But he was almost always the first to leave, on his own, to go back to his quarters and fiddle with his electronics, which he had great hopes of reviving and a great interest in, or to complete several of his physical training routines, depending on how much he had drank, which usually wasn't anywhere near enough to impair him. He refused to be caught unawares and would never be in his cups.
The closest thing to time off he enjoyed—besides fucking occasionally or sleeping—was reading, but he was also particular about what he read, so he owned a few books that he reread frequently. Sun Tzu's The Art of War. The Prince by Machiavelli. The Conquest of Gaul by Julius Caesar and Napoleon's commentaries on the wars of that same man. The Rise and Fall of the Roman Empire, by Edward Gibbon. These were the familiar words that he had heard from his father's lips since before he was born, and every time he heard—then later read—them again, he learned something new.
But now, there was not just him to think about anymore. He had a responsibility, as well as an unexpectedly powerful drive that he was not at all sure he had completely under control of. A kind he'd never experienced before that his possession of her had ignited to full flame, and he aimed to take it seriously. She was more—and less—than he had imagined he might end up with, when he'd, very occasionally, allowed himself to think that he might actually find his mate and not just a female who was there to be subdued and used for his pleasure.
He hadn't expected to find one who would challenge him so stubbornly. Most Omegas, he had thought, were of a submissive nature. There was no doubt in his mind—or his body—that she was his rightful mate, but she was almost as far from submissive as he was.
Yet she mewled and whimpered so amazingly when he had brought her past the point of her ability to resist, and that place, which he had just begun keeping track of, seemed to be happening incrementally more quickly every time they mated. He vowed to himself that, soon, she would present herself to him the moment he so much as looked at her or entered their room.
She was so passionate, unwillingly so, but still. When he had her caught beneath him, unable to dislodge him, pinned and pierced and plugged full of him, he could feel her true nature trying to assert itself, encouraging her to surrender herself to him. He longed to feel her body blossom beneath him, which he, of course, would expand to fill, stretching her just that much further.
He loved watching the outward signs of her internal struggle in those moments, her breath catching behind the gag, suffering his occupation but creaming continually around him at the same time, pupils fully dilated, nipples peaked, keening softly at that potent cocktail of sensations he brought to her as he hurtled her towards her peak.
Her reactions to him bringing her to orgasm last night made his body come alive now at the memories of just how acute it was for her, and it only seemed to become more so each time he took her, until, that last time, he could see that she was shaking her head as vigorously as what little strength she still possessed would allow her to. If she hadn't been so thoroughly gagged, he knew that she would have been begging him not to.
But, of course, he did, and it was the most explosive of all. She had actually been rendered unconscious in his arms for a few minutes until he roused her, in a bit of a panic when she went completely limp beneath him. He was used to her constant efforts to get away and then to get closer to him. When she stopped doing either of those things, his stomach dropped below his feet.
She came right back, though, although Kosh could see that she didn't really want to. He had removed the gag and even her bonds, which put him a bit on alert, but she remained noodly in his arms.
His hand found her again, and she trilled delicately in protest, her small hand landing—by pure luck because she didn't have much muscular control left in her either, apparently—on his thick forearm, but he simply left it there as his hand headed where he liked it to be when he had finished with her—between her legs.
And he had discovered just what he had come to expect—she was still coming, and very strongly, even empty of him as she was. It seemed to him that, from the moment he'd brought her to her fist orgasm, she hadn't really ever stopped contracting.
Kosh massaged her all over, concentrating on her arms and her shoulders, but touching her everywhere again, and she instantly fell asleep, emitting the smallest, most delicate snore he'd ever heard. Although he wanted her again immediately, he knew he'd already exhausted her and didn't want to risk doing anything that might cause her permanent damage, so he relied on his strength of will to help him divorce himself from his rampant desires and get to sleep.
But he didn't. He couldn't. He found himself touching her incessantly, even when he'd told himself that he wasn't going to. Something in him was blithely able to completely bypass his considerable will, both intimately and not, as if he would imprint the feel of his hand on her, even while she was asleep. Both breasts were squeezed and massaged, the nipples plucked and pinched and rubbed. His hands sought the curves of her hips, the moons that still bore the livid evidence of her bouts with the brush and his hand, patting them possessively, opening them and caressing between them and further, bathing his hand in the marriage of his spunk and her cream that still streamed out of her, and even deliberately soaking his bandage in it.
When she finally stirred, long, agonizing hours later, making as if to get up because she needed to go but so unsteady and wiped out that she could barely sit up, he took over and brought her there in his arms, keeping her hand in his as she went, then bringing her back and forgoing all of the niceties he had been so dedicated about last night because he didn't think he could exist another moment without being inside her.
And this time, she was unbound, in more ways than one.
Tura was barely awake and still annoyed—although not enough to really do anything about it—that her head still felt as if it was filled with cobwebs, what few thoughts she had jumbled terribly about in favor of sensation and feeling and desire, that had all banded together to push her obstructive intellect aside, apparently, in favor of indulging in more of the explosive, addictive bliss he had brought her to.
