Breeder

by Cara Bristol

  Dainty fingers encircled his cock.

  His eyelids flew open. Only one moment.

  She sat up to better stroke his length, to fist her hand and pump. “Your manhood is most amazing,” she said, tilting her head as if she were studying a specimen in the laboratory. She squeezed. White heat obscured his vision. “It is so rigid, so unyielding.”

  He wasn’t. He was clay in her palms.

  “I’m surprised the tumescence does not hurt.”

  “You have no idea.” He choked. He reached inside for self-control and latched on to her wrist to still her hand.

  She closed her mouth around his cockhead.

  Willpower collapsed.

  Her tongue felt like Terran velvet as it encircled the ridge around his glans before tracing a line of wet fire to the base, which she followed back to the tip. Swipe and swirl. Lick and suck. She drew him deep and hard, and his traitorous body surrendered to her command.

  She knelt so that the tips of her breasts and her hair teased his thighs with every bob of her head. He threaded the strands around his hands, binding her to him.

  Don’t stop. Don’t leave me.

  She cupped his testicles and squeezed. Pressure built in the base of his cock, and his hips moved involuntarily, rocking at first, and then thrusting in earnest. She sucked even harder, her mouth so wet, so tight. He cried out with the force of his orgasm, the stars in the sky obscured by the ones bursting behind his eyes.

  Omra released him and sat back on her heels, curved her lips into a cheeky smile.

  “You are pleased with yourself, are you?” he said, still panting.

  She widened her eyes with ersatz innocence. “I do not understand your meaning, Commander.”

  He lunged for her, and she squealed in mock fright.

  He plundered her mouth, kissing her with suppressed longing of days gone by, of a lifetime of years, seeking to feed a hunger that a temporary abatement of lust did little to sate. She moaned into his mouth, her tongue dancing with his. His taste and hers mingled, two becoming one irresistible elixir.

  Dak pushed her back on the platform and trailed kisses over her neck. He seized her left breast; she yelped.

  “I am sorry,” he said and lowered his head to kiss away the pain. She arched her back, inviting him to draw her nipple into his mouth, and once again he was powerless to refuse. He maintained his gentleness as he sucked on the hard berry. He stroked her body, his hands gliding over curves.

  He dipped his fingers between her legs, found her swollen and wet. He groaned. His hand shook as he grasped the lock-ring, slickened from her moisture. His thumb found the depression. The lock released. He slipped it from her folds.

  He slid downward and settled between her legs.

  Studying her face, he spread her open and took a long lick. She gasped. Her hips jerked. He smiled. He planned for her to gasp and jerk much more.

  He fluttered his tongue over her engorged and glistening clit. She mewled and clutched at his hair. He rubbed his face in her wetness, as if he could absorb her essence into his skin, into the core of him to carry forever. He delved into her channel, filling himself with her female scent and taste. Fill himself? Impossible. In a lifetime, it could never be done, and he had only this moment. But he would remember her always. In the darkness of despair, he would cling to the memory of this night.

  As he sucked on the nub, he watched her face. Stored an impression of how her mouth formed an “O,” the way her forehead furrowed in concentration, how her cheeks blushed with desire.

  He drew out her pleasure, bringing her to the peak’s edge, then backed her down from it. With a chuckle and an ache in his heart, he accepted every blow of frustration she rained upon his shoulders, knowing as she did not that this moment would have to see him through to forever.

  At last, when he’d tormented them both more than they could endure, he let the sweetness of rapture claim her. She cried out in ecstasy. Inside, he wept in anguish.

  DAZED, OMRA FLOATED back to solid ground to find herself curled in Dak’s arms, his front to her back. His manhood, semihard, rested between her butt cheeks. They hadn’t coupled the way she’d wanted, but the intimacies they had performed reassured her. Since Market day, she’d sensed a withdrawal. He had not claimed her, and they hardly spoke.

