The other part of me, on the other hand, still feels justified. Every word I said was true, even if I could have expressed myself with more decorum.
His hand on my hip slides down to cup my buttock possessively, and he tugs me closer until my groin is pressed up against his crotch. His cock is rigid, huge beneath the soft fabric of his breeches.
“Let me make you feel better,” he murmurs. The hand stroking my hair suddenly slides through it at the scalp, gripping it tightly, yanking my head back. And then his lips are on mine.
Even though I’m no longer in heat, my body responds to Khan. There’s a sudden liquid gush between my thighs as his tongue slides into my mouth and he kisses me ferociously, expertly, on and on until my nipples are stiff, aching peaks against the gown and my clit is aching for his touch. Digging my nails into his shoulders, I moan, sliding one leg over his thigh and grinding myself against it.
He’s still kissing me, his tongue plunging, foreshadowing what his cock will be doing to my pussy.
Goosebumps prickle over my skin as I gyrate my hips, the butter-soft hide of his breeches already slick with my juice. My clit feels huge as I scrape it up and down against him, riding his huge, iron thigh. As ashamed as I am for behaving like a bitch in heat, I can’t stop myself.
It feels too good.
When Khan’s purr turns into a growl and he bites my lower lip, I explode, coming so hard that I see stars burst behind my closed eyelids. I’m holding on to him for dear life, shuddering violently, my core clenching uncontrollably as I cream all over his breeches.
At length I go limp, spent and exhausted, too drained to even apologize for ruining his clothing. Instead, I lie in his arms, my heart racing, tiny aftershocks still pulsing through my core.
Khan kisses my forehead with uncharacteristic tenderness. He’s still growling. “My little Emma,” he whispers. “Mine.”
Then, like a switch has been thrown, he rolls me over, flipping me onto my back and getting astride me. My gown is unceremoniously torn open to reveal my breasts, and his mouth and fingers are on them, kneading, pinching, tugging and twisting the nipples until I cry out.
The pain just heightens my arousal.
It always has.
I don’t know when or how he freed his huge, engorged cock from his breeches but as he gives my taut nipple a particularly savage bite, there’s a sharp ache in my pussy and he’s inside me, all the way to the hilt. Filling me. Stretching me.
My legs are splayed as obscenely around him as my sex is, and his smooth, hard pelvis is grinding against my clit with every thrust as he begins to fuck me in earnest.
“Mine,” he says again, his voice thick with lust. His eyes are almost black with his desire. “Mine. Mine. Mine.” He’s chanting it now, in time to the exquisitely painful digs of his hips as he pounds his length into my slick core with the brutal precision I’ve come to know—and crave—so well. One huge hand is still gripping my breast painfully; the other is clamped across my forehead, pinning me to the mattress, nothing but a vessel for his seed.
Even though he’s not actively doing anything to facilitate my pleasure, another orgasm is thundering towards me. Now that I’m not in estrus, I don’t produce rivers of slick, but I’m still dripping. My juice tickles me as it slides down over my butthole. I can feel every ridge, every vein of Khan’s considerable cock. Then he adjusts the angle slightly, so he’s thrusting up against my G-spot as well as crushing my clit.
My entire being contracts as I clench around him, coming so hard that I don’t even know where the orgasm is originating from. I just know that the pleasure is so intense, it physically hurts—an ache exacerbated when the knot forms at the base of his cock, stretching the sensitive tissue of my opening as if I were being fisted.
That only makes me come harder.
Khan lets out a roar which mingles with my scream and vaguely, I’m aware of bright spots appearing around the edges of my vision as my body milks him rhythmically.
He’s filling me up, pumping me full of his cum, and as the spasms of my orgasm finally begin to wane, a feeling other than pure lust overtakes me.
Resentment, bitter as vinegar, fills me as completely as the huge Alpha on top of me is currently doing.
This is all he sees in me.
This is all he wants me for.
This is all I am to him: a cocksleeve. An empty womb to be fertilized. A broodmare.
I don’t want to stay here. I don’t want to lose everything I’ve ever known and everyone I’ve ever loved. I don’t want to be reduced to nothing but a walking, talking set of ovaries. I don’t want to have to watch as other women are kidnapped from Earth to suffer the same fate—or worse, depending on which king they’re unlucky enough to be given to.
The trouble is, there’s sweet fuck all I can do about any of it.
My pussy is still fluttering around Khan’s cock as the tears begin, once more, to leak from my eyes.
EIGHTEEN
Khan
