by L. V. Lane
Afterward, when I have finished and can think straight, I realize we are both naked and in plain view of the village’s high street!
Jack is without shame in any of this. I am carried back into the house.
I feel shy suddenly as I am placed back in the bedding nook. Last eve’s events have fallen under a dream-like haze, but today, it is crystal clear. Still naked, he moves about the little cottage. Even going outside thus and returning with an armful of wood. He tosses wood to the fire, stoking it before putting a pot of water on to heat. I try not to look, but my eyes are drawn to watching the graceful movements of his warrior’s body. There are scars scattered among the firm, glorious flesh—large ones and small ones, giving evidence of his brutal life. I have heard about the eastern clans. The people who live there are barbaric and exist in a constant state of war with both the Blighten and themselves.
Soon, this will be my life, too, I realize.
I’m distracted from my rumination by the Alpha whose presence dominates the small home. He is industrious, bringing me water to sip, which I take with thanks. This is all curious. I’m not used to being waited on. It’s not something one expects an Alpha to do.
The heated water is poured into a bowl, and with a woolen cloth in the other hand, he approaches the bedding nook. My eyes grow wider the nearer he comes. The bowl is placed on a nearby shelf.
“What? Oh!” The bedding I had tucked around me is ripped away, and his lusty gaze travels over my body. Turning, he dips the cloth in the water.
I squeak as he plants a hand over my upper arm to keep me still . . . and proceeds to clean me up.
He starts at my face, neck, shoulders, and arms all the way to my fingers. He is careful about it—gentle. I have not been coddled since I was a babe. He cleans every inch of me. I admit, the soft, warmed cloth skimming over my flesh rouses me from my exhaustion and eases the aches at the same time. He lingers on my breasts longer than is warranted for their cleanness. But it feels nice, so I don’t complain. His tenderness now is at odds with the rough coupling last night. I feel small and cherished.
My attention is split between shyness given what he does and furtive glances at the rippling muscles of his Alpha body. Lulled into a state of relaxation, I’m not prepared when he opens my thighs and applies the hot, dampened cloth to my most intimate place.
Foolishly, I splutter my indignation and receive a sharp slap to my thigh.
“Do not think your weakness will stop me from disciplining you, lass,” he says sternly. “I am your mate now. It is my right to see to your care in all ways.” He pauses to part the lips of my pussy while my face fills with flames. Crouching, he inspects me with a frown. The cloth is dipped into the water, wrung out, and applied again with his big hand cupping it over my poor, sore pussy. I squirm a little. My skin, dampened from the cloth, springs goosebumps. My nipples, still tender from last night, harden to pebbles.
The feeling of his hand there makes me clench. Clenching makes me wince. Wincing draws his attention.
He purrs.
Something inside me softens at that deep rumbly sound. It is a beautiful noise, and it makes me think of him as a big growly cat. I am not an Omega as might be gentled by the sound. But that he instinctively seeks to soothe me with it brings a tightness to my chest and the spring of tears behind my eyes.
“I wish I were an Omega,” I whisper.
His face is downcast, eyes on the place where his hand cups me, but he lifts his head suddenly at my words. Dropping the cooled cloth into the bowl, he holds my gaze. “I do not wish that,” he says. “If you were an Omega, you would be someone else. I do not want someone else.”
I blink against the weight forming. His forthright words are plain and yet, beautiful in their sentiments. In truth, I have never desired to be an Omega, but in that moment, I wanted only to better please him, and to not be this exhausted burden he must coddle.
But I am pleasing to him anyway.
He does not want someone else.
The spell is broken when he stands. “You are chilled,” he says. Gathering a blanket, he wraps me up and lifts me from the bed.
I think I was too busy staring at Jack to pay attention to what he was doing, but there is a cold breakfast laid out on the table with bread, hard cheese, and fruit. Here, he sits with me on his lap.
He holds a small piece of cut apple to my lips.