  Of course the latter could be attributed to the fact that she was already asleep when he got home. He worked late. And she retired early because she’d been feeling unwell. She’d been unable to shake a bone-deep weariness that dogged her, and the queasiness she’d experienced on the ride home from the Market returned with vengeance each morning. She could no longer look at or smell certain foods without having to run for a basin. Her breasts had become tender.

  She’d felt no twinge of pain inside, but when she put all the other signs together, she suspected she might be impregnated. Casually, she flattened a hand over her stomach. No swell.

  He’d bidden her to tell him of the first sign, but she wasn’t sure yet. And if she was pregnant, wouldn’t he cease mating with her? Would it be wrong to hold her tongue just a little longer?

  Wrapped in his arms now, it was hard to imagine the distance she thought she’d sensed. Alpha was a man with many important responsibilities. Certainly his duties demanded most of his attention. She was fortunate he offered time to her at all.

  “What have you been doing this week?” he asked lazily.

  “I have almost completed a sewing project.” His shirt required a few finishing touches.

  “A smock for yourself?”

  “Mm…uh-huh,” she lied.

  “How did you get the fabric?”

  “I bought it with the sweetcake money.”

  “You didn’t need to do that. I would have bought you a uniform.”

  “I wanted to use my money.”

  “Well, you don’t have to.”

  She bent her head and kissed the crook of his arm. He tightened his hold in a hug and brushed his lips over her hair. Ask him now. She recalled his hesitation when the panna baker asked if there would be more sweetcakes coming. “Tomorrow I planned to bake—for the Market.”

  He stiffened.

  “You don’t want me to make sweetcakes for the panna baker?” Omra held her breath.

  “It’s not that.”

  “What is it, then?”

  He untangled himself and rolled onto his back. “We won’t be going to Market on Saturday.”

  Omra twisted around to look at him. Not go to Market? She had to! Anika would be waiting. “Why not?”

  He took a breath and let it out. “Because you and I have someplace else to go in the afternoon. If you want, bake the sweetcakes. I’ll collect the money for you. It is getting late. Let us sleep now.” He rolled onto his side, presenting his back.

  Omra blinked. She hadn’t imagined the distance. Dak had gone from warm to cold in the space of a heartbeat. What was it about the Market that affected him so? He’d gotten upset with her when she’d called out his name in the Market, but otherwise, he’d seemed content spending the time with her, happy for her about the sweetcake sales, and had taken her to the Terran bazaar.

  For the life of her, she couldn’t imagine what she’d done to displease him. She curled onto her side so that she faced away from him and stared into the night.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Before the domestic fowl crowed, a beta arrived to pick up Omra’s sweetcakes, twice as many trays this time. She handed them off and returned to preparing the morning meal. Instead of joining her in the kitchen to keep her company as had become his habit, Dak waited in the dining hall. She found him seated but gazing out the window when she arrived with the food. After she dished out his plate, he stared at it but made no move to eat.

  “Is something wrong with the food?” she asked.

  “No, it is fine. As usual.” His jaw tightened, and he glanced away. “I am going out this morning. I will return in the late afternoon for you, and we will leave.”

 
; “For where?” she asked but could not wait for his answer because her stomach roiled. She had only enough time to excuse herself and run to a basin before she expelled the contents of her stomach. After cleaning her mouth and face, she reentered the dining hall to find the meal untouched and Dak gone.

  She stared at the vacant seat, hurt pricking at her. He had insisted he was not angry, but his actions seemed to indicate otherwise. But he was Alpha, and the burdens of ruling a province were great. Perhaps his withdrawal had nothing to do with her like he’d said. Perhaps the stress of his command consumed his focus. She had no experience with an arrangement such as theirs. The manner in which Dak spoke to her—when he spoke to her, how he treated her in private, the way he brought her to pleasure—was as far from Protocol as one could get.

  She foundered in confusion. If gossip spread about their living arrangement, it could jeopardize his command. Alpha, the embodiment of Protocol, had violated it time and time again. She wished she could share her concerns with someone who could be trusted to not use her confidence against Dak.

