Pheromonal: One Night With the Alpha-Chapter 149: Rage-Bang

Logan’s eyes darken at my challenge. They’re not just green anymore—swirled with the kind of wild, primal gold which means his wolf is peering through the man. The air between us thickens, the room shrinking under the weight of everything unsaid. Tension coils tight, thrumming like a warning.

He doesn’t answer me right away. Just stares. Down my body. Back to my eyes. Down again. As if he’s memorizing the blueprint of my undoing.

My heart slams against my ribs. The silence hurts—full of heat and shame and hunger and the inescapable knowledge whatever happens next, there’s no taking it back.

"Say it again," he says, low and rough.

Pride flares. So does something darker. Something inside me wants to be chased.

"Do something about it," I whisper. "I dare you."

That’s all it takes.

He moves. One breath, and he’s on the bed, one knee between mine, pinning me beneath him with the force of a landslide. A broad hand captures both my wrists, slamming them above my head into the mattress. His hips slot against mine with devastating precision, hard and hot through his jeans.

His voice is all growl. "You wanted a reaction? You’ve got it."

I arch beneath him—not to escape, but to challenge. To push.

His grip tightens. Not painful. Just final.

And then he kisses me.

No, not a kiss. A possession. His teeth catch my bottom lip. His tongue follows with zero finesse and total intent. I gasp, and he swallows it, stealing air like he’s owed it.

He pulls back just long enough to growl, "Off. Now."

He releases my wrists long enough to rip my shirt off. My bra is gone with a flick. I reach for him, for his shirt, but he catches my wrists again, pinning them beside my head.

"This isn’t your show, sweetheart."

His mouth trails down my neck, biting and sucking until I’m marked and trembling. My thighs clamp together involuntarily. He notices and smirks against my skin.

"Fuck you," I hiss.

"That’s the plan," he mutters. "Eventually."

He grabs my thigh, drags it over his hip, opening me. His cock presses against my center. I whimper—humiliating and true.

Clothes vanish. Mine. His. No ceremony. No time.

He doesn’t let me admire him. Doesn’t let me touch. Just pins me again, his eyes eating me alive.

"You think I’m being territorial?" he asks, dragging a finger down my sternum. "You think I’m claiming what isn’t mine?"

His hand slides between my legs. I jerk at the contact.

"Let’s see if your body agrees with you." novelbuddy.cσ๓

His fingers are merciless. Rhythm perfect. Pressure cruel. My hips buck, but his arm pins me in place. His mouth follows. Hot. Wet. Precise.

"I want to hear you break for me," he whispers against my skin.

I try not to. I fail.

My orgasm crashes through me, brutal and blinding. I cry out, hand flying to my mouth, but he catches it and pins it to the bed. Forces me to be loud. Forces me to feel.

And then he switches it up.

He flips me like it costs him nothing, brute strength and bitter intent in every motion. One hand pushes between my shoulder blades, pinning me face-down, the other gripping my hips with enough force to bruise.

I don’t resist. I should, because I’m independent and strong and don’t need a man to dominate me. But the second his cock nudges at my entrance, slick and hard and ready, all I can do is brace and breathe a fucking prayer of thanks.

In my head, because I don’t want to feed his ego.

He doesn’t ease in. He takes. One hard, punishing thrust and he’s fully seated, thick and deep and ruthless, forcing a ragged scream from my throat.

I stretch to fit him. Barely. Maybe too much. Don’t really care. Everything’s kind of blending together into single-minded desire.

My nails claw at the sheets. My legs tremble. He doesn’t stop.

"Mine," he growls again and drives deeper, like the word alone carves his name into my spine.

Every thrust is vicious. Measured. Designed to unravel me, to break me until I’m submissive and pliant under his power. He sets a brutal rhythm, hands locked on my waist, pulling me back to meet each stroke. My whole body jerks with the force of it, tension winding tighter with every impact.

"You want to defy me?" he bites out, teeth grazing the shell of my ear. "Push all you want. I own this body when I’m inside it."

"Fuck you," I pant, even as I arch for more. "I’m not yours."

It goes about as you’d expect.

He fucks me harder.

My breath leaves me in broken gasps, the pressure building fast—too fast. His fingers slip between my legs, circling my clit with maddening precision. My hips jolt.

"Say it," he snarls. "Say you’re mine."

I clamp my teeth shut. I won’t.

He hits deeper. Rougher. The slap of skin and sweat and my own helpless whimpers drowning any coherent thought.

When I come, it tears through me like I’m splitting in half. He doesn’t slow. Doesn’t soften.

He chases his own release inside me with low, ragged breaths, driving every last thrust with the same vicious focus. Like he’s trying to brand me from the inside out.

He finishes with a growl and a full-body shudder, still buried deep. I feel him pulse inside me, feel the hot slick of it spread, and I should care about cleanup, but my brain is somewhere between melted and destroyed.

He doesn’t say anything. Just pants against my shoulder like he’s been in a fight he barely won.

I wiggle under him, mostly because I can’t feel my legs.

"If you broke my spine," I mutter, "you’re carrying me to class tomorrow."

Logan doesn’t answer. Just chuckles, low and dangerous. Still inside me.

And our fight isn’t even over.

Angry sex? 10/10. Would rage-bang again

But our issues? Still there. There’s a faint distance between us sex usually closes. But not this time.