I blink a few times, concerned with this new development. I eyeball the fruit and him—he is looking very stern, so I don’t think defiance or pointing out I have two arms will be in my best interest.
I open my mouth and accept the small offering.
He smiles as I start to chew. It is the kind of smile that lights his stern face, transforming it from one state to another. Then his eyes lower to my lips, and his face darkens. He stares the whole time I am chewing until I swallow nervously. Selecting the next morsel, his eyes lock on my lips.
Goddess, this is awkward. I know many young lasses get to swooning over the thought of being with an Alpha. But I never did. All those whispered conversations centered around rutting. Not once did I consider this apparent need to pamper me having ruined my small body.
My late husband was a good man. Although we barely knew one another, he was called away to the war with the Blighten so often. He was a cheerful man and optimistic despite his years of soldiering. But he never ever fed me!
I am fed. Jack eats only a little.
Wondering where my father is, I glance toward the door. I imagine the embarrassment of him finding me sitting wrapped in a blanket on the stern, naked Alpha’s lap.
“He is in the workshop, lass,” Jack says. “He will not enter until I give permission.”
I am shocked by this statement. This is my father’s house, yet Papa offers it to Jack with respect because Jack is an Alpha. I live in a world rarely touched by the extreme dynamics of Alphas and Omegas. I have seen Alphas pass through as part of patrols on occasion since they are invariably deployed to help in the war against the Blighten. But that is all I know of them. I have never once seen an Omega. It is often linked to your parents, or so I have heard. Alphas are more likely to bear Alpha children. But there are still the occasional throwbacks that skip many generations only to appear later.
Jack is a dominant male, not only to me, but to all men. Maybe to other Alphas, for I sense he is important in ways beyond being an Alpha. “What is the name of your clan?” I ask.
“Ralston,” he says, pushing the food aside. “It is a prime location on the shore of a loch. There is good fishing and plentiful game. I will provide for you, as a mate should.”
I blink as I take in the words and the manner of his speech. There is pride, perhaps a little boastfulness, and danger. A prime location would be highly sought. I do not imagine he got the many scars littering his body through reasons other than conflict.
As his eyes lower to my throat, I suffer an urge to touch the sore place where he bit.
“It will leave a small scar,” he says, thumb brushing over the tender skin. The words bring a strange tightening low in my belly. I want to be appalled by his savagery, yet I must admit that such visible evidence of his claiming brings complex emotions clamoring. I am pleased that it is there.
His face is so serious that I could almost forget how he appears when he smiles. Then it softens, and his eyes turn hooded. “Is there anything in one of the jars that might help with the soreness?”
My cheeks heat. Jack is not talking about my throat.
“I will need to rut you again,” he says bluntly. Goddess help me. Why does this crude statement make my pussy squeeze and sweet nerves rise?
“There is,” I say, voice trembling. Jack is not making idle talk of tomorrow when he says he will rut me. Instinctively, I also know he will not offer me privacy in which to apply it for myself.
He stands, placing a strong arm under my bottom and carrying me like one might do a child. Certainly, our size difference means he suffers no strain.
He stops before the high shelving where all the jars are kept.
No sooner do I select a small, stoppered jar then he takes it from me in a way that says he wants no confusion about what will happen next. Taken to the bedding nook, I am laid down. Here, he unwraps me and taps my thigh. “Open your legs nice and wide while I see to the soreness,” he says.
I bend my knees and let them fall open, finding riveting interest in the ceiling of my bedding nook. I am a twenty summers old woman. I have been married and widowed. Yet I feel like a young virgin again before this dominant male. We have not yet been properly introduced a full day, and he has already become acquainted with my most intimate places better than any man ought.
Clenching the covers helps me to be still as his fingers gently probe the soreness. The stopper is opened, and soothing oil worked into every part of me. I try desperately not to react. It is impossible. His gentle, intimate inspection and attention is making everything flare to life.
