Over the endless whoosh of the duct’s massive fan, she lost her scream.
Their eyes met and the sound was never born from her throat. His were the intensity of hellacious rage, the shade of envy, and deadly focused. He leaned closer as she trembled, his large hand enclosing about the female’s throat.
Nostrils flaring, he sucked in an extended breath.
Green eyes rolled back in his head.
Panting, slapping his body so he might release his mass from smashing her further into the building did nothing more than earn a snarl from the male. He wanted his hostage still and silent.
Skin crawling, feeling as if she were on fire, Brenya dared to claw at the great hand encircling her throat. As if to acquiesce to the frantic plea, his grip abated, fingers trailing to the collar of her grey jumpsuit.
He was going to kill her—she could smell the aggression on the Alpha and began to cry. All she could think of was how she’d brought such an outcome on herself. She should never have tried to get through the gate. She should not have drunk from the fountain.
She was to be arrested and punished.
Frantic to explain, to earn release, Brenya whimpered, “Please. I’m sorry.”
As if she had never spoken, the male pinched the tab of her zipper. The grinding release as it descended down her neck confounded the woman. A tan clavicle grew exposed, the rise and fall of her chest all the more obvious. When her sling stopped his progress, before the fabric might part further, the Alpha’s knee batted her thighs apart. He’d hoisted her up so his nose might burrow against that freshly bared skin.
At the feel of his tongue rasping over flesh, Brenya’s panic hit a fever pitch. She screamed, more frantic writhing drawing a deeply disturbing growl from her attacker. His reverberating threat continued, even as his mouth descended to devour the female’s shrieks. It was as if he might swallow her up, his lips sliding, a serpentine tongue dipping in to stir up every syllable, to distort her pleas.
It was the lack of air, of bearing the weight of so much man pressed against her. Her insides began to burn. She could feel them systematically squeezing, cramping, coming apart until she was no longer crying for freedom, but whimpering from pain.
The smell of that stranger was heady, thick and salty… and nothing like jasmine.
Her stomach rolled, she gagged.
Why an Oversight Alpha was there, why he’d pinned her against that wall and felt free to touch her, she could not say. It was rare for elites of such rank to enter Beta sectors, though it was not the first time Brenya had laid eyes on the ones who governed. But never had she seen this one; never had she been close enough to one to feel that under their strange Centrist’s clothing, they were every bit as strong as their mass broadcasted.
Never had she shared breath with one.
Sweating profusely, she grew slippery in his grip. Or at least that’s why she thought her squirming had finally pulled the shackles of his hands away. She was wrong.
Her good arm was not enough to bat the male’s touch off when he reared and grabbed the front of her uniform. He didn’t even bother with the caught zipper. He wrenched cloth until the covering split down the front and breasts bounced free. And then he was touching them, palming the meaty flesh half hidden by a sling.
Gasping, unable to shove him back, she tried to beg him to stop, but his mouth ate up all noise.
Everywhere his fingers touched, skin burned. He was a brand, Brenya on fire.
There were laws against this sort of thing. There were laws that were supposed to protect females from terrifying Alphas—laws that forbade a male from reaching lower into her torn jumpsuit to poke at the place between her legs.
Blunt fingers ran the length of her slit, a squeal caught in the mouth of the male who would not stop tasting her tongue.
More fabric tore; he growled, and she was going to be sick. Brenya did not see how or even see when he’d reached between their bodies to free his member; she was not sure how he hitched her legs wider, or how he lined up. What she did know was that she buzzed as if being chopped up by that whirring fan when the Alpha drove home.
Once inside, he began to hush her… as if his captive’s panic had finally registered. “Shhhhhhh.”
“…please.”
A groan so filthy she shuddered, came from the beast. He lessened his grip on her knees, gravity pulling Brenya farther down a shaft she was sure would split her in two.
That engorged torture device could not be made to go deeper, the male frustrated that she was too small.
Hips jerking, he began to rut, bouncing her body back against the wall, his every thrust marked with an animal grunt.