SET ME FREE

TWO

The room wasn’t dark, not really—but the light was red and low, deepening every shadow until they felt alive. Gold flickered in narrow strips along the walls, catching on metal, on leather, on silk. Enough light to see danger. Not enough to clearly see the man who walked through the door.

Ella’s heart dropped to somewhere around her feet.

A man—a very fine man—entered without hesitation. Broad-shouldered. Tall. Moving with the quiet confidence of someone who owned every square inch of this room. He didn’t look at her at first. Didn’t even glance toward the bed. He paused only when he noticed the half-emptied wine glass on the floor.

His jaw tightened.

He set his jacket down with controlled, icy precision. And from the way each muscle in his back tightened beneath his black shirt, Ella knew—knew—that he was angry.

She should have screamed.

She should have begged.

She should have done anything to explain she wasn’t here by choice.

But she couldn’t make a sound through the gag.

And even worse—she forgot how to breathe.

Because when he reached down and tugged his shirt over his head, the movement rippling through his torso, Ella’s pulse skittered wildly.

She couldn’t see his face clearly, not in the shifting red light. But she saw enough: the hard lines of his body, the cut of muscle, the way his presence filled the room like smoke. Everything about him was carved to destroy her composure.

He didn’t speak.

He only hummed—a low, unreadable sound in his throat—before he nudged the wine glass with his foot. It shattered, tiny shards scattering across the floor like glittering ice.

Ella flinched.

He moved slowly, deliberately, bare feet silent on the carpet, and she followed him with wide, helpless eyes. Fear coiled in her stomach. So did something far more confusing.

He unhooked his belt.

Let it drop.

The buckle hit the floor with a soft, heavy thud.

Her breath stuttered behind the gag.

He crossed to the far wall, choosing something from the rack—something thin, flexible, tipped with a small strip of leather. A training crop. Not violent looking. But not gentle either.

When he turned back toward her, his face remained half-swallowed by the shadows. The red light touched only fragments of him: the sharp cut of his jaw, the dark sweep of his hair, the depthless glint of his eyes.

Those eyes pinned her.

Terrifying.

Beautiful.

And devastatingly controlled.

Ella’s pulse hammered. Her body shook—not only with fear, but with something she didn’t have a name for, something that lit up every nerve ending despite the danger radiating from him.

She had never imagined she could feel this way.

Never imagined she could be brought to the edge of terror and something else entirely by a stranger standing in the shadows.

Her breath came fast.

Her hands pulled instinctively at the cuffs.

She was trapped.

Gagged.

Helpless.

Spread across a crimson silk bed in a room she did not belong in—

—and a man she could barely see was walking toward her.

Excited.

Terrified.

Absolutely undone.

She had no idea who he was.

But something in his posture, in his command of the room, in the way the shadows bent around him—

Ella had a sinking, dizzying feeling that she had just made the worst—and most dangerous—mistake of her life.

His brow creased the moment his eyes landed on her.

Ella froze, breath locking in her throat as the man paused—really paused—studying her like his mind was trying to memorize every feature. Her eyes. Her lashes. Her cheeks, flushed pink from the wine… or embarrassment… or the thick sweater she suddenly felt way too warm in.

The gag tightened the roundness of her cheeks, and his stare dragged over every inch of her face with slow, burning precision. She couldn’t decide if she wanted to hide under the silk sheets or arch toward that gaze just to feel what it might do to her.

He moved toward the bed.

Her pulse stumbled, her eyes glued to him. The leather paddle tapped her thigh—twice, firm enough to make her jerk but not enough to hurt. Just enough to make heat lick up her spine.

Then he leaned over her, his shadow swallowing the red-lit room, forcing her deeper into the mattress.

“I said no clothes,” he murmured.

His voice poured over her—low, impossibly deep, the kind of voice that vibrated in places she didn’t want to think about. Her breath stuttered when his hand slipped beneath her sweater, fingers brushing her bare hip like he owned every inch of her.

His nose skimmed the line of her jaw.

“f**k,” he whispered against her skin. “You smell so f*****g insane. I’m gonna make you feel so good.”

Ella’s mind short-circuited.

She should have shaken her head. Should have screamed through the gag. Should have done anything but melt under him.

But the wine, the room, his presence—everything drowned her thoughts.

