Yet relished each sensation. Desperate to bury his guilt and shame as he chased every scrap of pleasure through furious friction against the womb of another. Rage burning hot through the pair-bond. A building whisper in her thoughts tickling corners of her mind she’d thought free of him in her foolish complacency while he’d slept.
“Brenya… come to me.”
And it grew. The bond stretching awake with him, snarling to life with every minute he was parted from sedation.
An Alpha threat that no matter the distance between them, no matter who he fucked, he was inside her.
That they were still one.
Forever.
And that he was coming to collectwhat was his.
That he would make her come over and over until she remembered who she belonged to. Until she obeyed. Until she stopped pulling away and reached for him through the bond and took all he gave.
And then he would make her come some more. Until it was her cunt he felt, not Lucia’s. Until the bond swallowed the difference, and the pleasure belonged to them alone.
Mounting cramps, deep discomfort coiling tighter around empty pleasure, Brenya trapped in a grotesque simulation of sex while Jacques forcefully flooded her with him. And still, Jules held out his hand.
Casting long shadows across the Red Room, the setting sun’s amber light bathed her in an orange glow. Caught on the curve of her breast beneath Jules’s borrowed black shirt. Lit the side of her tan throat in gold.
The same gold as her tormented eyes.
Still coming. Her insides compressed, muscles grinding delicate tissues against one another, driven to over-tighten in their desperation for seed, as there was no knot to milk. Twistingatop that puddling slick, the seat beneath her thighs and seizing cunt slimy with it, fat drops slipped off the chair’s edge to dribble down in threads to the floor.
“Come to me, mon chou.”
That voice—Jacques’s voice—wasn’t memory. Itinhabitedthe air, slid down her spine, coiling against her clit as if his tongue lapped her juices.
“No!” she sobbed, jolting hard. Folding forward, she gripped the chair like it might anchor her.
A moan rose, trapped behind grinding teeth, as she fought with everything not to heed his call or feel his pleasure.
And failed.
A hissing, wet suck of air. Her breath snagged, morphed into a strained, reedy wail as blinding, painful orgasm peaked. Legs trembled, cunt manically wrenching around nothing.
No reprieve. No ebb. Just endless throbbing need.
Adrenaline shivers left her teeth chattering, another wave of climax already building too quickly for her to brace. The mind knew it wasn’t real, but her body did not understand what was taking place. Cunt tightened in confusion, grasping for a knot that wasn’t there and wouldn’t come without an Alpha to fuck her.
No stretch to soothe the muscles. No fullness to trigger her relief. No cum flooding inside her where it was needed. Just empty friction and sick dread.
She seized again under Jules’s unblinking gaze. Stuck, trembling, beautiful.
Bernard Dome’s museum boasted an exhibit of colorful, rare insects pinned to velvet. Beetles and butterflies that had not been invited into her Dome’s curated ecosystem. Delicate, pretty things.
And in that moment of ecstatic pain, that’s what she became. Twitching. On display. An invisible needle lanced through hercenter, pinning her to the sopping chair, even as she wanted to drag her body into a dark corner to hide.
She could taste Jacques in the back of her throat… hear the grunts and moans, the frustrated snarls and the passionate cries.
Worst of all… under the horror, Brenya feltwrongedby Jacques’s use of another woman.
Betrayed.
The cum he pumped into Lucia washers… Brenya needed it with a desperation that outstripped any craving she’d ever felt—even for Beta rations in her deepest moments of withdrawal.
And Jacquesknew…
