into her channel.
Omra cried out and jerked, but he grabbed her hips. Circumstances required he complete the mating. But his emotions went haywire; guilt stabbed at him with a sharpness that tore at his psyche, yet left his lust intact. He found no pleasure in her pain, but in her? Monto. He had not lost his appetite under the avalanche of responsibility as he had assumed. His desire had been no desire at all. One could not compare the tepid flicker he’d nursed to satisfy Corren with this hunger.
She was so wet, so hot, so… good . Her body’s grip on his cock compelled him to plunge into her fast and hard, but he overrode the urge and stilled himself to lessen her discomfort. He reached under her and curled the flat of his hand against her mound to hold her against him.
She whimpered, a low-husky murmur his body mistook for encouragement, and his hips countermanded his brain’s directive to remain motionless. He pulled back, then eased forward, sliding though slickness and heat, crossing the threshold to an experience in which a mutinous lust commanded his obedience.
“Fuck!” he swore, using an epithet he’d heard humans utter in times of desperation. Nothing else seemed to fit except for his hard penis pounding into the tight heat of her slick channel. He growled with the intensity of the pleasure. So depraved, this need for a female.
Pressure coalesced. Muscles tensed and quivered. He ground his teeth as his body released its seed.
The sky fell, and Dak collapsed too, flattening Omra on the platform.
Harsh breathing stirred soft strands of her hair. He did not want to compare his relations with Corren to what had happened with Omra, but he’d never achieved this union of body and spirit with a beta. Breeding and sexual release evolved from different motivations, comprised two different acts, but with Omra, they had merged into one explosive, consuming fire. He should not revel in her softness, her wetness, her tightness, in the indecent satisfaction edged by frissons of disappointment. He rued the joke nature had played upon the Parseon race by designing females incapable of experiencing sexual pleasure.
What if Omra had been able to experience the peak of ecstasy with him?
Heresy . Such notions violated Protocol and were inappropriate for any male, let alone an Alpha Commander.
He compounded his shame by continuing to lie with her. On top of her. In her. So much heat. Wetness. Sweet musk. His softening member throbbed. Desire stirred anew. Monto.
Dak pulled out and rolled off. Blood stained the sleeping platform, her inner thighs, his increasing member, and his hands. He’d hurt her.
Perhaps nature would be merciful and allow his seed to bear fruit so the need to mate would be satisfied until he required another son. She continued to lie facedown, her face averted, so he used the moment to study her, noting the delineation of her ribs, the sharpness of her shoulder blades. He could count vertebrae. But her ass was pert, its roundness kindling an urge to slap it even though she had not misbehaved. Omra’s conduct had been exemplary, except for that single incident when she’d tried to bite him. Her past transgression shouldn’t amuse him, but it did. A smile tickled his mouth. Dogging the heels of that memory came a recollection of the director, and his grin faded. The man had withheld her food, his investigation had discovered. Had he known, he would have ordered the director flogged to death. Rage simmered.
Sival would pay. In due time. But now he needed to replace the lock-ring.
“Don’t move,” he ordered. He pivoted and left the chamber.
THE DOOR SNICKED shut, and Omra released a shuddering breath. Her heart thumped, whisperflies fluttered in her stomach, and a mob of thoughts rampaged.
Mating hadn’t been nearly as awful as she’d feared. The initial penetration had shocked her with its piercing pain, but the Commander had stilled his thrusts, and she had adapted to his size.
Omra cried out and jerked, but he grabbed her hips. Circumstances required he complete the mating. But his emotions went haywire; guilt stabbed at him with a sharpness that tore at his psyche, yet left his lust intact. He found no pleasure in her pain, but in her? Monto. He had not lost his appetite under the avalanche of responsibility as he had assumed. His desire had been no desire at all. One could not compare the tepid flicker he’d nursed to satisfy Corren with this hunger.
She was so wet, so hot, so… good . Her body’s grip on his cock compelled him to plunge into her fast and hard, but he overrode the urge and stilled himself to lessen her discomfort. He reached under her and curled the flat of his hand against her mound to hold her against him.
She whimpered, a low-husky murmur his body mistook for encouragement, and his hips countermanded his brain’s directive to remain motionless. He pulled back, then eased forward, sliding though slickness and heat, crossing the threshold to an experience in which a mutinous lust commanded his obedience.
“Fuck!” he swore, using an epithet he’d heard humans utter in times of desperation. Nothing else seemed to fit except for his hard penis pounding into the tight heat of her slick channel. He growled with the intensity of the pleasure. So depraved, this need for a female.
Pressure coalesced. Muscles tensed and quivered. He ground his teeth as his body released its seed.
The sky fell, and Dak collapsed too, flattening Omra on the platform.
Harsh breathing stirred soft strands of her hair. He did not want to compare his relations with Corren to what had happened with Omra, but he’d never achieved this union of body and spirit with a beta. Breeding and sexual release evolved from different motivations, comprised two different acts, but with Omra, they had merged into one explosive, consuming fire. He should not revel in her softness, her wetness, her tightness, in the indecent satisfaction edged by frissons of disappointment. He rued the joke nature had played upon the Parseon race by designing females incapable of experiencing sexual pleasure.
What if Omra had been able to experience the peak of ecstasy with him?
Heresy . Such notions violated Protocol and were inappropriate for any male, let alone an Alpha Commander.
He compounded his shame by continuing to lie with her. On top of her. In her. So much heat. Wetness. Sweet musk. His softening member throbbed. Desire stirred anew. Monto.
Dak pulled out and rolled off. Blood stained the sleeping platform, her inner thighs, his increasing member, and his hands. He’d hurt her.
Perhaps nature would be merciful and allow his seed to bear fruit so the need to mate would be satisfied until he required another son. She continued to lie facedown, her face averted, so he used the moment to study her, noting the delineation of her ribs, the sharpness of her shoulder blades. He could count vertebrae. But her ass was pert, its roundness kindling an urge to slap it even though she had not misbehaved. Omra’s conduct had been exemplary, except for that single incident when she’d tried to bite him. Her past transgression shouldn’t amuse him, but it did. A smile tickled his mouth. Dogging the heels of that memory came a recollection of the director, and his grin faded. The man had withheld her food, his investigation had discovered. Had he known, he would have ordered the director flogged to death. Rage simmered.
Sival would pay. In due time. But now he needed to replace the lock-ring.
“Don’t move,” he ordered. He pivoted and left the chamber.
THE DOOR SNICKED shut, and Omra released a shuddering breath. Her heart thumped, whisperflies fluttered in her stomach, and a mob of thoughts rampaged.
Mating hadn’t been nearly as awful as she’d feared. The initial penetration had shocked her with its piercing pain, but the Commander had stilled his thrusts, and she had adapted to his size.
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