  Like Anika. Who would be waiting at the Terran bazaar, wondering what had happened to her.

  Omra nibbled on a fingernail. Dak had never said, Don’t go to the Market alone, but that was a technicality. He had not prohibited it because he could not have fathomed she would go. And if she did? Her punishment would make the one she’d received in the Market seem like a gentle caress. But only if he found out. If she hurried, she would have enough time to meet Anika and get home before Dak. The Market was a big place; no one would recognize her. Alpha was the one who attracted attention, not a female. She could cross her arms so no one would see her insignia.

  * * * *

  Omra raced into the Terran tent and found her friend pacing, her brows drawn together.

  “Anika!” Omra waved.

  Her friend’s face lightened with welcome. “I was starting to believe you would not visit.” She embraced Omra. “Are you all right? You are breathing heavy as if you ran all the way here.”

  Omra pressed a hand against her burning chest. “I did run all the way here.”

  “The Commander did not bring you?” Anika tilted her head.

  “He does not know I came.”

  Anika widened her eyes. “Is that wise? He will be so angry.”

  “Only if he finds out. Which I don’t plan for him to do,” she said with bravado. “What about Jergan?”

  “He was fine with the visit. He is off someplace acquiring more supplies for our move to the Enclave.”

  “Sh!” Omra glanced around to see if anyone had overheard. “Do not say that too loud. Did you not learn of what happened last week in the square?” She tugged on Anika’s arm and led her off to the side. Her chest tightened with worry for her friend. When Anika moved to the Enclave, at best she would be ostracized by all of Parseon. At worst, she could be stoned to death.

  “I did.” Anika bobbed her head in assent. “But did you not hear the latest announcement?”

  Omra frowned. “No, what is it?”

  “Alpha has placed the Enclave under protective status. By his directive, no one may act against it or any of its citizens.”

  Omra dropped her jaw. “My Alpha did that?” Dak had never said a word. But he did not confide the details of his command. Though they lived in a state of relaxed Protocol, it had not vanished completely.

  Anika nodded. “So you see, there is nothing to fear anymore.”

  Omra wished she could share her friend’s certainty, but just because one enacted a ruling did not mean behavior would automatically comply. Anika had not witnessed the mob’s hostility. Not even the Commander’s powerful presence had been able to completely calm the crowd—he’d been hit by a rock. Shored by strong emotion and engrained by Protocol, attitudes would not be easily changed. Not even if Alpha willed it. That was what Dak had feared, why he insisted on public discretion. If he ever learned she’d sneaked off to the Market… How foolish she’d been to disregard his concerns.

  “You still must exercise caution in your speech and your actions,” Omra warned. It would do no good to alarm her friend with dire predictions when Anika could do little about it, since undoubtedly the decision to join the Enclave was more Jergan’s than hers. But Omra would not forgive herself if she allowed Anika to believe prudence was not required.

  “I am not worried.”

  You should be. Omra stifled a sigh of dismay. She’d always considered Anika courageous, worldly, and experienced, but her boldness resulted from naïveté. She was not a person who could provide her with counsel with respect to her arrangement with Dak. Not that she needed it anymore. She had gained all the clarity she needed. Dak had been occupied by a matter of great significance to Parseon, and she, silly female, assumed his distraction originated with her.

  But despite Anika’s lack of judgment and sophistication, she’d been a true friend, had helped her countless times at the BCF. Omra owed her a debt of gratitude.

  “Do you have coin?” Omra asked her.

  “Jergan has it.” Anika shook her head. “Why would I need money?”

  Once she’d thought the same, but Omra knew differently now. “I’ll tell you, because there is someone I would like to you to meet. But before we do that, we need to pay a visit to the panna baker.”

  “Why would we want to do that?”

