How strange it was not having him in her ear, the pair of them working as one to assure the comfort and safety of all.
But Brenya had breathed outside air, become Omega, harmed him by association, and had no one to share such thoughts with anymore.
It would have been better if that panel had fallen and left growing cracks all the way down the Dome. At least then, the city would know that the air outside smelled sweet, that the virus had moved on. That they could go outside and see butterflies. That paranoia was unnecessary, and a new life could begin.
The abandoned cities could be reclaimed by those with the drive to find what the world offered.
Clearing his throat, Jacques tried again to solicit her attention. “It has been four days, mon chou, since your tea with Annette. You have had nothing to say on the topic.”
Responding automatically, Brenya continued to swirl a fresh bite for a stomach that starved no matter how much it ate. “The tea was a blend of ginger, turmeric, and rosehip. Honey was added. Something of a Centrist tradition to acknowledge that Alpha mates are cruel.”
The male settled both of his hands upon the small table they shared, leaning forward, before he asked, “You believe I am cruel?”
“I have no perspective to make such a judgment. Ancil is the only other male in Central I have seen outside of the state dinner in which Annette was poisoned with Beta rations. I would need more than two variables to make a reasonable assessment.” Honey eyes looked up from her work trying to gather slippery bits of carbohydrates covered in sauce to abstractly consider the Alpha watching her. “Then there is the outlying concern. If you lived in Beta sector, you would have been put to death the day you raped me in the alley.”
“Brenya.” It was not her first warning of the day.
The noodles were waiting on her spoon, right there. Eating when she was so hungry seemed more relevant than conversation. After all, the Alpha had a history of forgetting she was a living thing that required water, air, and sustenance. “Have I done something wrong?”
“Mon chou….” Lifting his glass, ice tinkling against the crystal, Jacques sipped, staring at her over the rim.
If he was going to leave things unspoken, she was going to eat. The tiny nest of pasta went into her mouth, chewed in fascination of the strange texture. After a swallow, she immediately began to prepare another bite.
“You seem unusually hungry.”
It might have been the first relevant comment the Alpha had made that evening. Relevant enough that she looked up from her dwindling plate and shifted a modicum of her attention from thoughts of gold forks to the symmetry of his face.
When they were alone, Jacques wore his hair loose, blond waves cascading over broad shoulders. Brenya was very familiar with the procedure of unweaving the braid and setting it loose, that being one of the duties he outlined would be hers as his mate. He’d purr and groan as she worked through those locks, her fingers systematically working through the procedure to the exact count of sixty seconds. When it was done, she would fellate him before he might decide to seek other indulgences. Just as Annette had taught her.
Sprawled in his chair, she would begin counting, following his requests, ignoring how often he made her gag or how much her jaw might ache. And where her fingers had been in his hair, his were now tangled in hers, the Alpha moving her to whatever rhythm he favored.
It was a race to excite him enough he might come down her throat and save her from another mounting. His changing moods made it difficult to keep up with the uncontrolled thing he became when aroused. Desperation led her to suck harder, move faster, drool everywhere so he might finish and leave her alone.
At least for an hour while he smirked in his chair and watched her stare out the window. That was if he didn’t drag her to his lap for a long kiss and hold her there until he was done doing whatever it was he thought to accomplish by keeping her tucked under his chin.
Two of the last four days, she had either overperformed in this act or underperformed, both times ending up stuffed full of cock and knotted by a rutting male who bruised where he gripped. Her back to his damp chest, he would place his hot palm where his seed left her belly distended and purr. The longer the knot, the more his fingers might slip down to toy with the sensitive flesh between her legs, compelling another orgasm he timed with his next gush.
The slosh of what he left inside her body, what was plugged by his bulbous, pulsating knot. Brenya both knew relief when his member shrank enough to set the torrent free, and disgust from the way his fluids would flood over her thighs.