Lilith's POV
Kieran's kiss is rough, urgent, his lips pressing hard against mine.
I whimper, pushing against his chest, but his iron grip locks my waist, trapping me.
His other hand clamps the back of my head, leaving me nowhere to run.
Something hard presses against my stomach. My eyes snap open, body freezing.
He chuckles low, his hand sliding to my hip, pressing me closer.
His body grinds against me through the fabric, its heat searing my skin.
"No...don't..." My voice is a shaky whisper, legs trembling with fear.
"Don't want it?" His tone is soft, but his eyes burn with unyielding dominance.
I drop my gaze, unable to meet his stare.
He's Alpha Kieran Blackthorn, heir to the Blackridge Pack, more feared than his father.
Mom warned me not to cross him. I stay silent.
He takes it as consent, lifting me with one hand under my hip, kissing me again, hungry and relentless.
"Hold on tight," he orders, his voice thick with heavy breaths.
Shaking, I wrap my arms around his neck as he carries me to the bedroom, setting me onto the bed.
He undoes his belt, unzips, and I look away, my heart pounding.
"I swear," his voice is hoarse, "I won't claim you completely until your wolf wakes."
His hand slides up my inner thigh, hooking the edge of my panties. "But you're gonna help me out first."
I let him pull my panties to my ankles, let him lift my skirt and strip it off.
His body presses over me, muscles taut, burning hot. I try to keep my thighs together, but his knee forces them apart, pinning them as he grips my legs and squeezes them shut.
I slam my eyes shut, but my senses sharpen. The heat of friction burns my skin, wet sounds echo in my ears, and each movement sparks a strange, tingling ache.
A foreign heat pools inside me, my body softening.
Shame. Shame. Shame.
I clench my thighs tighter, and he groans, voice strained with pleasure. "Ah--"
He stops, leaning down, his tongue prying my mouth open again. This kiss is deep, suffocating.
When he pulls back, he licks his lips, his hips grinding slowly, torturously, against my thighs.
His lips trail to my ear, nibbling the lobe. "You're so tight, baby."
My ears burn.
He groans again, low and intense, giving me no time to think. He grips my thighs, moving faster.
My mind blurs, like I'm drowning in a scalding sea, sinking and floating. All I hear are his ragged breaths and my own broken moans.
He stops twice before he pulls away.
He carries me to the bathroom, warm water washing over me.
I think it's over, but his hands find my breasts, kneading, playing.
Soon, his body is pressing against me again.
"One more time," he murmurs, biting my ear.
I'm too weak to fight, letting him take what he wants.
--------------
When I woke up, it was already 11 AM.
I blinked at the ceiling.
I never slept this late.
At this hour, Kieran should've been long gone--off at the office, where I wouldn't have to face him.
The thought loosened the knot in my chest. I washed up quickly, my steps light as I headed downstairs.
Then I turned the corner--and froze.
Kieran was there.
Lounging on the living room sofa, his suit jacket tossed carelessly over the armrest, fingers swiping across a tablet screen.
His broad shoulders blocked part of the morning light, his posture relaxed yet impossibly commanding.
I freeze, mind racing.
Last night was just a lapse, right?
Nothing really happened. I just need to act normal.
I take a deep breath, forcing myself down the stairs. "Morning," I say, trying to sound calm.
He turns, his gaze landing on me, lips curling slightly. "Morning."
I duck my head, hurrying to the dining room, relieved.
The staff sets out breakfast, and I eat quietly, avoiding noise.
But soon, the chair at the head of the table scrapes--Kieran sits down.
We're two seats apart, but his presence makes my body tense, every nerve screaming danger.
Yet, he's calm, barely glancing at me, like last night was a dream.
I start to relax.
Until the next evening.
Knock knock knock.
My body stiffens, fingers gripping my pen.
"Whatcha doing?" Kieran's voice comes through the door, low and clear.
I take a shaky breath, opening the door but clutching the handle, ready to slam it shut. "Uh...homework."
"Homework," he echoes, his tone soft but his eyes sliding from my hand to my face, growing dangerous.
No scent hits me, but his presence feels as intense as last night. My fingers tighten on the handle.
His hand covers my wrist, his burning touch shooting straight to my heart. I flinch, yanking back.
His throat bobs, his thumb brushing my cheek, rough and heavy. "Grab your books," he says quietly. "Do it in my room."
I stared at him, my refusal clear.
He leaned in, brushing his lips against mine--lightning in my veins--before pulling back just enough to whisper, "Or should I just stay here instead?"
My hands shook.
In the end, I looked down.
And for the second time, I let him win.
