Ebby didn't know why, but that concept—put that way by him—made her begin to pant anxiously, as if she wasn't at all sure she could do it.
But then his mouth found her unerringly as a hand reached up to claim each breast, plucking at those tight buds while his tongue washed over her exposed clit unrelentingly.
It was horrible and awful and incredible and amazing for her, all at the same time. Instead of fighting it off, she had to simply let the intensity of what he was doing to her flood through every bit of her, taking over her body, of course, but also commandeering her mind more fully than she had ever allowed. It was frightening and wonderful—making her terribly, acutely aware of herself and him and how they were now permanently entwined on too many basic levels. She was swept along in a torrent of passion that threatened to obliterate her—and she adored every second of it.
Her surrender—which was, he could tell, very nearly complete—was incredible to behold. She softened beneath him, her body opening to him in a different way, actually pulling him to her, inviting him in, rather than trying to force him away or keep him out all the time.
It was completely and utterly intoxicating.
Still, he held himself rigidly in check, continuing to tease and touch her, his eyes and ears sharply attuned to her every response, amazed to realize just how much she had been suppressing. As she had been—rightly—afraid of losing herself to the ever-present craving she had to feel him deep inside her, so he had been becoming more and more sensitive to what she needed from him, wanting to fulfill her as thoroughly as was possible in the act that was designed to bind her to him more fully than any conscious desire.
The only time she disobeyed him was when he did something that she never expected that surprised and alarmed her a bit.
With his tongue still worrying a clit that she kept trying to press further into his mouth, to his great delight, he pressed two long, thick fingers into her sopping tightness. Ebby's groan nearly made him abandon his plan, but he held on, pressing them up against the very place where he usually sunk his formidable prong into her and rubbing in firm circles.
If he hadn't had ahold of her, she would have ended up on the ceiling. She yelped loudly, and he lifted his head from between her legs as she was just beginning to bring her arms down without thinking—he knew—to try to remove his fingers.
He said but one word to her, quite sternly, "Submit."
Her eyes flew to his as she gasped in indignation, her hands remaining lower than she knew they should be for a few long seconds before she forced them—inch by inch—back above her head, whimpering the entire time and giving him a look as if she couldn't believe he actually expected her to do this.
When Ebby had complied with his order, he said it again, even more strictly, "Submit."
The breath puffed out of her almost angrily. He could see the glint of rebellion in her eyes, but he could also see the tears leaking out of their sides, too.
This was, indeed, an excellent test of her determination to stop fighting the inevitable.
He wasn't a very patient man, but he could see and feel that she was trying to relax back into the more accepting, more yielding state she'd been in before, and she got most of the way back there pretty quickly. But he didn't wait for her to complete the journey before he began to move his fingers again, sometimes pressing hard and swirling against that very tender spot, sometimes thrusting into her and thus naturally butting hard up into it or over it.
Ebby didn't know what to do. It wasn't quite as bad as him poking that sharp thing into her, but then again, it was a different kind of touch that was almost irritatingly rapturous against a much-abused place on her person that was already inclined to ache and throb in starkly bad and good ways, and he was expertly conjuring both at the moment.
Ciaran played her beautifully—rough and demanding the majority of the time, sprinkled occasionally with tender and gentle, although much less of that. He already knew her most shameful secret—that he shouldn't feel at all guilty about not going easy on her. She responded best to being bred hard and fast and often, the same way she needed to be disciplined.
And that was how he took her, once he'd gotten her perilously close to the edge, turning her over and gathering her hands at the small of her back as he hunched over her, pistoning his cock into her even while he possessed her in every way that it was possible for him to do so, including applying his fingertips to that wanton swelling between her legs and not removing them the entire time.
He had to give it to her—she'd screamed when he'd pierced her, and he had rumbled a few times, deep in his chest, to calm her, and keened wildly when his swelling had caused her to have to make painful accommodations. He had again purred a bit to her, although not a lot, just enough to quiet her. But she hadn't fought him—not once the entire time. Screams and moans and yelps and anguished cries he expected. Writhing and heaving and even crying were fine.
But he would have her submission, one way or the other.
In the end, she screamed again as he felt her clamp fiercely around him fit to rip his dick off while neither his fingers nor his cock ever let up on her, driving her mercilessly, taking everything she was giving to him then moving the goal until he could feel her utter and uncompromising surrender—and beyond.
Even after his knot had died down, he was still pulsing strongly into her and she was still spasming around him, her soft moans increasing in volume when she did, although he could tell that she was very close to passing out. He might have left her alone at that point, but he simply could not. By the time his climax died out completely—although hers was still going—the rest of her was completely limp in his arms.
When he detached himself, Ciaran watched a flood of spunk sluice down her thighs to pool on the sheets. He let go of her arms, then pulled her away from the wet spot to curl himself around her, humming and purring to her, and even bestowing the occasional kiss on the top of her head or her neck as he stroked her—as always, never getting enough of her.
Still, despite the heights he knew they had both achieved, he knew she was weeping silently.
