I press a kiss to her hair and settle in to wait.
She wakes with a moan.
I feel it through the bond before I hear it—the sudden spike of need, the hollow ache that makes her whole body clench. Hereyes flutter open, glazed and unfocused, and her hand reaches for me before she’s fully conscious.
“Alpha.” The word comes out broken, desperate. “Please, I need—”
“I know what you need.”
I roll her onto her back, and she spreads her legs without being told. Two days ago, I had to command her to show me her cunt. Now she opens for me automatically, her body trained to present itself for my pleasure.
She’s soaking wet. I can see her pussy glistening in the dim crystal light, swollen and flushed from everything I’ve done to her. My cum is still leaking out of her, mixing with the fresh slick her body is producing. She looks used. Claimed.Mine.
“Look at you,” I murmur, dragging a finger through her folds. She whimpers, her hips lifting toward my touch. “So wet for me. So ready to be fucked again.”
“Please—”
“Please what?” I circle her clit with one finger, barely touching, and she sobs with frustration. “Use your words, omega.”
“Please fuck me, Alpha.” No hesitation now. No shame. The heat has burned it all away. “Please, I need your cock. Need you to fill me up. I’m so empty—”
“Good girl.”
I notch myself at her entrance and watch her face as I push inside. Watch her eyes roll back, her mouth fall open, her whole expression go slack with relief as I fill her. Her cunt grips me like a fist—still impossibly tight despite how many times I’vestretched her open—and I feel every flutter and clench as her body welcomes me home.
“Yes,” she breathes, her legs wrapping around my waist. “Yes, Alpha, please—”
I don’t make her wait.
I fuck her hard and deep, the way she needs it now, the way her heat-addled body craves. She comes within minutes—I feel her pussy spasm around my cock through the bond, feel the gush of wetness, hear the broken cry that tears from her throat. I don’t slow down.
“Again,” I command, and she shatters a second time.
I lose myself in her.
In the tight grip of her cunt, the desperate sounds she makes, the way she clings to me like I’m the only solid thing in her world. I fuck her through orgasm after orgasm, feeling each one pulse through the bond, feeding on her pleasure like it’s sustenance. Her nails rake down my back. Her heels dig into my ass, pulling me deeper. She’s completely lost to it now—no resistance left, no pride, just raw desperate need.
When I feel my own release building, I wrap my hand around her throat.
The effect is instant. Her eyes fly open, meeting mine, and I feel everything in her go still and quiet. That beautiful surrender—the tension draining from her body, her pussy softening around my cock even as it clenches in anticipation. She trusts me to control her breath. Trusts me with her life, even as she hates me for making her need this.
“Come with me,” I growl, my grip tightening just enough to make her head swim. “Come on my cock while I fill you up.”
She shatters.
I feel it through the bond—her pleasure crashing through her in waves, her pussy clamping down on my cock in rhythmic pulses. I bury myself deep and let go, my knot swelling as my seed floods into her already-full womb. The pressure of the knot stretches her entrance, locking us together, and she cries out at the sensation—pleasure and fullness and the overwhelming intimacy of being tied to me.
“Good girl,” I groan against her ear, my cock still pulsing inside her. “Such a good omega. Taking my knot so perfectly.”
She makes a sound that might be agreement or might just be exhaustion. Through the bond, I feel both—the satisfaction of being filled, and the bone-deep weariness of a body pushed past its limits.
I hold her while we wait for the knot to release, my hand still resting loosely on her throat. Her pulse flutters against my palm—fast but steady, the heartbeat of a woman who’s learning what it means to be owned.
The heat breaks on the third day.
I feel it happen—the fever receding, the desperate edge fading from her need. She’s still aroused, still responding to my presence, but it’s manageable now. Human. The biological imperative that drove her to beg and plead and surrender has finally loosened its grip.
She lies in my arms, quiet and still, her body pressed against mine in a way that feels like habit now. Through the bond, I feel her emotions—confusion and exhaustion and something that might be grief. She’s mourning the woman she used to be.The warrior who needed no one, who would have died before surrendering.
