by Isoellen
"Monster!" She didn't want him to hurt himself. What was he doing?
Unable to vocalize words, he pointed the knife at the nest and growled at her. Fix it. He wanted her to fix it.
"Bossy, crazy male," Naya huffed.
The robe was a challenge—a dare. Gold wire embroidery with seed pearl beading edged all the hems and covered the front of the ostentatious thing.
She thought it too rough and coarse for bedding, but if she threw it out, he might not understand the reason. She turned it inside-out to expose the softer satin lining.
She had nothing clean and nice to make a good nest in. There was not one fluffy blanket in the lot, nor even a colorful knitted pillow of angel hair yarn. No, she had to make do with his cast-off robes.
She glanced up as he chopped off another claw and inspected the damage, trying to cut the sharp edge of the nail. Why was he doing that? When the knife didn’t work for him, he chewed at the end of his fingernail and glowered in her direction.
He was working her up good with those noises he made. It was hard to focus on the finishing touches and get the space just right or good enough. She'd perspired between her breasts and down her back, and her vulva was swelling, a plumping she could feel when she moved.
Her unbound hair didn't help. It was too hot and in her way. There was too much of it, and like everything else, it was his fault.
This wasn't the same as her heat, but he made her ache with need all the same. The bundle of nerves between her legs answered his call, hopeful for his attention.
Her breasts felt heavy for his hands, nipples ready for the back-and-forth rasp of his thumbs. She felt him watching, thinking of where and how he meant to touch her, what he planned do with her.
By the time she finished, he had cut off three of his claws.
But why?
He had his fingers in his mouth, searching for rough edges maybe. He spat something on the floor and looked at his de-clawed fingers, rubbing them over his thumb to test them. Eyes on her, he waited for her invitation.
She took off her top—his too-big shirt—her pants, and her underwear and sat them outside the nest. She wanted to talk. Maybe eat a meal.
But his face, his body, that sound he was making—the man had faded. The monster wanted, needed, to claim her.
Naya stepped down out of the bed, took his hand, and kissed the damp tips of his declawed fingers. Drawing him to the edge of the raised platform, she pushed him against it, knelt, and took off his shoes. She hooked her fingers in his pants and helped him remove his bottoms, hiding her smile at the imprudent way his cock sprang out.
Nothonal Darre was a terrible person. He was the reason drones and women in this sector were tortured and abused with impunity.
She could hate him for it. He deserved hatred. Disgust. Conviction for his crimes. But instinct didn't care, didn't judge, didn't see any of that. Instinct said he was her alpha. The best alpha. Provider, protector. Father for the precious child hiding in her womb.
Instinct said to love him.
And so she did.
She drew the monster to their nest, reminding him she had chosen him.
Chapter Twelve
Monster
Monster thought he would fuck himself into her, mark her, own her, remind her she was his. He thought he would put his bite on every part of the little thing's body so she would know who she belonged to, so that everyone who saw her would know and she could never leave him.
He'd possess her body by making her weep for need of him, fill her with his fingers, tongue, and dick until he was her world.
He was what he was: a beast—a creature who lived for the kill. To be first. To be strong. Simple and selfish, Monster hid in the man until it was time to fight, time to walk by horror and see nothing, time to get revenge on those who loved him the most for hurting him the most.
Undefeated and uncontrolled, Monster did what he wanted when he wanted.
No one who tried to tell him otherwise survived.
Until her. Violets and sweet biscuits. Silken skin and curves that begged for his caress. Fragile. Breakable. Treasure.
Instead of his rough, passionate claiming, she laid him low with her kisses and her purr. She kissed his remaining lethal claws and made his cock jerk and spurt when she met his eyes and licked one of the sharp black hooks.
Mesmerizing him, she took off his clothing. The girl touched him willingly, fearless and gentle. He held his breath at the brief press of her face against his hip and dropped kisses against his abdominal muscles, counting the ridges of his body on her way upward. Her fingers whispered over his mouth, touching his exaggerated incisors when he growled at her, then moved over his lips and cheeks.
Her trembling was all from desire, not fear.
"Come to our nest, my monster."
She drew him in. Bemused, he let her push him down and crawl over him.
"My monster," she whispered into his chest. Her hands played over his scars left in the wake of battles, victories, assassination attempts, and other near-death experiences.
She licked and nibbled, soothing his every hurt. She found the sore places, the muscles that never healed properly. The balm of her poured rich and luxuriant over the places where his bones felt cracked from the aches and old pains. His treasure found them with her mouth and her purr and she did something magical to them.
He gasped, pulse quickening.
He was a monster. He had lost his bride. He had lost everything.
But that bride had never gifted him with anything but a promise. Not her purr. Not her kiss. Not her devotion. She'd been young. He would have waited forever. He had waited forever, trapped in a never-ending rage and rut.
This female, this little treasure, gave him everything. She held nothing back. She set him free.
He moaned as Naya touched him, mouth on his soul. She seated herself over his pelvis, leaned forward, and slid her tight, hot, sweet heat onto him.
"You are my Monster. All of you," she whispered, easing herself down. "All of you."
His hands went to her hips, fitting into her perfect curves. But she took his wrists and brought them up to her chest instead. Her naked skin glowed with inner light. Her jewel-green eyes watched him close.
"Bossy. Demanding. Cruel,” she moaned when he rubbed his fingers over her nipples. He stopped to pinch them when she called him cruel.
He was. But not to her.
"Possessive and protective. You are my monster."
He cupped her breasts, marveling at their shape and weight as her flesh spilled between his thick fingers.
He watched her lust-drunk eyes in return, discerning what pleasured her, what pained her, and what she would endure for his sake. Slipping his hands around to her spine, he pressed her close to him as she used her mouth on his chest.