He whispered hoarsely, "I'll leave you unbound tomorrow morning when I head out, but I'll warn you right now. You had better behave and not give the guards any trouble when they bind you again after lunch."
She nodded almost imperceptibly, her, "Yes, Sir," barely reaching his ears before she succumbed.
Chapter 6
Even though she forced herself to become near to perfectly behaved, it still took her quite some time to get him to trust her enough to let her stay alone in his tent without being restrained throughout an entire day. And, unfortunately, within the first few days of her freedom, she'd already combed through the room as carefully as possible and had found almost nothing that would help her achieve her goal. The only thing of note she found was a large cloak that enveloped her completely, which, if she ever got the chance, she intended to wear to conceal herself, not that it would be all that much of a help.
Her mind harkened back to what he had said when she had tried to go charging out of here that first night—that she was safer here with him than anywhere else, even in his own camp—but there had been more than enough times with him when she knew she would have happily run out of here as fast as she could and let chance decide her fate.
So, she continued to plan to leave, but she had to be smart about it.
It also didn't help her cause that, less than a week later, for some reason, the unwanted feelings she had for him multiplied a thousand-fold. Whenever he came into the room, it was all she could do not to literally throw herself at him, or worse, get down on all fours and present herself to him for breeding. The aromatic essence that she'd been producing during her proximity to him also increased, and she was certain that she was going to go out of her mind if she didn't feel him within her at all times.
Whatever it was, it was making her more emotional, too, and she couldn't help but weep openly and frequently in front
of him, no longer able to hide her tears from him in any way. If she stuck closely to what she knew he considered was at the heart of her vow to him, there was very little she was allowed to hide from him, even her sorrow.
When it had first come upon her, she was alone, and had had to spend the afternoon and evening pacing, her body in anguish. Of course, it would be one of those times when he was late. Ebby wasn't sure just how much longer she could stand the emptiness she felt without him. Her entire body yearned and ached for him—it was the only thing she could think about. Her plans to break out of here were necessarily put on hold. She didn't want to leave him now—and that concept was truly horrifying to what was becoming a smaller and smaller part of her.
Ciaran entered his tent that evening, tired from his exertions during the day. They were being harangued by a large, surprisingly well-organized band of cutthroats and thieves, which was nothing unusual. Normally, they would have been defeated quickly and easily, but since the discovery of Ebby and the loss of all of those men, they were having a harder time wiping them out, and after every battle, it just seemed that their opponents came back even harder against them.
As exhausted as he was, he knew something was going on as he closed the door behind him, because she was right there. Ever since he'd decided that she no longer needed to be bound during the day—although he did still keep her naked—she'd never greeted him at the door. She didn't really this time, either, but she did stand very close to him, and he could hear her whimpering slightly, as if she was in pain. She kept looking up at him, then quickly down again, as if she had something she wanted to say to him, but couldn't quite bring herself to do it.
"Ebby, are you all right?" he asked, moving a bit away from her to divest himself of his uniform as he always did.
He'd intended to keep one eye on her, but he didn't need to, because she stuck to his side like glue, one hand up as if she was going to touch him, but then dropped like she thought it might not be a very good idea.
He had been impressed at just how good she had been. He had still had to paddle her little behind occasionally when she forgot herself. That was understandable, and he was never really angry with her about it, although he did deal with each instance quite severely, even though he knew that she was trying to be a good omega. Ciaran firmly believed that anything less than a full-on punishment would provide no impetus for her to strive to be better. He always made certain that the discipline he meted out to her was more than enough of a deterrent that she would have to think long and hard before she decided to disobey him again in that same way.
As it was, he had fallen into the habit of giving her a spanking every evening, even if she hadn't earned one during the day for being naughty, but as a reminder of who she was and that she might expect to receive a sound thrashing at any time. Whether or not she thought she deserved it was completely immaterial.
"Do I need to have you get my belt, little one?" he asked in a kindly tone that was at odds with his words, seeing her give a full-body shudder just at the suggestion.
"N-no, please, Sir." She wrung her hands, taking a small step even nearer to him. "I'm not trying to be defiant or disobedient—I'm really not."
There were tears in her eyes, and he believed her.
"But I don't know how to tell you what's happened to me—it's so bad. I just…" It was then that the fingers she had been fidgeting with the entire time she'd been standing in front of him began to clutch at her crotch and she literally fell to her knees, looking up at him beseechingly as she rocked herself on her own hands. "P-please, Sir? Please?"
Ciaran knew immediately what was happening to her and had indeed been expecting and hoping for just this. If she hadn't offered her little promise to him, he had known that this would eventually decimate her ability to resist him, at least for its duration.
He'd learned over the past few weeks that his little omega was quite intelligent—probably more so than most of the men in his command—but that aside from being bathed in the concept that Alphas were her sworn enemy her entire life—a matter which he didn't bother to debate with her—she had otherwise been kept woefully uninformed about what her rather unusual existence entailed.
