Stolen (Alpha's Claim 4)

He’d dared to kiss her, to comment on her lust-drugged, blown pupils.

The male had called her beautiful as she lay stupefied and twitching.

When she tried to say his name, tried to beg him to stop, he’d smiled, his head slowly descending between her grotesquely spread thighs. Jacques had lapped at the slick seeping out around the machine as if her sex was the sweetest cream.

“I’ve never seen a Beta respond to a Pliarator as you do. What exceptional creatures Omegas are.” Husky, he’d growled, still savoring her juices. “Imagine it’s my cock inside you. When the next knot comes, I want you to feel my seed pulsating in your belly.”

As if on cue, the machine began to expand at its base, to fill her up and stretch her even more than the first time. He watched it work her, Jacques seeing to his own satisfaction with rapid jerks of his hand up and down the veined protuberance jutting forth between his legs.

His cock.

She could smell it in her haze, grunted at it like an animal.

The way he abused his organ, how swollen and purple it grew in his fist, the way he practically gnawed her erect clitoris, they both had to be in euphoric pain.

Ready to spurt, he’d reared back on his knees, drew his lips back from his teeth, the muscles standing up in his neck.

The worst had yet to come.

He spoke a command. The machine responded. It opened up, the false knot inside her growing until a hole was made inside her body just the right size to be exploited.

Falling forward to land on his hand, his musculature tight and twitching, Jacques lined up his fat cockhead with her machine spread opening, smeared her tortured cunt with a dribble of his come, and jerked himself in two more rough tugs until pearlescent spray shot forcefully into the space the machine had made inside her.

His usherings were too much for that little pocket, and his seed surged outside her sex, down her crack, in waves of wet heat, over and over until he pulled from her slit to aim instead for her trembling belly.

He overshot, coating her heaving tits, globs landing as far as her parted lips.

When he had crawled over her body, bobbing his pulsating knot in her face, he’d told her to lick him clean… and she had obeyed.

Without question.

Laving him from bulbous base to mushroom tip, collecting the salty taste, slurping, swallowing. With even more vigor than he’d displayed between her legs, Brenya submitted.

In that moment, she did not possess the mental faculty to understand that the Alpha had manipulated his promise.

Jacques had not fucked her. His machine had.

She’d been vanquished like a prisoner, subjugated like a slave, and used like a whore—sore, tired, mindless, and still under the control of his whirring device.

That had been last night, all night.

Even upon waking, her senses had not fully returned, and here he was, forcing her back on the bed to do it to her all over again.

Betas were never reassigned.

He pushed his toy deeper, speaking warmly. “In a week or two, you’ll be ready for me, mon chou.”Chapter 5Greta DomeEverything had been prepared, extraction flawless.

Huddled on his lap, her body enveloped by his coat, slept an Omega who was his. The risk of the leap into his arms she’d handled well; the way she’d slept once he had her, a sign she felt safe. Not once had his purr faltered, it projected powerfully, so Claire might continue her rest and Shepherd might take the time to examine his mate.

Her head cradled against his shoulder, he moved a light touch over her face. The bridge of her nose, last he’d seen had been badly broken. While she’d convalesced, doctors had set it, but a sharp eye could see the slight bump and hairline scar. Shepherd traced over the flaw, going next to circle the socket of her eye. That too had healed well, no permanent mark remaining from the orbital fracture, no impairment of vision.

She was in perfect physical health.

A small whimper in sleep, and Claire turned her face toward his chest. It was so like her to be fussy whenever he’d inspected her beauty in the past. Shepherd smirked at her unconscious protest, hugging her to him so he might deeply inhale his Omega’s scent.

Across from where Shepherd fawned over his female, a woman read through pages of a chart, quick fingers flipping quietly. “Severe PTSD—improvement nominal. Her list of medications has altered since our last update. Claire O’Donnell is on a great deal of sedatives, some of which are highly addictive.”

“She will be given whatever she needs,” Shepherd, cautious to keep his voice low, answered the unwelcome interruption.

Dr. Osin looked up from the pages. “There is a list of twice daily opiate injections here, doses larger than what I would deem safe. Considering the cocktail of medications, I cannot foresee the side effects of abruptly ending this treatment. Inevitable withdrawal may make her very ill. She will have to be carefully monitored.”