Her body reacted before her brain could catch up, arching faintly, betraying her completely. A soft, desperate whine escaped her, muffled by the gag. She hated how helpless it sounded. She hated even more how his eyes darkened at the sound.

He lifted his head, studying her with something sharper than anger now—something hungry.

He kissed her neck, slow, hot pressure against sensitive skin, trailing wet warmth that made her breath hitch. His hand slid higher, over her ribs, over the thin line of her bra. His fingers were cold, icy against her burning skin, and she wanted them everywhere.

Ella’s thoughts spun.

Her toes curled in the sheets.

Her wrists pulled instinctively at the cuffs—stupid, stupid decision—and yet the restraint only made his attention feel more dangerous.

More real.

His kisses deepened, turning into deliberate sucks that left sparks racing across her skin. Her heartbeat pounded so hard she could feel it in her throat, in her wrists, between her thighs—

He reached her waistband.

The moment his fingers brushed the button of her jeans, the air shifted.

That slow, deliberate motion—controlled, confident, certain—made the room feel smaller, tighter, as though the walls themselves leaned in to watch.

His lips lingered at her throat, each warm inhale sending a shiver spiraling down her spine. The red lighting painted his jaw in sharp lines, emphasizing every breath he took against her skin, every subtle change in his expression as he traced the curve of her body with undeniable intention.

He didn’t rush.

He never rushed.

The zipper parted with a soft, intimate sound that echoed like a promise. Her back hit the silk sheets, cool, smooth, unforgivingly luxurious, and for a moment she forgot how to breathe. His mouth at her neck was a distraction—an exquisite one—drawing her focus while his hand traveled lower with agonizing slowness.

He hovered at the hem of her underwear.

Teasing. Testing.

Letting anticipation coil through her so tightly she could barely hold still.

His kisses deepened, turning into hungry pressure that made her toes curl against the sheets. The room felt too warm, her sweater too thick, her skin too sensitive. She could feel him watching her reactions—cataloging them, savoring them.

A soft sound escaped her behind the gag, and he paused.

She felt rather than saw the smile against her skin.

A quiet, sinful rumble of amusement.

“That’s it,” he murmured, voice rough velvet. “Such a perfect reaction…”

His breath ghosted over her as he shifted, one hand brushing her hip with slow, devastating purpose. Every movement felt intentional, crafted to wind her tighter, make her more aware of her own helpless anticipation.

Then—

A sharp, unexpected tap of leather.

A jolt that tore her eyes open.

“No moving,” he said, low and commanding, his tone dark enough to vibrate through her. “You take what I give you, like a little good slut. Nothing more.”

The dominance in his voice wrapped around her like a physical touch. It wasn’t just control—it was precision. A man who understood exactly how to balance restraint with reward. A man who never let his own hunger cloud his calculated patience.

But she could feel the shift in him.

Her scent, her reactions, the way her eyes locked on his even through the haze—

It did something to him.

Something primal.

Something barely leashed.

His breathing changed, becoming heavier. His jaw tightened, his shoulders tensing like a wolf wrestling with its own need. He wasn’t usually gentle. He wasn’t usually slow. He wasn’t usually… affected.

But with her—

Every instinct screamed to devour and worship in equal measure.

Her moans, her helplessness, the innocence of her wide eyes against the backdrop of a room built for sin… it twisted under his ribs.

God help him.

He wanted to ruin her.

He wanted to revere her.

And as he hovered over her, his gaze locked onto hers with something dark and dangerously soft, she knew—

She was so lost in his eyes that she didn’t realize where his hands were, until he suddenly slipped two fingers in. He almost chuckled, "f**k, such a good w***e, so wet for me." And all he got was a loud moan.

He was slow, so f*****g slow, that she almost moved to meet his fingers, but then the leather came again, followed by an arch of his fingers inside her that made her scream from the pleasure and pain. She got the massage; she wasn’t allowed to move.

He wanted to play with her a little longer, but he couldn’t wait any more. Her scent was driving his wolf insane, and every moan went directly to his d**k. He didn’t even wait to get off his pants; he just got on top of her, ripped her underwear, and slammed into her in one full thrust that made her scream and tug at the cuffs. He didn’t wait for her to adjust to his size; he took her, slamming in deeper and deeper until she saw stars and the whole universe before her eyes. One thrust, the gag was there; the next, it was rolling on the ground. Then his lips were on hers, and a groan slipped out of his control. She tasted better than he ever imagined, and with one aimed deep thrust, she came all over him, making his thrusts sloppier, but he didn’t stop. She took his mind; her body was calling him for more, and so he did.

