One hand stayed there, grounding, possessive. The other slid forward—slow, inexorable—down the center of my chest, over the parted shirt, until his palm settled flat between my breasts again, directly on bare skin now.

The contact was electric. Skin on skin. His hand warm, calloused, steady against the frantic thunder of my heart. I could feel every ridge of his fingerprint, every faint scar on his palm, branding me with nothing more than presence.

“Breathe,” he commanded softly.

I obeyed, shaky, chest rising against his palm, the motion dragging my bra against aching nipples.

“Again. Deeper. Fill your lungs until it hurts.”

I filled my lungs, his hand rising with the motion, thumb brushing the inner curve of my left breast as the shirt shifted further open.

His hand slid lower—slow, deliberate—until his fingers cupped the full weight of my breast through the thin bra cup. Not inside yet. Just holding. Claiming the shape, the heat, the tremble. His thumb circled slowly around my nipple without quite touching it—teasing, tormenting, building the ache until it bordered on pain.

My wolf whined high and desperate. I bit my lip hard enough to taste copper to stay silent, tears spilling freely now.

“Tell me what you want right now,” he said, voice roughened with restraint, thumb still circling, circling, never quite giving me what I needed.

“To beg,” I gasped, tears spilling freely now. “To beg you to touch my nipple properly. To slide your hand inside my bra. To roll it between your fingers. To pinch it until I break. Please, Jason—please—”

The plea escaped raw and broken, humiliating in its need.

He growled—deep, approving—and finally gave me what I’d earned. His hand slipped beneath the bra cup, warm palm cupping my bare breast fully, skin on skin, the heat of him searing. His thumb brushed my nipple once, twice—light, deliberate—then rolled it slowly between finger and thumb. Pleasure shot straight to my core like lightning, sharp and blinding, making me arch involuntarily, a choked moan tearing free despite every effort to stay silent.

“Still,” he reminded sharply, voice velvet steel edged with warning. “Lock it down. Feel everything without chasing it. Or I stop.”

I locked every muscle with desperate effort, trembling violently now, tears streaming, body screaming for more. The threat of stopping was worse than any pain.

He rewarded the obedience—thumb and finger pinching lightly, then harder, rolling, tugging, twisting just enough to send waves of sharp pleasure-pain radiating through me. My hips jerked once before I forced them still, slick soaking through completely now, the scent of my arousal thick in the air between us.

“Truth,” he praised softly, voice rough with his own tension. “What does this feel like?”

“Like I’m breaking open,” I sobbed quietly, voice cracking on every word. “Like everything I hid is spilling out and you’re catching it. Like I’ll never be the same. Like I don’t want to be.”

“Good girl.” His hand lingered a moment longer, thumb brushing one final, gentle circle around my nipple before withdrawing slowly from my bra, leaving it aching, wet from his touch, throbbing in the cool air. He adjusted the cup back into place with deliberate care, then buttoned one button—only one—leaving the rest of me exposed but contained.

But he wasn’t finished.

His hand trailed lower—slow, deliberate—over my stomach, fingers splaying wide across the trembling muscles there. He paused at the waistband of my jeans, thumb brushing the button, letting the anticipation build until I was shaking harder, tears streaming, breath coming in shallow, desperate pants.

“Stillness,” he reminded again, voice a low growl that vibrated through me. “Even now. Especially now. You’ll hold perfectly still for me, won’t you? Because you want to earn more. Because you’re desperate to feel my hand lower.”

“Yes, Jason,” I whispered, voice breaking completely. “Please.”

“Good girl.”

He unbuttoned my jeans—slow, deliberate—one button, then the zipper rasping down with agonizing slowness that made me whimper softly. Cool air kissed newly exposed skin, the thin fabric of my underwear now visible, soaked through and clinging transparently, outlining everything.

His hand slipped inside—warm, sure—fingers sliding over the damp cotton, pressing lightly against my clit through the fabric. The contact was electric, immediate, overwhelming. A broken moan tore from my throat before I could stop it—high, needy, raw.

“Quiet,” he commanded softly, but there was dark satisfaction in his voice, approval in the way his fingers paused, letting me feel the weight of the order. “You’ll take what I give you silently, like the good girl you are. Or I stop.”