So, when he deposited her on the edge of the bed, standing between her legs to hold them obscenely open and hitched over his elbows, her nerve endings all flared to life as he leaned forward over her. She had never had a submissive thought or feeling in her life until him—she had had to fight to survive, especially since she'd been alone—but now, she adored how much bigger he was than she, how masculine he was, even how rough he could be with her.
She couldn't quite bring herself to admit that even his punishments set off fires all over her body, and she doubted she ever would.
All of those contrary feelings embarrassed her terribly, made her feel humiliated, and he only added to it with his scolding and his punishments and his dominant attitude.
It seemed as if everything about the situation only heightened her sensitivity to him, even made her want to obey him, want to please him in any way she could, and she knew that acquiescing to the demands of his body was the best way to do that.
At the moment, his cock was between her folds but not inside her—she could feel him pulsing against her, even though he wasn't moving. And it was driving her crazy.
She clutched the bed sheets so hard she literally ripped into them, panting heavily and arching herself up to him—offering herself to him.
He stayed still, although Tura knew he was hardly unaffected by what she was doing—the breath was bellowing out of him, and every muscle in his body was tense with the restraint he was using.
Finally, she could hold back no longer, and she did what she had vowed to herself she never would, no matter how strong the urge. She begged him, her voice wispy and feminine and pleading, "Please!"
Kosh leaned further over her, still not inside her, bracketing her restless head with his forearms. "You are mine," he said forcefully.
Her hands left the linens and began to roam over his body, boldly zeroing on the are
a between the two of them, hoping to convince him to take her now.
"No." One quiet, firm word, and her arms fell back to where they had been, wrapping the material around her fists in frustration.
"You are mine," he said again.
And she could no longer hesitate to answer, "Yes, please!"
"You will obey me."
She groaned at that, still resisting him slightly, although the reason why was slipping rapidly away from her.
Kosh caught the head of his cock against her notch, but that was it, and the, "Yessssssss!" was dragged out of her.
"You will submit yourself—your will—to me and mine."
She shook her head wildly back and forth, signaling no, and he made as if he would withdraw from her completely, but she grabbed his arms, saying quite frantically, "Yes, oh, yes, please!"
He was about to let loose then, but instead he said, "And you will bear my children—you will do everything you can, everything I ask of you, to that end, surrendering your body to that inevitability and welcoming it each time I breed you."
"Please, please!" she begged.
But—by the barest of threads—he managed to remain still. "Say 'Yes, Sir'."
He recognized her moan of frustration, but then she seemed to overcome it, saying in a tone that sounded so sincere that he almost believed it, "Yes, Sir—please!"
"Good girl," he whispered, easing himself into her, spreading her open around him as the breath bellowed out of her, watching her face as she accepted him, seeing how hard it was for her to do even as she lifted herself to him to take even more of him.
He didn't stop until he felt that familiar bump at his tip, then he pulled back, ruthlessly sinking that needle-like prong into one of the places on her body that was most sensitive, almost howling himself at the way she went from acquiescence to trying to fight him off.
"Nuh—no, puh-please!" she begged.
"Submit to me," was all he said.
He understood that he was hurting her quite a bit, and he simply held her still as he did so, using his strength to subdue her until she was well and truly caught, hung up on him, and she slowly stopped struggling as her body flooded with passion in the wake of the horrendous sting that never really went away, because every time he moved in anyway, he disturbed it—tugging it, slipping it forward, then back—just enough to increase the discomfort again.
His knot began to inflate immediately, which added to her torment, making her moan and pant and whimper as he filled her almost to the point of tearing, then began to rock himself violently against her, his fingers seeking and finding that ruthlessly exposed pearl of hers, already soaked as it was in her own juices, dragging his rough fingertips over her relentlessly, then capturing a bobbing nipple and biting down on it hard.
Her eyes were unnaturally large, as if she was seeing something unutterably frightening, her mouth open wide. But only soft sounds of distress passed her lips, until he began to feel her entire body gathering itself towards her climax.
And when it came, when she came, nothing could have prepared him for it. She clung to him as if he was her only lifeline, hips slamming up against his, taking even more of him, as if she couldn't possibly get enough, and the feel of her arms around him was more than enough to send him spiraling into orbit, too, as he pumped what seemed like gallons of his seed at the entrance to her womb.
They remained locked together for a very long time, and surprisingly, it had taken a long time for him to be completely drained. He felt as if he would always be pleasurably spurting cum into her, the excess dammed around him as the strength of her body's spasms hadn't even begun to diminish, and he continued to fill her with more and more and more.
He collapsed on top of her, unable even to consider the size difference between them and that he might well be crushing the life out of her, but she didn't seem to be alarmed in the least. In fact, he was glad to note that she was still clinging to him, her hips still jerking up against him with every strong contraction she experienced, even though he had no more to give her.
