Vengeance in His Bed

"Get out," Dorrent snapped, the gravel in his throat vibrating with a possessive, dark command. His eyes remained locked onto Guron, who was still standing near the edge of the mattress with an amused, knowing smirk on his face.

Guron’s laughter died in his throat, replaced by a low, displeased growl. The older alpha did not like being dismissed, especially not by a son bound to a bed, but the sheer, raw intensity of Dorrent’s pheromones—sharp, bitter, and laced with an untamed, desperate heat—even made him hesitate.

"Very well," Guron sneered, holding his hands up in mock surrender as he took a slow step backward toward the door. "I’ll give you your privacy. But do not disappoint me, Dorrent. You have waited too long for this. Finish what she started."

With a sharp click of the latch, the door swung shut, leaving only the two of them alone in the room. The silence rushed back in, heavy and suffocating. The scent of bitter frost from the alpha mixed with Jannah’s sweet, floral omega scent, creating an intoxicating atmosphere that made the room feel smaller, tighter.

Jannah stood frozen in the center of the room, her knees feeling like water. Her heart was beating so hard and fast against her ribs that she was certain Dorrent could hear the frantic rhythm. She looked at the massive, throbbing erection resting against the dark sheets. It was an intimidating sight—veins pulsing along the thick shaft, the tip glistening with pre-cum, radiating a heat so intense it seemed to reach across the distance and scorch her skin.

She had come here to punish him. She had come with a satchel full of toxic herbs, determined to break him from the inside out, to avenge the parents who had been slaughtered during a ruthless, mindless rut. Yet here she was, standing entirely at his mercy, trembling under the weight of his stare.

"Did you not hear me, omega?" Dorrent’s voice had softened, dropping into an intimate, deep register that coiled around her senses like a physical touch. "Come here and finish the treatment."

Jannah swallowed the lump of terror in her throat, taking small, hesitant steps forward until the tips of her shoes touched the side of the mattress. Her hands were still trembling, the small, pale fingers looking almost impossibly fragile against the broad, muscular expanse of his chest and thighs. She looked down at the floorboards, trying to avoid the piercing, predatory gaze that was fixed on her every movement.

"Look at me," he commanded, the tone dropping into a rough, husky vibration that left no room for argument. "I said, look into my eyes while you do it."

Jannah’s breath hitched. Slowly, agonizingly, she raised her chin, her dark eyes locking into his crimson-tinted ones. The intensity was staggering. There was no longer hatred in those eyes—it had been swallowed by an overwhelming, agonizing need that burned like a furnace.

Her hands hovered over the length of him for a second, hesitating, before she let her small fingers wrap around the heated, rigid member. The contact was electric. A jolt of pure heat shot through her palms, the sheer friction and size of him causing a soft gasp to escape her lips. She began to move her hands, rubbing up and down the length of his shaft, the coarse, rough texture of the skin sending a jolt of raw electricity straight to her core.

Dorrent let out a sharp, ragged breath, his jaw clenching tightly as his head fell back against the pillows. A low, vibrating grunt rumbled in his throat. It felt incredible. For five years, the best physicians in the city had touched him with cold, clinical precision, their faces devoid of passion, their bodies producing nothing but numbness in his core. But this omega—possessed a warmth that broke through the walls of his affliction.

"Yes," Dorrent rasped, his eyes burning as he watched her small hands work over his length. "Just like that, you filthy little omega. Keep going. Don’t you dare stop."

The friction was driving him out of his mind. The heat in his abdomen pooled, rushing downward into his member, pulsing with an agonizing pressure that demanded release. His dick was burning, the awakened desire tearing through the numbness of the past few years like a raging fire.

"Faster," Dorrent ordered, his voice growing thick and husky with lust, his chest heaving with every movement of her small hands. "Stroke me harder, Jannah. Let me feel your wet little hands on me."

Jannah’s cheeks flushed a furious, burning red. She kept her hands moving, avoiding his gaze whenever she could, the wet, slippery friction and the deep grants from the alpha filling her ears. The smell of his arousal was overwhelming, thick with the scent of wild woods and dominant alpha musk, pressing against her own senses and making her heat pool between her thighs. She wanted to stop, to pull her hands away, but the commanding presence of the S-tier alpha held her trapped in a spell of pure desire and terror.

She kept stroking, the rhythm becoming more frantic as Dorrent’s breathing grew shallower.

But the release never came.

The pressure continued to build, the thick, heavy member pulsing against her palms, but the final, blissful snap of his rut remained just out of reach. Jannah’s small hands began to ache. The continuous, rigorous motion, combined with the sheer size and heat of the alpha, began to take its toll. Her fingers grew sore and stiff from the friction, her muscles burning from the continuous, heavy workload.

After what felt like hours of continuous stroking, Jannah’s hands slowed down, her breath coming in short, uneven gasps. Her stamina was completely depleted. With a quiet, involuntary whimper of exhaustion, her hands slid down the shaft and she pulled back, withdrawing her touch from his burning skin.

The instant her hands left his member, the room went dead silent.

Dorrent’s eyes snapped open, wide and filled with a terrifying, hollow emptiness. The agonizing need that had been building inside him snapped, leaving him in a state of sudden, unbearable coldness. The fire in his abdomen flared, turning from a burning sensation of lust to a sharp, violent ache of frustration.

His magnificent, muscular body tensed. A terrifying aura of dark, unbridled power began to emanate from him, a silent, heavy pressure that made the wooden slats of the bed creak and splinter under the force. Without thinking, driven entirely by the hollow ache in his lower half and the sudden, possessive rage at being denied the release his body had craved, Dorrent reached into the depths of his power.

The heavy leather straps binding his wrists to the bedposts snapped with a resounding crack.

Before Jannah could even register what was happening, before she could take a single step backward to flee, a pair of large and incredibly hot hands shot out and wrapped around her waist.

The grip was ironclad, unyielding, pulling her against his naked, rock-hard torso with an impact that knocked the breath from her lungs. Jannah gasped, her hands coming up to press against his chest, feeling the rapid thumping of his heart against her palms.

Dorrent leaned down, his face mere inches from hers, his hot breath brushing against the damp skin of her neck. His eyes were dark, burning with an intense, volatile, and dangerous look that made her freeze in pure, absolute terror.

"Why did you stop?"