I bit my lip harder, tasting blood, forcing silence even as my body screamed.

His fingers circled slowly—light pressure at first, deliberate, building tension with ruthless patience. Around and around my clit, never quite enough, teasing the edge of release without granting it. My hips twitched involuntarily, seeking more, but I locked them down with desperate effort, trembling violently, tears streaming freely.

“Good,” he murmured, voice roughened further. “Feel it build. Feel how easily I control it. How easily I control you. You’re dripping for me, Rose. Soaked through. Your scent is everywhere—sweet, desperate omega. Mine.”

He increased the pressure slightly, rubbing in tight, deliberate circles now, the friction perfect and maddening through the soaked cotton. Pleasure coiled tighter and tighter in my core, building like a storm, every nerve alight. My thighs trembled violently, muscles screaming from the effort of holding still.

“Tell me,” he commanded, voice a velvet growl against my ear. “Tell me what you feel now. Every detail. Don’t hold back.”

“Close,” I sobbed quietly, voice breaking on every word. “So close. Your fingers on my clit—circling, pressing—it’s too much and not enough. Pleasure building so high I can’t breathe. My whole body is shaking. Please, Jason—please don’t stop. Please let me come. I need it. I need you.”

“Not yet,” he said softly, but his fingers didn’t slow. “Hold it. Feel it build higher. Earn it. Show me how well you obey. Show me how beautifully you suffer for me.”

I moaned—couldn’t stop it—a low, broken sound that filled the room, muffled against my bitten lip. Tears streamed freely now, body shaking with the effort of obedience, of holding back the release that hovered just out of reach, sharp and aching.

He rubbed faster now, pressure perfect, circles tight and relentless over my clit. Pleasure crested higher, sharper, until I was sobbing openly, silently begging with every tremor, every stifled moan.

“Good girl,” he praised, voice rough with his own restraint, breath hot against my ear. “You’re doing so well. So close to breaking beautifully. Come for me. Now.”

The command shattered me.

Release crashed through me like a tidal wave, sharp and blinding, pleasure exploding outward in pulsing waves that wracked my entire body. I moaned—long, broken, raw—unable to hold it back any longer, the sound tearing free as my body arched against his hand despite every effort to stay still, thighs clenching around his wrist as I came undone completely, slick flooding his fingers, soaking through fabric.

He didn’t stop—kept rubbing gently through it, drawing it out with slow, deliberate circles until I was shaking uncontrollably, oversensitive, moans turning to high, helpless whimpers, tears streaming, body wrung out and trembling in the aftermath.

Only when the last tremor faded, when I was limp and gasping, did he withdraw his hand slowly, deliberately, leaving me empty and aching.

He circled to face me again, expression stormy but controlled, eyes dark with satisfaction and hunger barely leashed.

“Enough for tonight,” he said, voice roughened at the edges. “You held beautifully. You gave me everything I asked for—and more. You pleased me deeply, Rose. More than you know.”

I swayed, dizzy with withdrawal, tears still falling, body shaking from head to toe, clit throbbing in time with my heartbeat, slick cooling on my thighs, the scent of my release thick in the air.

He caught my chin gently—thumb stroking along my wet cheek, then brushing my lower lip with deliberate tenderness. “Tomorrow,” he murmured, voice dropping to an intimate growl that sent fresh shivers through me, “we test surrender without any restraint. When I decide you’ve earned all of me—inside you, filling you completely.”

The promise hung electric between us, heavy with everything unsaid.

He noticed the fresh sob that escaped me and allowed the smallest, lethal smile.

“Dismissed.”

I rose on legs that barely worked, pins and needles prickling everywhere. Buttoning my jeans and shirt felt like sealing fresh wounds over hypersensitive skin. Pulling on jacket and boots was agony, every movement reminding me of what he’d done, what he’d made me feel.

At the door I paused, hand trembling on the knob, vision blurred with tears.

“Rose.”

I turned.

His voice was softer now—almost gentle, yet no less commanding. “You’re learning beautifully. You’re choosing this. And you’re mine to reshape.”

The words branded deeper than any touch—permanent, searing.

I fled into the cold corridor, wolf howling silently in triumph, terror, and insatiable hunger.

Already counting the hours.

Already aching for the day I’d earn everything.