It was as if the people who had raised her—who all sounded wonderfully kind and loving and protective of her—thought that they were going to be successful in keeping her completely away from any Alphas, and thus, untainted and in some sort of asexual limbo. As good hearted as they must've thought they were being, they weren't doing her any favors by keeping her as much in the dark as they did.
He leaned down to lift her up and carry her to his bed, noting how her body trembled in his arms. She turned into his embrace—another first—and the way that simple, pure gesture made him feel stunned him, but he shoved those inconvenient emotions aside as they would be of no help to her.
Ciaran lay her down on the bed, then stepped back from the end of it, turning to finish removing his uniform, only to find that she was at his side again, hands held out towards him, but remaining an inch or so from him, as if she was afraid to touch him.
"Girl, where did I just put you?" he scolded, and she sniffled loudly. "Go sit on the end of the bed—you know it's naughty to move yourself from where I've put you."
Ebby hung her head as they both heard the wet dripping sound of her leaking on the carpet. "Yes, Sir." It would be fine with her if he punished her for disobeying him—although she couldn't believe she was thinking that. But at least they would be close together, and she wouldn't feel so alone. She did as she was told, with blatant reluctance, turning her head to stare at him while she was walking, as if she hoped he was going to change his mind and call her back.
When she was back to where she was supposed to be, he turned towards her as he was disrobing, amazed to see that her hands were again between her legs, which stopped him again.
"Ebby. Who owns that cunny?" he asked sternly.
"You, Sir." Her self-stimulation slowed but didn't halt.
More strictly by far, "And are you allowed to touch yourself?"
She shook her head, blushing brightly, and stopped the movements of her hands. "No, Sir," she whispered forlornly.
"That's right. Now put your hands on the bed beside you."
He could see the effort that it took her to do as he asked, but she did.
"Very good." Praise from him—which was always rare—made her flush with pride.
Ciaran reached for his bracers, then thought better of it. "Come here and do this for me. I'll teach you how to do it correctly, and it will give you something else to think about." He hadn't allowed his personal attendant—even though he was quite young—into the tent since he'd gotten her, allowing her to be guarded and waited on only by omega males.
As a distraction, it was only partly successful, but as she worked, he talked to her, injecting a soothing trill here and there that seemed to help center her a bit.
"You needn't worry that you're sick because of the way you're feeling. You're in heat, little girl. It was bound to happen when you've been bred so often—your body is experiencing a heightened state of arousal, which means that you are even more receptive than before to being impregnated by your Alpha."
Even hearing him use that word—impregnated—was too much for her, although, in the back of her mind, she still wanted to scream at the possibility of that outcome. But instead, she crossed her legs tightly together and her hand headed straight for the juncture of her thighs.
But he caught it before it got there, using the leverage it gave him to smack her butt sharply. "Do you think I won't resurrect the bindings I used on you in the beginning?" he asked as he landed swat after swat on a bottom that was kept in a perpetually mottled state.
That would be horrible—she had to be able to touch him—she had to!
"Don't do that to me, please, Sir? Please?" Ebby cringed inside to hear herself begging so, but the time had come that she was no longer in charge of herself.
He was, and e
ven through her fevered haze, the thought made what was left of her stubborn, independent brain go cold.
"The restraints or the spanking, Ebby?"
"Either?" she replied hopefully, knowing she wasn't likely to be granted either boon.
But after reducing her to a storm of tears and doubtful promises of better behavior, he let her go. And, realizing that he was no closer to being undressed than he had been when he'd called her over, Ciaran sent her back to the bed alone for a moment, although he kept a close eye on her.
Again, she surprised him—not by trying to touch herself—but by the way her hips were arching her lower body away from the bed, as if she was rising to meet his thrusts.
His mouth went dry at the thought, and he hurriedly got rid of the least he possibly could in favor of wrapping his hands around those curves of hers and forcing her to conform to his own rhythm. Gone was the "everything in its place" approach to getting out of his uniform as he literally threw things away from himself, not giving a fuck where they landed, leaving his breastplate on and even his boots.
When he arrived in front of her, she was sobbing, her body entirely out of control. She looked up at him, mewling, "I'm so empty—I hurt with it! Please help me—I can't stand it!"
"Shh-shh-shh," he rumbled, laying his hands on her overheated flesh, encouraging her to lie back as he stood at the end of the bed. "I'll take care of you, Ebby. I have what you need. That's it. Let me have you."
There was no foreplay needed. His hands caught her thighs to pull her onto him where he stood, and she literally gushed around him—he could hear as well as feel her accept him, lifting for him this time, which was something she'd never done, even since her vow. She'd submitted, but she hadn't participated. This time, her small hands found his biceps and held on for dear life as he sank fully into her, her guttural groan making his toes curl.
She still cried—and cried out—as he inevitably dug himself into her, but it seemed that the bliss came to her rescue more quickly than it had in the past, and he watched her eyes becoming more and more unfocused as they found his. Her hands came up, as if she wanted to cup his cheeks, but she stopped.
Red's Mate (Alpha's Woman Book 3) Page 7