I am grateful for the brief rain that followed our arrival to the capital; it washed our trail. Lucky for Kaisa and me, there seemed to be a night market or some festival at the capital’s heart, so the hope for finding a good deal on the kind of garment that would maintain my anonymity soared. An hour passed, and not to seem like an airhead, but while I found the cloak, I forgot that Ketria used a different currency system. So, in essence, I was gifted a coat by a mother who thought I resembled a beggar because of the mud coating my garments. When I tried to tell her that I would repay her, she gave me a pitiful look as if to say, 'oh...you poor dreamer, life is harsh'; so, in a sense, she lost respect for me twice—oh, not twice because I had to borrow fare to head to the mountains afterwards. The embarrassment coursing through me is palpable, but what makes it worse is the harsh realisation that the Lycan took everything from me; my phone, wallet, passport, clothes...I have nothin

The vibrating sensation in my core grew intensely as if matching the dominating eucalyptus scent in the room; even with my vision obscured by a silky blindfold, I could tell where he sat, watching me as I writhe in an attempt to escape the pleasure induced by innocent silicone shoved into unholy places. My hands and legs were bound, yet not in the way I expected; not on the walls or bedpost but by a contraption that turned me into a sort of contortionist as it bound my left hand and left leg together, repeating the same for my right side; as such my core was left bare and under his utter mercy, yet all he did was watch. “I ca-.” I begin to utter, but he must have thought my ability to put words together was too much of a luxury, so he increased the vibrating speed of the rabbit pressed directly under my nub. My legs tremble as I fight the tight contraption; I know that if I press my legs together, that if I change my position, the sensation will lessen, but a pleasurable echoing pu

His desperation to have me answer the question is searing; this is my second time having sex; of course, I am not on birth control. Yet, I can’t bring myself to confess because I am not proud of that; I would rather he think me easy, so he gives little credence to our time together. “Even if I was on the pill, you’ve had my luggage for weeks; I do not get benefits from the pill osmotically.” After a string of curse words, the Lycan excused himself for a few minutes, leaving me in the awkwardness of his rage as if I were its sole source. He returned a while after my knees ceased their wobble, and the haziness had abandoned my mind. “I sent the car back in favour of a helicopter; it will be here within the hour, so we have time to rinse off.” “Rinse off where? The water here is abysmal.” “There is a-” A frustrated sigh breaks his statement. “It will be faster if I show you.” His post-orgasmic clarity is getting on my nerves; for one thing, he makes his anger too noticeable for me

My hand reaches for the champagne on the refreshment table next to me; the vibrant pop and fizzle of escaping gas on the pink liquid look too enticing to pass, so I down its sickly-sweet contents in an unladylike fashion, hoping that it would help its ‘liquid courage’ hit faster.“I take it you have conversed with Alpha Aldrich?”An unfamiliar feminine voice that I turn to face asks.“Is it that obvious?”“If you go for the alcohol, then yes. Do you remember me?”I examine her cocoa complexion and brown eyes a little keener, hoping they clue me in on her identity, but they do not.I want to lie out of politeness, but I am certain there will be follow-up questions.“No, sorry.”“Figures, popular girls never recall bookworms.”“I was popular?”“You were ‘Marko’s sister’; of course, you were popular in the academy. Are you kidding me? Never thought you’d leave, though.”Right, I was and still am stuck with the label, ‘Marko’s sister.’“I am Beatrice, by the way, a potential Luna, just li

I want the Lycan to finish what he so rudely started, to defile me as he promised, but the turn of his face towards the hall while I stand before him, dripping in arousal, cuts deeper than my need to fit his length inside me. The pain searing through my chest emphasises the pathetic way I feel about my body's deceit. His incite of my arousal publicly was mortifying, but my yearning for his touch, my press of my breasts to his lips, and my fingers in his hair afterwards make me loathe myself....so, must I also let him tell me that he would rather be elsewhere? Must I let him emphasise how laughable I behave under his name? "Formalities dictate that you must head back; it is not a good look for his majesty to miss a formal event planned in the castle.” I utter to excuse him; when I phrase it like that, it seems as if he has no choice, right? As if it is beyond his powers to leave me, even if I am certain it is his preference. "Ten minutes." He utters before pulling away from me and