Stolen (Alpha's Claim 4)

The pliarator was not just for stretching cunts.

How many women had he shared with Ancil over the years, pushing the female body to the limits of pleasure and pain with two knots and the occasional third cock down her throat? It was a pretty picture to see Brenya in his thoughts that way… and then it wasn’t.

The concept of sharing her was… infuriating.

He’d seen the way Ancil looked at her. His security advisor was biding his time for the invitation to taste Omega.

Sudden wrath abruptly ended the daydream.

No Alpha but he would ever touch her.

That in itself was a problem… and yet another reason Jacques was considering moving against his best judgment toward the Greth situation.

His mate would be coveted; his power already was. No one was infallible and no friend really existed at court.

Breathless, watching Ancil’s every last muscle tense as he orgasmed, Jacques said, “Contact the Greth Queen’s Consort. Tell Chancellor O’Donnell we will accept his trade agreement. His ship may land.”Brenya Perin was beyond the door, secured by no less than seven Alpha guards. It did not seem enough for something so fragile and so priceless. The helmets shielding them from Central’s environment and preventing the scent of nearby Omega from teasing their nostrils reflected back the approach of their unsmiling Commodore.

He did not ask for a report. He did not look at a single one of them. Jacques’ thoughts and flesh were devoted to a single mindedness.

Things could not be allowed to proceed as they had. He had done wrong here indulging her fears, in letting the lion play the kitten. He had done wrong believing patience was the cure.

Facts were facts. He was an Alpha; she was his Omega. Order had to be established and domination enforced.

He had given her all the power, an unstable female, and in doing so, had harmed her.

So he would treat her like a slave, guide her in what was expected from an Omega, and adore her all the while. The rest he would teach her… later.

Pushing through the door, he found the foyer dim. She was not in it, did not come to properly greet him as a good wife should.

“Brenya Perin.” Gruff, cold, he managed to speak her name without the whine of a dog in pain entering his voice. His cock twitched, balls so heavy with unshed ejaculate they throbbed miserably. “Brenya Perin, come here at once.”

There was no sound in return, no shuffling of feet. No answer.

A scratch of irritation sharpened his gaze. No one disobeyed him. This poor behavior he had fostered by coddling her and begging for her attention. Too many smiles he’d wasted, too many longing looks.

That was at an end.

“Brenya Perin!”

Still nothing.

Tearing at the collar of his shirt, he rejoiced that it was anger pumping through his veins and not insatiable desire. It would give him something to hold on to when she received her first punishment. It would give him focus before he fell at her feet and begged her to love him.

Plodding through the foyer, the parlor, throwing open doors he found more darkness and quiet.

There was one last place she could be. His bedroom.

Perfect. He would not have to drag her far to the nest. It would be done quicker, and then his Omega would be told exactly what was expected of her from now on.

Unlike the rest of his apartments, the lights were softly glowing, showing just enough to betray his errant guest’s whereabouts…

Her head was turned away from him, and though he could not see her face, he knew her eyes were unblinking and focused. On her hands and knees, naked, her thighs parted just enough that her pink slit became the center of attention.

He’d held her legs spread open enough times to know every last detail of that perfect place. The inner labia peeking out of soft outer lips, the warm, wet pussy that could drip the sweetest honey.

She held that position, a suggestive statue that lacked the scent of her male on her skin.

She was presenting the only way she knew how.

The lie of control failed. Jacques forgot his anger, why he was there, who he was. His entire being came down to the meat hanging between his legs. A tear of fabric, and his member was in his hands, his slacks hanging open, zipper ruined.

Noises were coming from his throat like those of a vicious animal and they made his prey tense… and also excited her. He could smell as much, feel the traces of slick in the rushed seconds it took him to surge forward and prod that slit with the swollen head of his dripping cock. It was a blur, a sloppy entrance to a place not quite ready and yet on offer.

Shoving his way inside, he took her hips in a harsh grip that would prevent any thoughts of resistance. He fell over her back and set his teeth to a tense shoulder.