Stolen (Alpha's Claim 4)

As she was pushed back down, Brenya saw a small woman heavy with child trying to help a grey-haired old man to stand. Awkward as she was with so large a belly, she didn’t stop until her shoulder was under his, until she faced her host and my captor.

“Jacques, enough.”

“Go to your husband, Annette. Tell him what you saw here, and know he will laud me for not killing the fool who thought to expose my estrous high mate.”

Brenya could not see clearly enough to see if the woman scorned such a statement. But she heard no complaint, only the sound of a door unlatching before two ponderous bodies squeezed through.

Then they were alone.

The injection, the morphine, was doing its work. She was muted, caught in a place where the ceaseless purr was so distracting she wanted to swim through it. Even the pain began to dissipate.

His face, she could not stop looking at his face. Alphas were visually appealing. They looked different than Betas, more refined… bigger. Still, she would have rather had any other man in the world smiling down at her.

“None of this is your fault, Brenya.” His hand edged nearer where the sheet was sticky with what had gushed from her body. “You’ve been the ideal citizen. As Commodore, I commend you. Now, mon chou, you have a new task. You are to get better, the rest we can discuss afterward.”

She felt a squiggle between her legs. A slender warmth breached her, pumped cautiously through the river flowing from her private place.

As he fingered her, he spoke. “I owe you an ocean of apologies for what transpired when we met. You are the first Omega born under Bernard Dome in three generations. I may have been overzealous in securing you once I caught your scent.”

There was a sting, a stretch between her legs, the Alpha adding another finger to prod and twist inside.

“What are you doing?”

The beast had the audacity to smile. “Only I can offer what your body needs, sweet girl. You’re in a form of estrous. Without stimulation you will suffer.”

Before she might try to squirm away, she was flipped carefully onto her belly, his weight settling on her back. Strong arm tucked under her hip, those same fingers went right back into their slippery home, even with her legs pressed tightly shut. On and on it went until Brenya was certain she was going mad.

Pump, squirm, twist, part—over and over, until she hissed that what he was doing was not enough. She had not meant to, could not tell you what had possessed her to moan as she did. At her loudest drugged complaint, she was pressed again to her back, the massive man lowering between spread thighs. His fingers continued to gently spear her, but it was his mouth that made her scream.

There was no shame as he smiled and flicked his tongue over swollen lower lips. He tormented her clitoris, sucking, rolling, and dragging it about while his hand twisted until she thought she might go mad.

The fever, the pain, was forgotten. Brenya saw white, pure light, remembered the warmth of the breeze outside the Dome. For a moment, she was certain she could smell jasmine.

At the moment the little death came upon her, his teeth skimmed her inner thigh. He bit down. When the skin broke, it was the most exquisite pain.Chapter 3“More…”

Warm air moved over Brenya’s ear, the weight of thick limbs circling like a python squeezing its prey. “What do you need, dearest?”

She was not fully awake, and it took her a moment to recognize that she had been the first to speak. Blinking, she took in the room. Around where she was kept, curtains had been drawn, enclosing herself and her captor in shadows. Linen under her nose was wrinkled and heady with male scent and the acrid stink of her perspiration.

Everything was muddled, all Brenya held were fragments of memory, but sometimes she knew to be afraid. She was lying in his bed—these were his rooms where she had been forced to convalesce.

In her stupor over the last few days, more than once she’d tried to leave, stumbling drunkenly from bed as if she might find a door in the dark. Each time, muscled arms had swept her up, returning her to the cocoon of soft blankets and strong limbs.

The other half of the time her mind was so fogged she forgot to be afraid, forgot where she was. Everything converged into simple sensation. Sometimes the male exercised the power to make her feel very good. Other times, just his presence, the lightest brush of his touch was agony.

The air was so saturated, she could taste him in every breath, was so soaked in his sweat, she felt as if that aroma must have seasoned her down to her bones.