Page 20 of Dragon's Captive

Rest. As if sleep could magically restore what I've lost—control, autonomy, the identity I built over a decade of careful deception. All stripped away with my chemical barriers, leaving only the omega nature I've denied for so long.

Elara leaves, and I drift into uneasy sleep, only to jolt awake as another wave of heat crashes through me without warning. It begins as a spark at the base of my spine that quickly blazes into an inferno, devouring rational thought with frightening speed.

My back arches off the bed, seeking contact that isn't there. My empty channel clenches painfully, producing wetness in desperate preparation for a claiming that isn't happening. The need tears through me with sharp claws, shredding coherent thought.

Where is he? The question surfaces in my heat-fogged mind with embarrassing urgency. I need... I need...

As if called by the thought—or more likely, by the concentrated omega pheromones now filling the chamber—the door swings open with sudden force. Kairyx fills the doorway, his massive silhouette framed against the corridor light. His nostrils flare as he breathes deeply, golden eyes instantly narrowing to predatory slits.

"Already desperate for me, little omega?" His voice echoes through the space between us, deeper than usual, roughened by the rut my scent triggers. "And I've only been gone a few hours."

"Go to hell," I manage, though the words lack conviction when I'm writhing on the bed, skin flushed with need I can't hide.

His laugh—dark and knowing—sends an unwelcome shiver along my spine. "After you," he counters, shedding clothing as he approaches with predatory intent.

What follows obliterates all thought. He's on me instantly, flipping me onto my stomach with a growl that reverberates through my bones. His scaled hands grip my hips, lifting me onto my knees as he positions himself behind me.

"Present," he commands, voice barely recognizable through the rut-roughness. "Show me how an omega offers herself to her alpha."

I should refuse. Should fight. Instead, my treacherous body responds immediately—spine arching, hips tilting, thighs spreading in perfect omega presentation. Wetness flows downmy inner thighs, my body eagerly preparing for what comes next.

"Look at you," he murmurs, one talon tracing the curve of my spine, raising goosebumps in its wake. "Already so ready for me. So eager."

"I'm not—" I try to deny it, but he chooses that moment to thrust forward, both ridged lengths entering me in one powerful stroke that steals breath and reason alike.

"Not what?" he taunts, his grip tightening as he withdraws almost completely before driving back in with enough force to push me forward. "Not craving my shafts? Not aching to be filled?"

I bite the pillow to smother the moan his words draw from me, but he allows no such escape. One massive hand tangles in my hair, pulling my head back as he sets a punishing rhythm that makes coherent thought impossible.

"I want to hear you this time," he growls against my ear, each thrust deliberate and devastating. "No silent submission. Let me hear what I do to you."

And heaven help me, I do. Sounds I've never made before—desperate, needy, pleading—escape my throat as he works my body with merciless precision.

"That's it," he praises, shifting slightly to hit a spot inside me that sends lightning racing along my spine. "Good girl. Taking me so perfectly."

My inner muscles clench around his dual lengths in response, drawing a pleased rumble from his chest. "You tighten when I praise you," he observes, the realization sending heat rushing to my face. "You enjoy that, don't you? Being my good little omega."

I want to deny it, but another powerful thrust destroys any hope of coherent response. He's learning my body withterrifying efficiency, noting each gasp, each shudder, each involuntary tightening when he strikes exactly the right spot.

"Here?" he asks, deliberately grinding against a particularly sensitive place inside me. When I cry out, unable to stop myself, his laugh vibrates through both our bodies. "I thought so."

He lifts me then, still impaled on his twin shafts, carrying me to the nearest wall with insulting ease. The stone feels cold against my heated skin, a shocking contrast to the burning heat of his scaled body pressed against mine. The new position allows him even deeper access, each thrust now reaching places inside me I didn't know existed.

"Look at me," he demands, one hand gripping my chin, forcing my gaze to meet his. His eyes glow with inhuman intensity, pupils nearly invisible as rut consumes him. "Watch what I do to you."

I couldn't look away if I tried. His expression captivates me—primal hunger mixed with focused determination as he works my body with increasing intensity. The sounds of our joining fill the chamber, undeniable evidence of how eagerly my body accepts his invasion.

"You're close," he states with absolute certainty. His talon finds my sensitive bud with unerring accuracy, circling in time with his thrusts. "Come for me. Now."

My body obeys before my mind can resist, the orgasm crashing through me with enough force to tear a scream from my throat. My inner walls pulse around his dual lengths rhythmically, drawing his release even as aftershocks continue to shake my frame.

"So perfect," he growls, his pace becoming erratic as his own release approaches. "Gripping my shafts just right. Made for this. Made for me."

When he comes, it's with a roar that shakes dust from the ceiling, his dual knots swelling simultaneously to lock ustogether as his burning seed floods my womb in seemingly endless pulses. The sensation triggers another unexpected climax that tears through me with overwhelming intensity, pleasure whiting out conscious thought.

Afterward, he carries me to the bathing chamber, still joined by his knots, and sinks into the massive tub with me cradled against his chest. The warm water soothes aching muscles, while his hands move over my skin with surprising gentleness, washing away the evidence of our joining.

It's this tenderness that confuses me most—the contradiction between brutal domination and careful attention afterward. As if I'm precious to him, something to be cherished rather than merely possessed.

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