Where she needed to be stuffed with her master’s thick cream until the burning need faded away and she was fat with a litter of Hadim’s hybrids…
Hips rolling, she mewled. Feet moving of their own volition, nipples begging to be caught and pinched. Twisted until they went red.
“Purple,” she moaned, panting as she stumbled toward them. “Make them purple…”
“Look for wounds, Sickle,” one of the males hissed, his voice laced with warning. One of the Anhur males, who had what she needed. Who might have been the Alpha.HerAlpha. “She may be infected, you can’t—” He seemed to choke on the words, his voice dissolving into a guttural snarl that made her gush, wishing that sound had been breathed against her ear. Into her hair.
Above and inside.
“Don’t fucking touch her, Sickle!” Hadim hissed, his ruined face twisted with rage. Unrecognizable as the master she’d once known. “She’smine.”
Flashing blunt teeth, she tugged on a lock of jet-black,loosehair. Showing them all what she’d done. “No braids,” she whispered, speech slurred. Her words drawing confused side-eyed glances from all buthim. Hadim. “Youknow,” she hissed, ears flat, sneaking quick shifty glances at the scarred visage scowling from above. “You like braids best,” she explained and shook her head. When she grinned, it was with ears laid out to the sides. Coy, as she said, “Not for you.”
And with a careless flick of her wrist, she pushed sheets of sopping wet hair over her shoulder. Fingers tangled in the snarls, she exposed herself to a pack of males who were not her master. A crime that would see them all dismembered in the Silver City.
But here?
Her arousal surged with the thrill of disobedience. With reckless glee. And for the length of time it took for a bead of water to trace her skin—starting at her collarbone and bumping over and between swollen breasts—she held them rapt and still with nothing but her nude presence.
Even Sickle, who was unbound. Who could have taken everything, for although he was indeed a dainty little thing, he was male. Strong in ways a pampered harem slave would never be.
But not strong enough to resist a female in need.
Maybe he could do the job? It was a risk to allow another of her species to touch her, certainly, but what else had she to do, but spend the rest of the month searching for Yarrow root to cleanse the filth from her womb? Besides, she’d never had a Hathorian male…
Never even seen one.
And it would be the sweetest kind of revenge to have her first in front of Hadim…
She approached gracefully, balanced on the balls of her feet when she could manage not to stumble. Mindful of the dips and eddies carved into slick red stone, except when the impact from each step shook a droplet of slick loose. Distracting, for it spattered as far down as the elegant bones of her ankles—so much that she began to worry about the safety of it all.
Surely, to produce… so… somuchwasn’t healthy?
A high-pitched whine crawled up the back of her throat, her fingers snaking down to disappear between the folds of her puffy pussy lips once more. It had been days of frustration and slippery wanting. Days of endless fretting while she fought with everything she had. Picturing Hadim’s handsome face as she fucked herself with a wooden cock, cursing his entire bloodline when all she could think without wishing he was covering her back and forcing her to take more that she could.
Worst of all, it was her first time going into heat without the aid of suppressors. And without anything to keep her hormones in check, she’d have no choice, but to abandon higher reasoning altogether.
Utterly, and on an epic scale.
For this was only the beginning. A precursor. Only a taste of how bad this natural season would get once it was truly upon her… once the need to breed set in, her eggs made to drop.
She was already lost.
Couldn’t stop.
Frozen in place, Sickle seemed unable to move as she approached. The glamorous male watching her hips roll with wide, white-rimmed eyes.
He really was beautiful—more than she was, certainly. Across his hairline blue ink dappled and twisted. His lips plush pillows, cheekbones giving his profile an ethereal cast that made her both nervous and giddy. Skin clear and smooth, except for the tiny dimples that showed where he’d been pierced with jewels on golden posts, the gems no longer his to display. By the Nine, his eyes were theexactshade of the sweet syrup Hadim had put in her tea as a reward for a pleasing breeding.
No matter how beautiful he was, Sickle was not strictly… feminine. Where she was slender to the point of fragile—wrists, ankles, neck—his bones were noticeably thicker. Solid, where she was not. They’d lived similar lives, both being slaves to their Anhur counterpart, but his frame carried more muscle. Taller and broader than her, but once she was standing close enough to taste his breath, she knew they’d fit together.
An obvious, natural match.
“Take it off,” she rasped, cheeks hot. Reaching out to touch the swell of that plump bottom lip. To press trembling forefinger in, to paint his tongue with slick.
Sickle lurched into action, his eyes turning black as he raced to comply. Suckling at her finger as he bared his skin to her ravenous gaze.
One of the Anhur bellowed, the tone of authority making her knees tremble for just a moment. A command she couldn’t decipher, for though she gushed, she didn’t spare Hadim even the slightest glance.
