All Chapters of The Alphas’Dirty Desires : Moan for Us: Chapter 21 - Chapter 30

SerahThe bedroom air hung thick with the scent of him—warm vanilla skin, faint smoke from whatever cologne he wore, the sharp metallic tang of lube, and the heady, musky sweetness of his arousal already leaking steadily. Every breath I took pulled more of it into my lungs until I felt drunk on it.Kai lay stretched out beneath me, wrists cuffed and chained above his head, the black leather collar rising and falling with his quick, shallow pants. The tiny silver padlock gleamed wetly where a stray tear had rolled down his throat and caught there. His cock rested heavy against his lower abdomen, flushed an angry rose, the slit glistening with a constant, slow drip of pre-cum that pooled in the shallow dip of his navel and then overflowed, sliding in thin, sticky trails toward his sides.I straddled his hips without letting our skin touch yet—just close enough that the heat radiating from his body kissed my inner thighs, making the slick already coating mine feel even hotter, more obsce

Vincenzo Drakvolk – 10:07 p.m.The war room still carried the faint metallic tang of blood and scorched flesh, even though the bodies had been removed hours ago.Twenty-three death sentences.Twenty-three greedy elders who believed they could divert twenty million meant for orphaned pups and crippled veterans into their private vaults without consequence.I delivered the verdict in a flat, emotionless tone—death, no appeal, no clemency—and walked out before the first scream could rise.Dante remained behind to carry out the executions.He always does.He prefers the personal touch: slow, deliberate cuts, pressure points that make pain bloom like flowers before the final darkness claims them.I have no need to witness it.Once the sentence leaves my lips, the matter is closed. Justice served. Balance restored.By seven-fourteen the vaults were cracked open, the stolen funds wired directly to the pack orphanages and school reconstruction projects, and the council hall declared in recess

Lorenzo DrakvolkValeria was still trembling beneath me — thighs slick with our mixed mess, chest heaving, lips swollen and red from biting them to keep from screaming too loud (she failed).My knot was still locked deep inside her, pulsing lazily, leaking the last thick spurts while her cunt fluttered around me in tiny, helpless aftershocks.She looked up at me with glassy, dazed eyes.“So… whose blood?” she whispered, voice cracked and small.I grinned — slow, wide, the same smile I gave the mirror after a particularly pretty kill.“Ex…” I said cheerfully, like I was telling her the weather forecast.Her pupils blew wide.I slid out of her slowly — deliberately — letting her feel every thick inch drag against her oversensitive walls until my knot finally popped free with a wet, filthy sound.A river of cum and blood-streaked slick immediately followed, soaking her thighs, the sheets, me.She whimpered at the emptiness.I rolled off the bed, naked, still dripping crimson from hair to

Valeria Mary Storm I woke up alone for the first time in days.No heavy arms pinning me down. No hot mouths already kissing bruises into my skin. No low growls vibrating against my throat. Just sunlight pouring through the tall windows and the faint smell of coffee drifting up from somewhere far below.My body felt… used. Deliciously, perfectly used. Every muscle ached in the best way, and between my thighs I was still tender, still swollen, still carrying them inside me like a secret. I stretched, wincing when the sheet brushed my nipples (too sensitive, too many memories of teeth and tongues and rough hands).A note lay on Vincenzo’s pillow, written in sharp, elegant handwriting:Little mate,Come find me when you’re ready.Kitchen. Third floor. Follow the smell of sugar.—VI smiled without meaning to. My cheeks hurt from how wide it was.I showered quickly (their bathroom is bigger than my old apartment), threw on one of Lorenzo’s soft black hoodies that smells like gunpowder and

Vincenzo Drakvolk The black SUV rolled to a gentle halt at the iron gates of Drakvolk College exactly as it has for generations. The gates opened without a touch — they always do for one of us. This place carries my bloodline in its mortar, its stones, its very air. When the newest shifters come of age here, one of us comes to teach them how to survive what they’ve become. Today, that is me. Headmaster Elias waited at the top of the steps, posture straight, hand over heart in the old salute. “Alpha Vincenzo,” he said with quiet dignity. “The college welcomes you as custom demands. Thirty new shifters await you in the east hall.” Thirty. A strong cohort. Enough to see every shade of potential — and every early crack. I inclined my head. “Then let us begin.” The long corridor passed in familiar silence. Moon-and-claw carvings watched me pass. Ancestral portraits followed me with calm, knowing eyes. This walk has been made by Drakvolks before me. The stones remember every step. Eli