The Alpha Behind The Mask

Oliver’s POV

​She walked over, her head down, and climbed onto the mattress. She lay back, her hair spilling over the pillows. Slowly, she opened her legs, exposing herself to me completely.

​I walked to the edge of the bed, looking down at her. This was the woman who had kissed me goodbye two hours ago. This was the woman I wanted to protect from the world. And here she was, offering herself to a masked man because she craved the roughness he gave her.

​Feeling pained, I walked away from the bed. I reached into the kit and pulled out a thick, black silk blindfold. I returned to her, my shadow falling over her pale, exposed skin. Without a word, I leaned down and jerked her head up, wrapping the silk around her eyes and knotting it tight.

​"I don’t want you to see what’s coming," I rasped, my voice thick with the gravelly edge of Raymond. "I want you to feel every single second of the choice you made."

​I reached back into the kit and pulled out a heavy, industrial-strength vibrator. I clicked it on. The low, aggressive hum filled the quiet room. Aurora gasped, her body flinching at the sound.

​"What is that—"

​"Quiet, Pet," I snapped.

​I didn’t ease it in. I wasn’t the lover who worshipped her body with slow touches. I was the Master who had bought her. I shoved the device against her center, the vibrations rattling through her bones. She arched her back, a choked sound escaping her throat. I pushed it deep, watching the way her thighs trembled and her toes curled.

​I leaned over her, my masked face inches from her chest. I didn’t kiss her. I bit. I latched onto her nipple, sucking and nipping with a deliberate, punishing harshness. I wanted to leave marks. I wanted her to look in the mirror tomorrow morning and see exactly what she had let me do to her.

​"Does he do this to you?" I growled against her skin, my teeth grazing her. "Does your perfect King treat you like the animal you are?"

​She didn’t answer, her breath coming in jagged, broken sobs.

​I reached for the black candle burning on the nightstand. I tilted it, watching the liquid wax pool at the wick. I didn’t hesitate. I poured the hot, black wax directly onto her clitoris and the sensitive folds of her vagina.

​Aurora screamed—a sharp, painful sound that echoed off the soundproof walls. She bucked against the bed, her hands clutching the sheets.

​"You like that, right?" I demanded, my voice cold as ice. "This is what you signed up for. This is the ’roughness’ you craved."

​She didn’t respond, her body still reeling from the stinging heat.

​"Speak!" I roared, slamming my hand onto the mattress next to her hip.

​"Yes... yes, Master," she whimpered, her voice broken.

​The word only made my rage flare hotter. I tilted the candle again, letting a steady stream of hot wax drip onto her, marking her over and over. She moaned—a sound that was half-pain and half-dark, twisted pleasure. I couldn’t tell where the line was anymore, and neither could she.

​I reached down and ripped the vibrator out of her, watching her panting and slick with sweat and wax. I was done with toys.

​I stood up and unzipped my jeans, the sound of the metal teeth loud in the silence. I stepped out of them, standing naked in the center of the room, my tattoos bold and dark against my skin, my mask still firmly in place. My wolf was pacing, hungry and feral, demanding to claim her.

​I grabbed her ankles and yanked her to the very edge of the bed, her legs falling open. I reached for a pair of leather cuffs and snapped them around her ankles, spreading her wide and fixing them to the heavy bedposts. She was completely open now, blindfolded and bound.

​I climbed onto the bed, hovering over her. I gripped her hair, forcing her head back to expose her throat.

​"This is Rule Eight, Pet," I whispered, my breath hot against her ear. "You don’t get to come. You don’t get to feel good until I say so. You’re going to take every inch of me, and you’re going to stay on the edge until I decide you’ve had enough."

​I didn’t use any lubricant. I didn’t wait for her to be ready. I braced my hands on either side of her head and drove myself into her with a single, brutal thrust.

​The air left her lungs in a silent gasp. I didn’t stop. I began a heavy, punishing rhythm, my body slamming into hers with the force of my heartbreak and my fury. I wasn’t making love to her. I was punishing her. I wanted her to feel the weight of every lie she had told me this morning. Every thrust was a question: Why wasn’t I enough? Why did you choose the monster?

​"Tell me you are mine," I growled, my pace increasing until the bed creaked rhythmically. "Tell me you’re Raymond’s bitch."

​"I’m... I’m yours," she cried out, her nails scratching at the sheets. "I’m yours, Master!"

​I pushed harder, faster, the mask hiding the tears that were finally blurring my eyes. I was punishing her, but I was the one who was truly hurting.

​I reached down, my movements jerky and fueled by a cold, sharp adrenaline. I unlocked the leather cuffs from the bedposts, but I didn’t free her.

​Instead, I gripped her by the hair, my fingers tangling in those red curls I had stroked so gently just hours ago at breakfast. I yanked her body around until she was on her knees, her chest pressed flat against the mattress and her ass arched high into the air.

​"Stay," I growled, the word vibrating with a threat that made her whole body tremble.

​I reached for the heavy leather flogger on the nightstand. I stood behind her, looking at the pale, unmarked skin of her thighs—skin that I used to treat like porcelain. That man was dead. I raised my arm and brought the leather down.

​The first strike was a sharp, stinging shock. Aurora let out a muffled scream into the pillows. I didn’t wait. I delivered strike after strike in a rhythmic, punishing pace. I marked her. I left angry, red welts across her buttocks and the backs of her legs. Each strike felt like it was tearing a piece of my soul out, but I couldn’t stop. I wanted her to feel the sting of her betrayal. I wanted her to feel the weight of the lies she told me.

​I dropped the flogger and grabbed her hips, my gloved fingers digging into her skin where the welts were already beginning to rise. I didn’t use any care. I didn’t use any love. I drove myself back into her from behind, a deep, bruising thrust that made her arch her back and cry out.

​The friction was raw and unlubricated. I slammed into her with a primal, desperate rhythm, my body a weapon against hers. The bed creaked under the force of my rage. I watched her head thrash against the sheets, her muffled sobs filling the room, and for the first time, I didn’t feel like the King. I felt like the beast she had accused me of being.

​"Tell me," I demanded, my teeth grazing the back of her neck, right over the spot where her scent was strongest. "Tell me you’ll never forget this feeling."

​"I won’t... I won’t, Master!" she choked out, her voice breaking.