Ravaged Captive (Wren's Song 4)

In all the times this demon had worked his evil down her throat, he’d never shoved his meat so deep.

Not that she particularly noticed.

She couldn’t even comprehend the words he was shouting as he held himself there beyond her ability to hold her breath.

Kieran keened, jaw clenched and teeth exposed in the following hiss.

What shot into her belly warmed soul-deep, shooting zings of feeling from tummy to fingertips. Filled her.

Becoming an active participant to the mauling, Wren swallowed again, and set her teeth to the root of his cock. Should he pull away what fed her, she’d bite down. Hold him until she’d had her fill.

More and more flowed thick and creamy from him to her, bloated her belly, yet still she refused to let go.

Rough fingers pinched her jaw, forcing it apart. “You have to breathe!”

The entire length of him was drawn from her esophagus, slimed with her mucus, and pulsating as it continued to spurt on her parted lips and waiting tongue.

But it wasn’t cum.

Thick, viscus, and white as snow. Stringy like taffy.

Addictive.

A nutrient substance rutting Alphas fed their Omegas in estrous when females were unable to eat.

When they could hardly drink.

A substance that would tax the Alpha’s strength as he gave his vigor to his female.

Something Kieran could have only been able to produce if he’d been with an estrous high Omega.

He’d force-fed Wren another woman’s due. And she, the slut that she was, lapped it down like ambrosia.

Immediately buoyed, feeling reason and strength return, the panting Omega met burning green eyes and knew.

Kieran had lied.

Chapter 5

Lightly laughing at a mildly funny quip, Rosie kept her face bright, her smile winning, and let the Alpha who’d pulled her to his lap think he was the only man in the world. Twirling his hair around her finger, easing close enough the sweetness of Omega scent might charm him, she drew in a decent option for nightly protector.

Someone who would keep her out of the orgy in his greed to have Omega cunt to himself.

This game, she’d played it a million times. Same smile, same giggle, different cock.

Play the part, and food and water were available in abundance—as was a sort of safety. The protection of strong males, the comradery of other females who lived and breathed the same sorry life. Everything in the pen was organized and in its box.

But it was a job. Unpaid even.

Generally, Caspian gave his whores everything they needed beyond the standard food, shelter, water. Spoiled them as far as pimps went with clothing, luxury items, even the occasional excursion into the city. He didn’t beat them, not unless they had it coming.

But he sure as fuck didn’t care about them either.

The male liked holes. Preferred those holes to be of the female variety and trained in how to make his dick cough up cum like a geyser.

And that male was going to hand her off to whichever asshole brought his missing mouse in. Which, considering the Warrens, could be fucking anyone.

And when she was handed off, the future she had tried so hard to build would crumble. Aside from the upscale bride markets, the pen was the nicest place an Omega might whore. Here there was an actual chance she could be sold to some powerful old fart who lived above the smog.

Where she would get to have babies and be safe. Even if the Alpha was weak and wanted nothing more than a sexy nursemaid, he’d be able to afford guards. Life would be comfortable.

But all these years she hadn’t been offered in trade. Not while she was one of Caspian’s top girls.

She hadn’t been offered anything but more work on her back.

And time was running out.

The mouse was alive; Rosie’s days were numbered.

A sense of sadness she had refused to allow herself to feel in all the years she’d been in the pen was knocking on her heart for entry.

So she smiled all the harder, moaned all the louder, and faked orgasms like a fucking pro.

At this point, she could slick her thighs on demand—do the ol’ in-out-in-out, and feel nothing. Because she’d had a plan and a future.

Now she had an ax over her head and a replacement who hadn’t even had to brave the pen, the males, or the females.

No. Jax only had to contend with three.

Well, Toby was a freak on a whole other level, but still. Three only. Rosie had fucked three guys before breakfast.

After all, those who didn’t fuck didn’t thrive.

Turn the men down, refuse to participate, and starve.

And it was so much more than the lack of food. The girls would turn on those who took but didn’t give. Share the burden of pleasing the males, share the disappointment and the shame, or get your throat cut while you slept. Ladies didn’t get to languish in the pen. Period.