She kissed and bit at his upper chest, then at her mark. Her words continued to flow over him between her moans and hums. "You are mine. Mine. Only mine. Ever mine. I chose you. I choose you."
She put her hands on his shoulders even as his big paws crept up to cradle her neck.
"My heart knows you, Monster. Sees you. I see you, Nothonal Darre, son of a king. The Broken Prince." She touched her mouth to his and breathed into him. "You will change, or you will not. It's too late for me. I choose you. All of you. Everything."
What she said made the monster tremble.
He didn't turn away when her mouth settled on his. Sounds came out of his chest and there was moisture in his eyes as she increased the pressure of her plush lips. Her tongue lapped against his and at his teeth, not taking or battling, but pouring into him.
He arched, lifting her and pushing himself deeper. He had to be careful now, though—it was time for other pleasures. Time to keep the door to her womb safe and closed, nurturing the seed he’d planted there.
He breathed her in, inhaling his little treasure as the monster took the pure, unreserved rush of her giving.
Her smell made his head swim a
s the girl bared her soul to him, gave her life essence to him. She surrounded him with fields of nectar-heavy violets lush with promises.
He felt her come into his being like an adrenaline rush, pushing out age, anger, and pain.
Naya lavished her breeder’s blessing on him. She forced it through their shared bond and past his every barrier. The dense, rich golden oil of it streamed over and into his used warriors' body and remade him.
Capturing her face in his hands, he gifted her with a kiss that drank deep. A voracious creature by nature, he couldn't stop taking—licking into her mouth, nipping at her lips, breathing in her scent, and devouring her gentle kisses with fierce, greedy ones.
This beast would drink of her until there was just a tiny spark left. Except this was not that kind of fountain; Naya was a source that could not run dry and would never ask him to leave. Locked together now, entwined by more than emotion, her blessing for her chosen one was bottomless.
He had wanted to shatter her.
She shattered him instead. Shattered him and healed him.
He could do nothing more than tire her out and put her to sleep. Her conquest of him had washed away his wild desire.
Monster gentled.
He softened his kisses. Less taking, more connecting. He let her breathe, let her sigh over him and kiss his cheeks and his damp eyelids while his hands started their play over her beautiful body.
He let the man free, and together—whole—they loved their woman, pleasuring her again and again with reverence and adoration.
When she fell asleep, it was wrapped in the safety of his arms with a smile on her face and his purr in her ears.
He let her rest as long as he could. He wanted her filled up with the sweet and easy nature of their lovemaking.
But no part of Darre was sweet and easy.
Leaving the nest, he went to his office. The night scape darkened the exposed windows. Without power, Sector 2 only had fire or cheap generated power to create light, leaving plenty of room for the natural star strewn sky. He could see the yellow-white glow of lamps and fires, sparks of life in the night.
The dark muffled and disguised the outside from him, hid the decay and misery caused by his revenge, but he knew it was there.
He had destroyed hundreds of lives in the name of his father's repeated betrayals, insults and petty cruelties. For the want of a woman, he made the world around him as miserable as he was.
That girl had been gone for years, and still he had raged with a false, bastardized link, an anomaly formed through desire and obsession. A binding to a ghost.
Darre had been doing his father's bidding out in the wilds of the Un, smashing the wills of weaker alphas and reforming beasts into men for his father's cause while he waited for the call home and the one thing every breed male ached for.
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.
"Sweet treasure. You think because you can ride the monster that you tell him what to do?"
"Don't tease."
"But monsters love to play with their prey,” he explained. "It's what makes them good monsters."
He continued his thorough abuse of her nerve endings, waking her body. In the dark of the room, he listened close for every caught breath, each movement of her tensing muscles, reading her responses.
Did she like little sucking bites? Not on the sides of her tits—at least not as much as he did. He loved marking her up.
Did she like the touch of his teeth? He discovered that th
e threat of his ferocity made her shiver to her core, but it had to be used sparingly.
He memorized every inch of her beauty. Insatiable for the taste and texture of Naya’s skin, Darre suckled at her, kissed, and nuzzled, cuddling his face against her abundance.
His mate returned the affection and cradled him, allowing him to take his fill even as she started to beg. "Please, Monster, please."
"Shhhh. Poor baby. Poor treasure. It's all right. I know what you need."
The scent of her want soaked the room, the moisture of her need slipping down her thighs, slicking him where their bodies touched.
He didn't leave her breasts until her nipples were distended and her areolas swollen, pillowed by the abrasion of his raspy beard. Until he felt a physical response from her each time he brushed his thumbs across them.
"Please, please, please,” she pleaded.
"I need a taste of you, baby girl. I need to eat you up. I feel like all I've gotten so far is sips."
"But… but… please. We already..." She lost her words in a breathy moan.
Sweet, proper girl. She'd been raised right. In a good household, by good parents. She still couldn't say the dirty things she wanted from him.
"Little princess. My little princess,” he growled against her belly.
Darre missed the curve from the first days of her heat. He wanted to see that gentle swell of flesh—and more—again. It represented everything soft and female to him. The idea that her belly would become round with his child made his cock jerk, spurting essence at just the thought of it. He laughed at himself, grinding against the edge of the bed.
He moved farther down until he was kneeling on the floor and her pussy was right where he wanted. He would learn her needs here as well.
He licked up her slick, fed on her, delighted by her petaled flesh, and teased her with gentle touches before changing his rhythm again.
"I can't take it. Please. Please. Please!"
"You can take it, baby. You can take it all."
She came, hips jerking, body trying to curl over him and pull away at the same time. But he wrapped his arms around her and pressed in close, holding her tight, keeping her on the edge.