**Chapter 12 – Alastor (Stiles) POV**
Her cunt was still spasming around me when I pulled out, a thick rope of my cum following and splattering onto the hallway carpet between her feet. Charlie sagged against the wall, breathing ragged, eyes glassy and cheeks burning crimson. Another perfect performance. Another set of fake moans and trembling limbs that almost—*almost*—looked real. The sight of her ruined like this should have satisfied the deal. Instead it twisted the knife deeper because I knew she was thinking about Vaggie downstairs, counting the seconds until she could run back to her actual partner.
I didn't let her recover. My tentacles lifted her again, this time carrying her further down the hall into the first empty suite. The door slammed shut behind us with a burst of green static that sealed it against any interruption. "The orientation can wait," I broadcast cheerfully while my voice underneath crackled with raw anger. "Our guests saw enough of the show. Now it's time for the encore you're clearly dreading."
I bent her over the foot of the bed, kicking her legs apart. She was dripping—my previous loads mixed with her own arousal making obscene strings that connected her swollen folds to the floor. The visual made my cock throb harder despite the rage. I thrust back in without warning, burying myself to the hilt in one savage stroke. Her walls clamped down instantly, fluttering and rippling along my length like they were trying to pull me even deeper. The wet squelch that followed was loud enough to be picked up by my radio filter and replayed back at her in layered harmony.
"Still so tight no matter how many times I fill you," I hissed, hips snapping forward with enough force to make the heavy bed scrape across the floor. One tentacle wrapped her throat from behind while two more pinned her wrists to the mattress. I was stronger now, every movement carrying the full weight of unbound power. Violet static arced off my skin and danced across her back, leaving faint glowing brands that made her arch and cry out again. The sound was beautiful. Broken. *Fake.*
I fucked her harder, pounding that perfect spot inside her that made her gush around me within seconds. She came violently, inner muscles squeezing rhythmically as fresh slick sprayed out around my cock and soaked my trousers. Her voice cracked on a high wail that sounded far too genuine, but I knew better. This was the performance she thought the deal required. The guilt was written in every tear that hit the sheets.
"Keep acting, Charlotte," I growled, voice glitching between polished radio host and the sarcastic kid who had bled out in Beacon Hills. A flashback hit mid-thrust—claws sinking into my chest, the Alpha Pack leader laughing, my Spark flaring one final time to mimic a barrier that saved the pack before death took me. The memory fused with the present and my power surged wildly. The hotel's new wards outside tripled in strength, green lattice patterns spreading across every window like mountain ash made demonic.
I didn't slow. My claws dug into her hips as I railed her through the orgasm, then through another that followed almost immediately. Each clench of her pussy felt like heaven and insult at the same time. I loved her. Loved her optimism, her ridiculous dream, the way she made a dead boy want to build something instead of just surviving. Yet here she was, tolerating the Radio Demon's cock because the contract demanded it.
"Tell me how much you hate this," I demanded, yanking her head back by her hair so I could see her face in the mirror across the room. Her eyes were rolled back, mouth open on constant desperate sounds, fresh tears streaming. Another tentacle found her clit and vibrated at a new frequency tuned by my mimicry spark—perfectly cruel. She squirted hard, soaking the bed and my thighs, body convulsing so intensely the tentacles had to hold her up.
The sight snapped something. I snarled and flipped her onto her back, folding her legs up to her shoulders so I could drive even deeper. The new angle made her scream with what looked like overwhelming pleasure. Her hands clutched at my coat, nails digging in as her walls milked me with greedy pulses. I fucked her like I was trying to punish the lie out of her, static exploding around us until the lights in the entire wing blew out.
My own climax hit like a lightning strike. I buried myself as deep as possible and flooded her again, pulse after pulse of hot cum filling her until it backflowed around my thickness and ran down the curve of her ass. The release seemed endless, amplified by the broken chains and the Spark's chaotic energy. When it finally ebbed I stayed seated inside her, chest heaving, smile fixed in place even as my eyes flickered amber.
Downstairs the lobby noise grew louder—new guests demanding answers, Vaggie's angry voice rising above them, Angel Dust making crude jokes about the "noises upstairs." The hotel was officially alive. My protection was ironclad. The power that surged through me now had no master.
I leaned down, lips brushing her ear as the radio filter dropped into something almost soft. "You can stop pretending any time, darling. Until then I'll simply keep reminding you what the deal truly costs."
She shivered beneath me, cunt giving one last weak flutter around my spent cock. I pulled out slowly, watching the mess pour from her well-fucked hole, and straightened my coat. The night was far from over. There were sinners to orient, threats to monitor, and a princess who still refused to admit she had enjoyed every brutal second.
The static hummed a darker tune as I offered her my hand to help her stand on shaking legs. Whether she took it or not, the broadcast would continue.