He slipped off, rolled her onto her stomach, and slammed back in, then grabbed her hair between his fingers, the other hand pressing her more to the mattress as he slammed harder, chanting "f**k" as a prayer while her moans grew louder and louder, slipping control further out of his hands. He got the keys from his pocket and uncuffed her, grabbing her body against his, sticking his nose into her hair, one hand around her neck, the other gripping her stomach, supporting her from falling.

He felt his high getting closer, so he was chasing it by slamming into her deeper and faster, while Ella moaned louder, seeing dark spots. She was about to pass out when he finally came all over her back with a low growl, his c*m covering her ass and back. He wanted to drop her on the bed, but he wasn’t ready for that yet; his wolf was still asking for more. But he had to go. He was angry and needed a quick release, and he got one. But one thing was on his mind: whoever got him this slut would get a raise for sure, and it definitely wouldn’t be her last time in his bed.

He looked at her f****d-up face one last time, bit her lips one last time, then got his shirt and left the room, leaving her panting over the sheets.

Ella only came to her senses when she heard the soft click of the door shutting behind him. What the f**k did I just do? Her mind raced. She had just let a stranger—a stranger—get inside her, in a red room in her best friend’s pack house. The memory hit her again, and a shiver ran through her as she tried to move. Her jeans dug against her sore hips, and her underwear was ruined. She rolled it up and shoved it into her pocket, cursing herself. She needed to get out. Silvia had to be looking for her.

Biting her lip hard, she tried to move faster, but every step brought a sharp pang of pain. Just as she reached the stairs, a guard appeared, cutting off her escape. The same one who had caught her drinking wine like sparkling water just minutes or maybe hours ago. “We’ve been looking for you, Miss Ella” he said.

“I… I couldn’t find my room,” Ella stammered. “Silvia said it was on the right corridor.”

His gaze pinned her, disbelief written in the tilt of his head, before he said simply, “That’s the left wing,” and gestured for her to follow. He didn’t comment on her messy hair, her flushed cheeks, or the faint limp she tried to hide. He just led her to her room, opened the door, and left without another word.

Ella let out a shaky breath and closed the door behind her. The room felt impossibly quiet. Her heart was still racing, and she knew she needed a bath—a long, hot one to try to wash away both the mess and the memory.

She didn’t even make it that long after the bath. Exhaustion hit her like a wall, and she collapsed onto the bed, her body trembling, sore, and utterly drained. The silk sheets did little to soothe her aching skin, and her mind replayed every moment over and over.

She didn’t notice Silvia come in to check on her, or maybe she did and was too out of it to react. The hours blurred into a restless sleep that carried her into the early morning.

The next thing she knew, Silvia’s cheerful voice was pulling her from sleep. “Ella! Get up! Dad’s waiting for us. Breakfast is ready, and he wants to meet you!”

Ella groaned, swinging her legs over the edge of the bed. Her back still throbbed from the events of the night before, and every part of her body reminded her that she was sore, exhausted, and thoroughly shaken. She wanted desperately to tell Silvia what had happened in the red room, but there wasn’t a moment to spare. That mystery would have to wait.

Dragging herself to the bathroom, she took another long, hot shower, letting the water ease the aches in her muscles. By the time she dressed, her mind was a haze of fatigue, nerves, and anticipation.

When she entered the dining room, her pulse nearly stopped.

There he was.

At the head of the table, calm, imposing, and impossibly commanding, sat the man who had dominated her thoughts, her senses, her body—the same man who had left a mark she couldn’t forget. Alpha Sebastian Gill, her best friend’s father, was staring directly at her. His face was unreadable, but the intensity in his gaze was enough to make her feel exposed, caught, and entirely seen.

Silvia, completely unaware of the storm brewing inside her, clapped her hands and smiled. “Ella! Come sit! Dad, this is Ella—I’ve told you so much about her!”

Ella’s legs felt like lead as she stepped toward the table. Every nerve in her body screamed with recognition and fear, the memory of last night flashing vividly in her mind. She couldn’t shake the image, the feeling, or the pull that Sebastian’s presence had over her. And as she met his eyes, it became terrifyingly clear: nothing would ever feel ordinary again.

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