In truth, he was so exhausted that he wasn't at all sure he'd ever have any more to give her. But his eager body proved him wrong; he had softened inside her, but as soon as he removed himself, he grew hard all over again.
Unfortunately, when they fell asleep, both of them utterly spent, he forgot to re-secure her, and by the time he awoke, she was already at the door, trying to pick the lock.
Tura had awakened and realized that she was at least as desperate to get away from him as she had been to feel him inside her last night. He had taken her repeatedly, bringing her to more—so strong, they were nearly debilitating—orgasmic heights than either of them could ever count.
If she wasn't pregnant by now, she probably never would be. And despite what she had said when she had made all of those vows to him—under extreme duress, which she considered negated them entirely—she intended to escape him before that happened. It had only been a few days, yet she was getting used to feeling a constant stream of their combined juices trickling down the insides of her legs, to say nothing of beginning to experience episodes of completely uncontrollable desires that ended up with her saying things like that to him just to get him to invade her body in a manner that was both mortifyingly degrading and quite tormenting. She did not intend to become accustomed to anything else.
She dismissed the fact completely that it was also unbelievably blissful and made her feel more less alone, less stressed, and more content than she had ever hoped to be in this lifetime.
He'd kidnapped her, disciplined her viciously, kept her bound and violated her at will with the deliberate intent of impregnating her.
Yet every time she was near him, he felt like home to her—like the home she barely remembered Aichvy being, safe and warm and protected, not hungry or scared.
Only she was scared and she didn't feel protected, from him, at least.
So, as soon as she realized that she was awake and he wasn't and that he hadn't bothered to tie her up again, she eased out of the bed as quietly as she could, taking so much time to do so that she was terrified he was going to wake up before she finished.
Standing, itself, was quite a feat—she hadn't realized just how weak she'd become, and she wasn't sure if she should attribute that being captive on that bed for so long or their mating. In the end, it didn't really matter which was the cause.
Tura made her way across the floor, ears pricked up, in case of any sound from the bed. The door was locked, as she'd expected it to be. He always used some kind of key, but she had no idea where he hid it. His armor was lying haphazardly around the room, which she already knew was unlike him. He was one of those meticulous, by the book kinds of people. This room was cleaner than anywhere she'd ever been. Until now.
She poked carefully at his stuff, not finding a key but finding a slim little pen knife and something like an Allen wrench with the ends cut off, and she set about trying to pick the lock as quietly as she could, panting nervously the whole time, praying she wouldn't drop either of the implements she was working with, because that would surely wake him.
But when she heard his loudly commanded, "Stop," she dropped them, anyway, of course, although she immediately reached down and palmed the knife, holding it out defensively in front of her.
He simply lay there in the bed for a long moment, looking at her, then he rose, slowly.
Tura knew that her cause was already lost. She hadn't been able to open the lock yet, so no matter what, she was still going to be stuck in this room with him for who knew how long until she got the next opportunity, which she hopefully wouldn't screw up.
But she wasn't going to go down easily this time. She wasn't going to allow him to wrap her up in that haze of sensuality it seemed that she could never completely shake off. She would stay sharp, stay angry, and fight to the death if she had to.
Kosh rose enough to sit on the end of the bed. "You realize that you are going to be punished for this bit of naug
htiness?"
His words and the slightly disappointed, chiding manner in which he said them might as well have been his fingers stroking over her clit. She actually had to swallow down a whimper on several fronts, even as she reminded herself that she shouldn't be looking forward to him taking her again, or the inevitable harsh discipline he was going to inflict on her, either.
Then he stood—all she-didn't-want-to-think-how-many feet of him—towering over her, even from across the room. Kosh put his hand out. "Bring me the knife and I might be convinced to go a little easier on you."
"Fuck you!" she yelled, assuming a fighting stance.
The grin that spread across his face was unholy. "No, my dear. Fuck you—which is exactly what I intend to do once I've disarmed you and disciplined you thoroughly."
It was a humiliatingly short fight.
He strode right towards her, and she misjudged the length of his arms, trying to stab at him with the knife and ending up having her wrist caught by him, which he twisted hard so that she had to drop the knife as her arm went numb, then hauled her up against him fit to knock the wind out of her, twisting that arm high up her back and marching her back to the bed.
She expected to be bent over it again, but instead, he sat down, and to her utter surprise, let go of her, commanding, "Bring me the knife and whatever else it was that you were trying to use on the lock."
Her eyes found his in astonishment. "What?"
"Go get what I asked for and bring it to me. Feel free to try to fight me again, if you like. But you're a smart girl. You know that's just going to piss me off and it's going to end the same way, and plus, your punishment is going to get worse because of it." He reached around her and swatted her bum hard enough to leave a livid handprint. "Now do as I say."
More stunned than she wanted to admit, Tura's feet had a mind of their own and they brought her to where she could collect the two tools, then back to hand them to him as if she was some meek and mild female.
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