All Chapters of Alpha’s Dark Redemption : Chapter 161 - Chapter 170

Lydia's POV"No need to talk business; I still want us to fuck, one of you in my ass and the other in my pussy." I said it while my ass balanced on the councilman’s meeting table and my legs split wide like a promise. I had no plans to be demure. They’d earned their keep, these men, each in their own way, and now they could claim what was owed them. My voice was dry ice and honey; I saw the way it knifed straight to their cocks.The councilman’s face went pale, then red, his jaw flexing under the weight of a thousand bad ideas. He groaned—a living, breathing thing, that sound—and his cock swung up so hard it slapped his belly, leaving a creamy line on the trimmed salt-and-pepper hair at his navel. Jonathan’s was already in hand, knuckles white and glossy with pre-cum, his eyes fastened on me like he’d found something to worship.Jonathan grinned, his teeth all too sharp for the illusion of civility. "As you wish, little wolf." He didn’t need to say more; he was on me, all hungry, pawi

Lucas's POVHave you ever gotten a thought stuck in your skull so hard you swear you could feel it scraping bone? I’d been lying here for hours, vibrating with it, not even pretending to sleep, just counting the seconds between flashes of that goddamn video in my mind. Lydia, fucking the councilman and Jonathan at the same time. Double-stuffed like some special edition Oreo. Every time I closed my eyes, there she was: face all twisted up, letting them fill her like she was made for it. And the worst part was, she’d looked happy. Not the performative happy she wore when she was scamming a mark. No, this was the real shit, pure and raw, that kind of happy that makes you hate yourself for ever thinking she’d only ever look that way at you.I rolled over, pulse hot and jagged, and found Selina sprawled beside me. Not asleep. Eyes half-open, mouth parted like she’d just bitten through a secret. She’d been reading me for hours—of course she had; it was the only hobby she cared about anymore

Lydia's POVI couldn’t stop circling the old rug, the clotted red of it gone thin and sick over the years—worn down by men who didn’t pace so much as pound their authority into the floor. I’d always preferred the study after hours, when the ghost of tobacco and the thickness of books made a cathedral from the dark. The only thing I couldn’t stand was the window: glass too clean, the moon making a pearl out of my own reflection. Right now I looked exactly how I felt: wild, breathless, and ready to gnaw through my own knuckles.I’d been here for nearly an hour, chewing the inside of my cheek and counting off every time the grandfather clock threatened to clang. The councilman had left, eventually. I’d tucked myself back into my dress, snapped the pearl buttons up high on my throat, and told myself it was a job well done; another sick old bastard was wound tight enough around my finger he could hardly wait to jerk me into the first shadowed hallway. But it wasn’t enough, because Lucas Bl

Lydia's POVThe plug was too big. I’d known it the moment he’d pressed it to my hole, the chill of silicone smeared with oil, the way he’d held my hips so I couldn’t squirm away. But now, hours or minutes later—time meant nothing in this room—it felt like a planet, a presence eclipsing everything below my waist. My asshole throbbed around the stem, the pressure so constant that every time my pulse beat, my guts squirmed.I was on my back, knees up and spread, fingers digging into my own cunt, hips bucking against my hand. Jonathan watched me from his chair, one leg draped over the armrest, his cock in his fist, but he looked bored. He looked through me, past me. The only thing he saw was the tremble in my hand as I tried to keep up the rhythm, the slick obscenity of my knuckles disappearing inside. He’d told me to keep playing with myself until I came, and I’d tried. Fuck, I’d tried. But the plug, the humiliation of his gaze, the slow drip of his patience… I couldn’t get there, not li

Selina's POVI woke to the faint hum of the air conditioning and the smell of sex drying on my thighs. The morning light bled around the blackout curtains, silvery and cold, slashing across the massive bed where Lucas sprawled like a dead thing. Even in sleep, my mate exuded menace: arm thrown over his eyes, the whole corded length of him coiled and still, as though he might snap upright any second and clamp his teeth around my throat. I watched him for a minute, waiting for a tell, something—anything—to prove what I already knew in my bones.Something was wrong with him. Not just the night before, but for weeks, maybe months. It started as small stuff: the tightening of his jaw, the way he’d press his knuckles into the tabletop so hard the wood threatened to splinter. Then it was the sex. Last night he’d fucked me as if he meant to break me open, as if some shadow had crawled inside and he was trying to expel it by force. He left bruises on my hips and purpled fingerprints on my wris