  “I must collect my earnings.” If all her sweetcakes had sold like last week, she should have triple the money, and Dak’s courier would not have retrieved it yet. Of course, after she collected it Dak would learn she had disobeyed him. But that would not occur until later. In the meantime, she would have the resources for what she needed to do.

  Anika gaped. “You have money?”

  “From my sweetcake business.” Omra raised her head proudly.

  “You have a business?”

  Omra laughed and linked her arm through Anika’s. No one had paid her any mind, and she no longer worried about anyone noticing her insignia. “Come. I have much to share with you, and then I want to introduce you to a Terran vendoress and buy you a going-away gift.

  * * * *

  Tears filled Omra’s eyes as she watched Anika disappear into the crowd. She worried less now, knowing her friend clutched an entire bolt of fabric under her arm. Once more, Omra had spent her earnings, but again, it was for a good reason.

  She scurried out of the bazaar. She wasn’t quite sure what time Dak would arrive, but she sensed she had to make haste. Intent upon her goal, she did not notice the beta sweeping manure in the streets until she bumped into him. Scars from a severe lashing marked his back above his uniform. She swerved to the side, an apology readied.

  He lifted his head.

  Words froze in her throat.

  “You!” Spittle erupted from Sival’s mouth and sprayed her face.

  Around her a stream of people flowed past, but within the space that encompassed her and the former BCF director, time stalled.

  Malevolence contorted his features. “At last!”

  He flung the shovel, splattering her legs with animal excrement. He lunged. Omra managed to twist out of reach so that his filthy, clawed hands skimmed off her shoulder. “No!” She tried to scream, but the sound barely squeaked out of her throat.

  Run!

  Fear rooted her to the street.

  “Get out of the way, Breeder!” A passerby slammed into her. The shove propelled her into motion.

  Omra fled. She churned dust and drew stares as she zigzagged toward the warren of Market aisles. Behind her, the director’s feet pounded the cobbled square. “Halt! Stop that breeder!” he shouted.

  An alpha lunged for her, but she veered sideways, and his touch glanced off her arm.

  Market streets radiated off the village center like spokes on a wheel. She dove for an arterial. The congestion could offer safety or the greater danger. Would she be able to lose him or would more people attempt to detain her?

  She dashed through the crowd. “Let
me pass! Let me pass.”

  Over the Market din, she could hear the Director’s cry: “Catch the breeder!”

  She swerved right to avoid an alpha who grabbed for her, and her toe hit an exposed rock in the road. She pitched forward, windmilling her arms to halt her fall. Her feet found purchase, and she spied a slim alley between adjacent hard-sided stalls leading to the next row.

  She squeezed into the crevice, inching her way to the other side. She’d made it the length of one booth and was beginning the second when she heard a yell.

  “There she is!”

  She turned her head toward the way she’d come. The alpha who’d tried to grab her pointed into the passage. The director appeared and squeezed in after her. Omra scrambled for the other side. Something sharp, a nail perhaps, raked across her back. With curses ringing in her ears, she emerged into the corridor and sprinted at full speed to put as much distance as she could between her and Sival while he was still sandwiched between the stalls.

  She spotted another opening and forced her way through. Her breath came in heaving gasps; her heartbeat drummed in her ears. Wetness trickled down her back. Sweat? Blood?

  A vague sense of direction had bloomed into a makeshift plan. She would seek refuge in the Terran bazaar. Dak had considered it safe enough to permit her to explore by herself, and she sensed the Terrans would hide her if she asked. Her people? They would hand her over to Sival without question. Although Alpha’s insignia conferred status, her word was no match for any male’s.

  She popped out into the next aisle and took off at a jog, unable to shake the worry that her would-be captor closed the gap, though logic insisted she was widening it. She wove through the crowd, the sensation of being stalked not lessening. Was that her breathing racing in her ears or Sival’s?

  She twisted around to check—and slammed into a hard body. Strong hands clamped onto her shoulders.

  Omra screamed. How could the director have gotten ahead of her? She whipped her head around.