The challenge in her voice makes my already-hard cocks pulse inside her. She feels it and grins wickedly.
"Oh, you like that," she observes. "You like when I talk back."
"I like that you're comfortable enough to talk back," I correct. "It means you're not afraid of me anymore."
"I was never afraid of you," she says thoughtfully. "Afraid of what you represented, maybe. Afraid of losing myself. But never afraid of you personally."
The distinction settles warmly in my chest. "Good. You should never fear your alpha."
"I should probably fear you a little," she counters. "Given what you're capable of."
"What I'm capable of with you is very different from what I'm capable of to you," I point out. "You're my mate. My partner. The only person in the world I would never truly harm."
"Because you need me."
"Because I love you," I correct. "Need is just biology. Love is choice."
She studies my face, looking for deception and finding only truth. "When did you get so good with words?"
"When I realized I needed to deserve you."
The bond pulses between us, carrying her satisfaction at my answer. We're building something new here—not the master and pet relationship I originally wanted, but genuine partnership within our roles. She submits because she chooses to, and I dominate because she needs me to. The structure serves us both instead of just serving me.
"Your knots are going to be locked for hours," she observes.
"Frost Court knots are thorough."
"So what do we do while we're stuck like this?" She wiggles experimentally, making us both groan. "Besides that, obviously."
"I feed you," I say, reaching for the tray my servants refreshed while we slept. "You haven't eaten properly in weeks, and your heat will burn through calories quickly."
"Romance really is dead," she mutters, but opens her mouth obediently when I offer her a strawberry.
I feed her slowly, watching her savor each bite with deep satisfaction. There's something profoundly intimate about caring for her like this—locked together, her body accepting mine in the most primal way, while I ensure she has the strength to handle what comes next.
"Better?" I ask when she's eaten her fill.
"Much." She leans up to kiss me, her lips sweet from berries. "Though I'm still mad at you for the five orgasms thing."
"You'll recover."
"Will I?" She shifts her hips deliberately, making my cocks throb inside her. "Because I'm pretty sure I'll die if you do that again."
"You won't die." I thrust shallowly, as much as the knots allow. "But you will lose count of how many times you come before your heat is satisfied."
"Promises, promises," she says, but her scent spikes with arousal at the threat.
We stay locked for three more hours, trading pleasure and conversation in equal measure. She tells me about her life before, the human world she left behind. I tell her about the centuries of isolation, how empty immortality felt without someone to share it with.
By the time my knots finally deflate, we've built something stronger than just a bond. We've built understanding. Trust. The foundation for something that might actually last forever.
"Ready for round four?" she asks as we separate.
"You're keeping count?"
"Someone has to." She stretches luxuriously, displaying her body with confidence that makes my cocks immediately harden again. "Though I might lose track if you overwhelm me again."
"That sounds like a challenge."
