Page 21 of Dragon's Captive

"Why are you doing this?" I ask, voice small in the steamy silence.

His chest vibrates against my back, not quite a laugh. "Cleaning you? It's practical. We'll be at this for days, and?—"

"No," I interrupt, surprising myself with the boldness. "Not the bathing. The..." I struggle to find words that don't make me sound pathetic. "The gentleness. After."

His hands pause in their ministrations, one resting over my abdomen where his seed remains sealed inside me by his knots. "Claiming doesn't have to be punishment," he says finally. "Even when it begins as capture."

The words make no sense to me, contradicting everything I've learned about Prime alphas over the past decade. Before I can question further, another wave of heat surges through me, and coherent conversation becomes impossible.

The pattern repeats throughout the day—claiming followed by brief periods of clarity that grow increasingly shorter as my heat intensifies. He takes me everywhere—on the floor beside the fireplace, bent over the back of a chair, on the balcony where any passing dragon might witness my submission. His staminaproves inhuman, his rut matching my heat with endless capacity for breeding.

Between joinings, I drift through fevered dreams where past and present blend into disorienting fragments. Memories surface unbidden—my family before the Conquest, laughing together over dinner in our small suburban home. The terror of the first dragon sighting on television, massive wings blotting out the sun over what used to be Washington D.C. The years spent constructing the beta librarian identity that would keep me safe, memorizing details of a life I'd never lived before the Prime invasion.

These fragments of my previous existence make my current captivity all the more jarring. The contrast between who I was and what I've become—claimed omega, breeding vessel, my body accepting its biological destiny with embarrassing enthusiasm.

By the third day, physical transformation is complete. My body has adapted to Kairyx's impossible anatomy, the initial pain giving way entirely to pleasure I can no longer pretend to reject. His twin shafts slide into me with practiced ease now, my inner walls yielding eagerly to accommodate the ridged lengths that seemed impossible just days ago. My omega biology responds to his alpha presence with automatic precision—pupils dilating, skin flushing, wetness gathering between my thighs whenever he enters the room.

"Look how ready you get just from my scent," he observes during one claiming, fingers sliding through the abundant wetness between my thighs. "Your body craves me even before I touch you."

It's true, and we both know it. He's mapped every inch of my body with merciless precision, discovering sensitive spots I didn't know existed—the place just behind my ear that makes me shiver when he growls against it, the exact pressure neededon my nipples to make my back arch involuntarily, the perfect angle to hit the spot deep inside that makes me cry out his name despite my best efforts not to.

Most disturbing is my growing addiction to his praise—the rumbled "good girl" when I take both his lengths without resistance, the possessive growl of "mine" that somehow comforts rather than repels. My omega instincts preen under his approval, seeking it with increasing desperation as heat erodes higher thinking.

"That's it," he'll murmur as I climax around him. "Squeeze me just like that. Perfect omega. So good for me."

And heaven help me, I respond—inner walls tightening around his invasion, drawing his release with biological efficiency that brings a rumble of approval from his chest. The positive reinforcement creates a cycle I can't seem to break—pleasure, praise, more pleasure, more surrender.

"You're perfect like this," he murmurs during one of the brief respites, his talons tracing patterns across my sweat-slicked skin. "Accepting what you are instead of fighting it."

"I'm not accepting anything," I protest weakly, but the words ring hollow even to my own ears. My body has made its choice, whatever my mind might claim.

He chuckles, the sound vibrating through his chest where my head rests. "Tell yourself whatever you need to, little omega. Your body knows the truth." His hand slides between my thighs, finding me already wet and ready despite multiple claimings. "See? Already eager for more."

Before I can argue further, heat surges again, washing away resistance in a tide of biological imperative. He flips me over, positioning me on hands and knees with practiced efficiency.

"I want to try something," he says, voice rough with rut. "A new angle. I think you'll enjoy this."

He adjusts my position slightly, tilting my hips at a precise angle before driving forward with a single powerful thrust that hits something deep inside me that makes stars explode behind my eyelids.

"There it is," he growls, satisfaction evident in his voice as I cry out. "I knew your body was hiding more secrets from me."

The claiming is rougher than before, his control slipping as his own rut intensifies in response to my escalating need. His talons grip my hips hard enough to leave marks, his pace relentless as he drives into me with single-minded determination.

Scales spread further across his skin, darkening from obsidian to something deeper that absorbs light. His eyes glow brighter, pupils narrowed to thin lines as his more human features recede beneath draconic nature. Small flames escape his mouth with each breath, scenting the air between us with burning cinnamon.

The display of barely controlled power should terrify me. Instead, it triggers another rush of wetness, my omega biology responding to the evidence of alpha strength with hardwired submission.

"Mine," he growls, the word barely recognizable as language, more primal claim than communication. His pace increases to something just short of violent, the power of his thrusts moving me forward with each drive of his hips.

Pleasure builds with ruthless efficiency, coiling tight at the base of my spine before exploding outward in waves that leave me sobbing with intensity. He follows moments later, dual knots swelling to lock us together as another flood of burning seed fills my womb.

The day progresses in a blur of increasingly intense claimings. He takes me bent over his desk, the polished stone cool against my heated skin as he pounds into me from behind,one hand tangled in my hair to arch my back at precisely the angle he's discovered drives me wild. Later, against the balcony railing, the mountain air kissing my feverish skin as he claims me where any passing dragon might witness my submission.

"You take my knots so beautifully now," he praises, watching my body stretch around the swelling bases of his shafts during one particularly intense joining. "Look how eager you've become."

He makes me watch sometimes, positioned before a mirror as he takes me from behind, forcing me to witness my own surrender—flushed skin, unfocused eyes, lips parted in pleasure I can no longer pretend to reject. The visual evidence of my transformation should horrify me; instead, it sends another rush of wetness coating his already buried lengths.

"See how perfectly we fit together?" he'll growl, grinding his hips against mine to emphasize our joined state. "Watch yourself take what you were made for."

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