“Oh!” My clit grows sensitive and swollen as he works the oil into it. Pinching it between fingers, he stirs my arousal with ease. Just as my body begins to climb, he shifts, working thick fingers into my channel. I wince and fidget a little. He purrs, although it does not offer much help.
Despite being sore inside after the rough coupling, it soon also begins to feel nice.
“It is a lot for a Beta to take,” he says, intent upon his task. “But you will gain the capacity to endure once you have been well rutted a few more times.”
I’m not convinced I will ever endure his giant rod with ease. This is nice, though. I freely admit that much of what happened last night before he filled my pussy was also pleasurable.
Pleasurable beyond my prior understandings of such things.
I jolt up in the bed when his oil-slicked fingers slide between the cheeks of my ass.
“Goddess! What?!”
“Hush, lass,” he says as I blink at him in confused outrage. “You will need to get used to this.”
This?
He is exploring all around my little bottom hole with the slicked, blunt tip of his finger. Petting gently over the entrance and making me squirmy such that I cannot possibly be still. It is not unpleasant. It feels a little tingly. I have not thought about being touched there and am confused that it feels a wriggly sort of pleasant.
Then he grabs my thigh in a way that tells me he expects me to struggle and presses the tip of his finger into my bottom.
“Be still,” he growls.
My fingers turn white around the bedding—a flush creeps over my face, neck, and across the upper swell of my breasts.
“Please, I don’t like it!”
Maintaining eye contact, he continues to do as he pleases. Pressing the tip of his finger in and pulling it out over and over again until I am so confused and conflicted. I must also admit to being deeply aroused. He circles the tightly puckered entrance before breeching me again. This time, he plunges deeper, and I nearly shoot off the bed.
“Goddess save me from this depravity!”
He stops suddenly, brows pulling together in a frown that does not bode well for me. “Your pussy is weeping, lass.”
“I—” I have no idea what to say or how to vocalize my outrage and further fear that doing so will provoke my discipline.
“There, lass,” he says ominously. “I thought you might need some correction before you could behave and accept this. Lasses who cannot keep still while their masters tend to them get a swift discipline with palm, belt, or strap.”
I am turned over, and he sets about delivering heat to my bottom. It is still a little sore from yesterday, and I have no tolerance to endure. Hidden energy surfaces enough to see me struggle and fight in earnest.
He subdues me with ease, spanking my bottom without mercy. It is too much too soon after last night and everything that entailed. I sob piteously even as I curse the Alpha out.
My words do not move him. My struggles do not trouble his quest to chastise me severely.
He stops only when he is ready, turning me over. I hiss when my sore bottom is scratched by the rough bedding.
“There, are you yet able to be still?”
I nod, for I do not think I will survive a single spank to my bottom.
My legs are opened. More oil is poured, and he resumes his exploration of my little bottom hole. This time, he does not hesitate to thrust his thick finger in and out. It does not hurt exactly, but it is an unnatural sensation that must be depraved. As he continues to pump and thrust, it soon makes me twitch. I’m sensitive there, both the little entrance and inside, in ways I never suspected.
Soon, I want to come.
Why does this make me want to come?
I am sore, tired, and angry with him for forcing me to accept this. Yet, it stirs latent feelings that make me question whether it is me who is depraved. Perhaps he is similarly confused about my response?
“Stop your fretting,” he says. His voice is strained like he is also aroused. Why pushing his finger in and out of my bottom might arouse him, I cannot say. “This is a natural thing for an Alpha to enjoy. With training, you will take my cock even here.”
I swallow thickly.
“My high appetite for rutting means there will be many times your pussy is sore enough for you to beg me to put it elsewhere. And besides, ass fucking is a delicious kind of tightness. I can see how your pussy is weeping, confused by the pleasure of my attention to your ass. You will take well to this. It is for the best that you do, for I shall have you here either way.”
