He'd been so fuckin’ patient, trusting his father—his family—to take care of his interests—to protect too-young Alennie until she'd gone through her full maturation and could accept Darre as her bond-mate and husband.
She was a perfect, shy little girl with no one to protect her. Rhineholth had taken her and other orphaned girls into his home as their guardian.
Omegas were precious, sensual miracles, born for pleasure and reproduction. They had to be protected. Guarded. Their smell alone could reduce a male to nothing more than his animalistic need to claim her. Young men still lacking control over their bestial drive to fuck everything in sight were not permitted to be around them.
That was what breed were at their core: instinct-driven. A rational mind was a weak thing compared to their senses. Take away their fake politician's smiles and dressed-up hypocrisy and they were mere animals, no better than the packs of the Un.
Sector 2 proved it.
An omega made the perfect bride, able to sway any breed pretending to be a civilized man. She promised the success of his line, a new generation of prime alphas. She could extend his life through their bond, heal him, and carry his children. With an omega bride-mate at his side, an alpha could live forever.
And there was nothing like omega breeder pussy. They were fuckin born to take everything an alpha could offer. They were temptation incarnate.
He thought he’d understood all of that. But until mating and bonding with Naya, it had all been theory. Now he had the truth of it.
And the truth of what he had done.
For a girl who probably hadn’t even cared for him.
Omega breeders had the right to choose their mate. No husband or contract could be forced upon an omega female. Bonding rights could not be stolen. Rape became punishable by death. Sexual assault, abuse, harassment, and aggression against any breed female resulted in the removal of the hands and genitals of the perpetrator.
Young, her mother missing, Alennie had made the best of a bad situation and chosen the male offered her. First Darre, the son of the King, and then when he was off fighting in the Un, the next man the King offered her.
Breeders chose—unless they were under the protection of a self-made asshole king.
The girl had not chosen him. He had set his mind, heart and body on her, and she had not returned it.
Unlike Naya.
He should stay away from his mate. Let her sleep. But the tie between them pulled. He wanted in her again.
Let her rest. Think about something else.
In his mind, he went over the day.
He recalled the looks on the faces of the drones, the beta females, and the terror they didn't hide.
He recalled the stern face of his secretary and second, Mac, his eyebrows lowered to shutter his thoughts and feelings.
The only face he recalled with any clarity was Naya's as she gasped in pleasure.
He washed. A brief splash of cold water cooled his skin. Darre's hunger for his mate was insatiable.
Returning to their sleeping room, Darre turned the lamp off and climbed back into the sanctuary of their nest.
His little treasure had turned herself onto her belly. He shifted her to her back, purring to keep her quiet. The purr she had found in him soothed her, along with the growl she had discovered—the sound he made to set her on fire.
Shoving her up the nest, he settled where he could easily reach her tits. Darre was sure he had not paid her chest the full homage it deserved. It was a lavish bounty compared to the average chests of beta females, constantly tempting his hands, his mouth, and his dick. He loved the overt sensuality of her big tits and little nipples with their long begging tips.
Not just a breeder in name, Naya was a breeder in nature—ripe, lush, and ready. Her shape, petite as she was, was made for him. She was every dream of a woman he'd ever had: a soft place for his head, his hands, and his being.
He plumped her tits and began to lick, suck, and mark them while his purr turned into the growl that would arouse and awaken her.
"Monster,” she whimpered. Her arms closed around his head, hands catching in his hair. Trapped beneath his weight, she tried to pump her needy mound against him.
But he would not be rushed. She was his to claim. His to relish.
He ate at her flesh, working his way to the middle, pumping his own hard cock against the flat of the bed in no hurry for relief. She was trying to direct him to her sensitive nipples long before he was willing, tugging at him in a way that made him chuckle against her soft, pliable skin.
