He knew it was unhealthy.
He knew he was dangerous.
But sitting in that chair was the only barrier, the only restraint he could manage when his need raged uncontrolled.
Brenya Perin, Unit 17C, lay sprawled, covered in their combined sweat and fluids, asleep. Had he stayed beside her in the bed, his hands would still be on her, inside her, his mouth unrestrained no matter that he’d pushed her so far she’d passed out… again.
He could not stop himself.
Even after stroking himself to climax, he was hard, his cock throbbing to be buried in her as it had been that first time in the alley. It physically hurt, made him sick to his stomach, and left the muscles jumping in his neck. His sack was so swollen that no amount of self-relief ever lessened the ache.
He held that staff in his hand, squeezing his blasted knot until his vision swam, the last traces of final ejaculation yet to ooze out and dribble down the veined shaft.
It had already been forty-five minutes since she’d screamed under the influence of the pliarator, since he’d painted her mouth in globs of white even as her eyes rolled back in her head.
And he was still hard, still in pain, and still desperately fighting with himself to remain in the chair and only look.
Don’t touch…
Grinding teeth, he threw back his head and fought to control himself as another prickling wave washed from base to tip of an angry, denied cock so close to omega cunt.
Leave her be. Let her sleep.
She’d need the rest so that tomorrow she could be focused, so she could come further. She needed the rest so she would feel less afraid.
Every single thing he did, his every breath, frightened the woman soon to be his mate.
There was nothing to be done about that.
Eventually she would know a true estrous, the bond would be forged, and Jacques Bernard, Commodore of Bernard Dome would seal her to him for life. There was no question of his intention. Nothing would change it.
Not a single being under the Dome could challenge his claim. Anyone who so much as whispered of it he’d have killed.
It was easy enough to order a death. Easy enough to keep her under his constant eye.
But it was impossible to tolerate being near her scent, to have her richness layer over every cell in his body and not fuck her.
Even now, even under this forced distance, it was all he could think of. Her taste on his tongue was never enough. Twice he had slipped in the dark hours and lapped at her pussy as she’d slept… all the while he had fantasized about doing worse. He’d been so close to testing how much her little body could take after days stretched out by the pliarator, that he’d caught himself already crouched between her thighs, his dick in hand, rubbing it up and down her drenched slip.
He had even begun to push forward… so very close to popping his cockhead past the first tight barrier.
Shaking, breathing so hard he was sure she would hear him, he’d frozen solid. It was wrong. What he’d been about to do was wrong.
Had he woken her that way she would have never forgiven him.
He’d already raped her once. Brutally.
All these thoughts went through his head, but his hips kept pushing forward.
In a panic, he’d flown from the bed, thrown himself into the chair, and jacked off like a grunting savage. The fruitless orgasm did nothing to ease the tension. Knowing that any female in the palace would see to his needs, he’d even considered slipping out into the halls to spend his fluids on the first Beta hole he came across.
But the thought of fucking another was… distasteful now that he knew what true sex should be.
He had made Brenya a promise, yet every day it was getting harder to keep it.
If she did not give in soon, he was going to reach his breaking point and his cultivated façade of control was going to snap.
Fingers in his mouth, he let his tongue play over the taste of her that clung to his skin, imagining her kneeling between his spread knees, those delicate hands running up and down his shaft. He’d train her to relax her jaw enough to take him into her mouth. In time she’d learn to swallow his girth down her throat like a practiced Beta slut.
She would swallow every last drop of come he gave her. All of it. He’d make her.
Snapping up his head, Jacques opened his eyes and made himself look at the dreaming female. Thoughts of a darker nature were the reason he was failing in this endeavor. He had to control himself. She was a person. She was his love, his mon chou, who needed to be coddled, cuddled, cared for, and cherished through her difficult transition.