His words unravel me. I am lost.
I come, my ass clenching around his finger, neck arched, and mouth open to offer up the most wanton of moans. It is the darkest of pleasure, earthy, wicked, and he is correct; it is absolutely delicious. His pumping finger slows. Deep inside my bottom, it tickles and tingles.
He drags me to the edge of the bedding nook without warning. His thick rod is lined with my weeping pussy, and he thrusts.
I squeal as sore muscles are forced to give.
“Gods, you are so fucking tight,” he growls as he thrusts deep. “It will take weeks of constant rutting to loosen this pussy up.”
Yesterday, I did not fully understand what it meant to be with an Alpha. To my once innocent mind, I imagined it would be the same as a Beta but with a larger cock and a greater appetite. Now, I realize that an Alpha has needs that might be considered to be depraved. But if they are, then I suspect I am his match.
His mouth crashes over mine as I am still trying to find ground. Hot lips and clashing tongues, I groan into his mouth. The soreness slides from my attention, overwritten by the pleasure of his silken rod as it slams wetly in and out.
My bottom still tingles. I want to come again.
Like he reads my mind, his thick thumb finds my clit and circles it.
He is too rough, but I’m climbing, and it doesn’t seem to matter. My climax slams into me with his next thrust, taking me over into the heavenly contractions that try to crush his thrusting rod. He does not stop his pounding. Leaving off my swollen clit, he takes my waist in broad hands and slams me on and off his cock.
I am like a leaf caught in the pull of a rushing river. I am subject to forces beyond my control. Jack will take me how he needs. He will take my ass and my pussy, and although he has only spoken of it as yet, I know he will soon take my mouth.
“Grip me!” he commands.
I do as he says, and the pleasure intensifies once again.
How can I want to come again? How can I be rising amid this rough coupling that should by rights leave me trembling in fear?
He is not asking for my permission. He is taking what is his.
I moan wildly as I feel the thick ridge of his knot bumping against my pussy entrance with every thrust.
“Good girl,” he encourages. “My sweet little Beta, you were meant to take this. I can feel your hot little cunt fluttering. Come for me. Milk your master of his seed.”
I am his to com
mand. He is my master. I sense this in my very soul.
I come, harder and wilder than I have ever done before.
With a roar, he comes with me, flooding me with his seed.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Jack
I THINK I have broken the sweet little Beta in my enthusiasm, for she is limp and insentient in the aftermath of the rough rutting.
She whimpers as I ease out of her warmth and a gush of cum spews out. Gods, her poor little pussy is all puffy from my attention. I stare at the mess I have made, feeling my dick jerk in hopeful anticipation of more. My fingers turn white around her slim thighs as I give myself a stern talking to. The poor lass needs some time before I take her again.
We also need to be on our way and return to my home.
I still want to fucking rut her. It is like a year of abstinence is beating down upon me.
Her thighs tremble under my rough handling, and I force myself to let go. What a treasure I have found in this most unexpected of places. The Goddess is indeed mysterious, bringing Hazel into my life.
I brush the hair from her hot cheeks and press a kiss to her forehead. I do not trust myself to kiss her anywhere else given my basal side is riding me hard. Her lashes flutter open as I lift my lips. Her pretty eyes search mine; she seems so innocent, and yet I sense she is corruptible and will come to be perfect for all my rough needs.
And Fen’s needs. Although it vexes me that the whelp will get to put his hands upon her, I would need to either leave my home or send Fen away to avoid his interest. He is not ready to lead the clan, and I am not prepared to relinquish my claim. I sigh heavily.
Fen has the capacity for rutting that has been the talk of our clan and every neighboring clan from the day he came of age. I will need to beat the cocky bastard half to death in the hopes of tempering it some before I let him take a turn.
“We need to be leaving soon,” I say.
There is the slightest wince on her face. The poor lass is sore, so the journey, even taken slowly, will not be easy for her.