Soren
I was so fucking pissed.
I felt the side of my jaw tic and my finger tapped against my thigh in a pathetic way to calm myself.
The object of my anger was sitting nonchalantly as he looked out the window. I wanted to reach out and throttle him so he could understand what he did.
When I saw he was gone, my heart skipped so many beats that I wondered if I was having a heart attack.
I thought he had used this opportunity to leave me.
I scoffed at that thought, reminding myself that I am yet getting attached to another Alpha who could ruin me like the last one.
From the corner of my eye, I saw him staring at me and I looked away. The last thing I needed him to see was how much he affected me.
All my life after the incident, I had been an invalid for so many people. All Alphas want to fuck me till they find out I have no pheromone then I am left like a deserted wolf.
Others call it power but I call it loneliness.
It is in my nature to need and want an Alpha however suffocating it can be. It has always been my dream to have a child of my own and the mere thought of it now breaks me in hives.
"We are here," Rudolf announced.
I gave him a solid nod and waited till the door was opened for me.
I stepped out of the car just in time to see Rowan heading upstairs.
I narrowed my eyes when I saw him walking with so much confidence like he didn't disobey me blatantly back there.
My brain was already thinking of ways to punish him for his defiance.
As soon as we stepped inside, I grabbed the set of chains from the dresser. His eyes flared with resentment, but he didn't resist when I shackled his wrists again.
"Sit down," I ordered, my voice rougher than usual.
He dropped to the floor, glaring at me from under his dark hair. He wasn't one to mask his emotions well, especially not when it came to me. He wanted me to see the anger boiling beneath the surface, the silent curses he was likely muttering in his head.
"Who was the man you were talking to?" I asked. The question was sharp, demanding.
His lips curled into a sneer. "Mind your fucking business," he spat, looking away.
My patience was already thin, and his stubbornness grated on my nerves. I stepped closer, forcing him to look at me. "Everything about you is my business, Rowan," I said, voice low and dangerous. "As long as you still owe me, as long as you're under my roof, you don't get to decide what I can or can't ask."
His jaw tightened, but he didn't respond. It was as if he was weighing his options, deciding whether it was worth provoking me further. After a tense silence, he finally muttered, "He was just an old friend. He wanted directions."
I scoffed.
"An old friend?" I raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. "And I'm supposed to believe that?"
"It's the truth," he snapped. He clenched his fists, the chains clinking with the motion. "I haven't seen him in years. He didn't know where I lived now."
"Funny," I said, letting out a dark laugh. "For someone who was just asking for directions, he seemed awfully keen to stay and talk."
"He was surprised to see me," Rowan bit out. "We used to train together, he's a teacher now."
"And you expect me to buy that?" I leaned in closer, my eyes narrowing as I studied his face for any hint of a lie. I could see the flicker of uncertainty there, the way he swallowed hard but tried to mask it with his usual bravado. He knew I wasn't satisfied, and I knew he was hiding something.
"It's none of your damn business," he said again, voice quieter this time, but no less sharp.
Without warning, I grabbed his chin, forcing him to look up at me. He flinched but didn't pull away. "I decide what's my business," I said.
I let go of his chin and took a step back, watching him as I unbuckled my belt. His eyes widened slightly, a flash of something unreadable passing through them. Hate? Anger? Resignation? Maybe a twisted mixture of all three.
"Get on your knees," I ordered.
Rowan's eyes flicked to mine, a spark of rebellion igniting in them. For a moment, I thought he might fight me, lash out with that feral Alpha rage that made him so dangerous. But then he lowered his gaze and slowly, reluctantly, dropped to his knees. The chains clinked softly as he moved, a sound that sent a jolt of satisfaction through me.
I pulled out my dick, watching his expression shift between disgust and resignation. He hated this, hated me but he knew he had no choice. His father had made a deal, and he was the one with the debt to pay.
"You owe me," I reminded him, gripping his hair tightly as I forced him to look up at me. "Remember what I did for you? I let you live. I could've ended you the moment you talked back at me, you have no money to pay off your debt, you poor thing but I let you live. I showed mercy."
His jaw clenched so tightly I thought he might crack a tooth. "Mercy," he repeated, the word dripping with sarcasm. "Is this what you call mercy? Using me for your pleasure because you know no one would fuck you,"
I tightened my grip on his hair, yanking his head back. "Do you want to argue, little boy? Because I can make this much worse for you." My voice was a growl.
He glared up at me, his breath coming in harsh, ragged gasps. He was fighting a war inside himself, his pride clashing with his survival instincts. Slowly, I saw the fight drain out of him. He lowered his gaze, a bitter look crossing his face.
"I hate you," he muttered, the word almost inaudible. "Do what you have to do."
I smirked at his defeat, the thrill of control surging through me. He might hate me, but he couldn't escape the bind he was in. He couldn't escape me. I guided his head closer, feeling the heat of his breath against my skin. He hesitated for a fraction of a second, just long enough for me to notice, before he finally opened his mouth and took me in.
A sharp inhale escaped my lips as he started moving, his tongue tracing the underside of my shaft. He wasn't gentle, and I didn't expect him to be. This wasn't about pleasure for him. It was about survival, about paying his debt and hoping to end this ordeal as quickly as possible.
I kept my hand tangled in his hair, guiding his movements, setting the pace. He didn't look up at me, his eyes fixed somewhere on the floor, his expression blank. It was as if he was trying to distance himself from what he was doing, trying to pretend he wasn't here on his knees, forced to debase himself like this.
"Look at me," I ordered.
He hesitated, then slowly lifted his gaze to meet mine. His eyes were cold, filled with a simmering rage that he couldn't fully conceal. I could see the hatred burning there, the barely restrained fury. He wanted to rip me apart, to make me pay for every humiliation I'd ever inflicted on him. But he couldn't. He knew it, and I knew it.
I grinned down at him, relishing the look of utter contempt on his face. "Good boy," I muttered, feeling the rush of power that came from seeing him like this, on his knees, angry and humiliated but completely at my mercy.
His eyes narrowed slightly, but he didn't break eye contact. He kept going, his movements almost mechanical, driven by the sheer force of his will to get this over with. It was a twisted game we played, a battle of wills where I always came out on top.
I could feel myself getting close, the familiar tightening in my gut signaling the approaching climax. I tightened my grip on his hair, pulling him closer, forcing him to take more of me. He gagged slightly, a choked sound escaping his throat, but he didn't pull back.
I came with a shudder, holding his head in place as I emptied myself into his mouth. He squeezed his eyes shut, swallowing with a grimace, the chains around his wrists clinking softly as he clenched his fists.
When I finally let go of his hair, he pulled back immediately, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. His breathing was ragged, his chest heaving as he glared up at me. There was no gratitude in his eyes, no submission, only a burning, seething hatred.
"Get up," I said, fastening my belt. "And clean yourself up. I don't want to see your pathetic face until morning."
He pushed himself up, swaying slightly as he regained his balance. He gave me one last look, a promise of revenge simmering in his gaze, before he turned and walked unsteadily toward the bathroom with the chains around him.
I watched him go, a satisfied smirk playing on my lips. Rowan might hate me, but he was mine. He could fight, he could rage, but in the end, he would always end up on his knees. As long as he owed me, as long as he was trapped in this twisted dance of ours, he would never be free.