Breeder

by Cara Bristol

  Gradually the crowd thinned, and vacant booths appeared here and there, until they entered an area of newly constructed, unused stalls. Flaps covered the fronts. Omra’s heart hammered when Dak strode to one midway down the aisle, yanked back the awning, and gestured. “Inside!”

  DAK SNAPPED THE apron over the entrance, enclosing them in the semidarkness of the heated interior. A bead of sweat trickled down his temple. Dust floated on the air and coated the floor. A rough-hewn table abutted the thick beam supporting the wooden roof.

  Omra had teased him all morning with her caressing scrutiny. He could not imagine what others had thought of the provocateur who gazed so longingly at her alpha, the Commander. He knew what he felt: captivated, powerless to resist her lure.

  She was lucky he had held out this long and hadn’t taken her in the streets while men hooted and hollered. As the guard trailing them watched. He’d signaled to the man to wait at the end of the row; he doubted Omra was aware of his presence.

  Omra emitted a tiny shriek of surprise when he dragged her to the table and folded her over it. He hauled her shift to her waist, pressed his thumb to the lock-ring, and yanked it off. He sank his fingers into her warm, wet channel. Her body was ready for him already. He peered over his shoulder at the entrance flap. This corner of the Market was deserted, but anyone could walk in on them.

  They’d passed several stalls where he’d spied males relieving sexual tension, taking females anally as others awaited a turn. Using a female in that manner raised no questions. What he and Omra did? A different matter.

  He brought his lips to her ear. “Don’t utter a sound. Remain silent.”

  She nodded. He sank to his knees. A muffled whimper escaped from her throat. She spread her legs for him, and he opened her farther with his thumbs and dove in. Groaning, he feasted on her, delved into her channel, scooped her nectar onto his tongue, then captured the prize, her luscious pearl. How succulent it was. He teased it with lips, tongue, and even teeth to make it swell more. Her hips jerked, and she ground herself against his face.

  He could eat her all day, but every passing moment increased the odds of being caught. Alpha engaged in cunnilingus? A common, accepted act on Terra. A criminal perversion on Parseon. Not even his status would protect him should they be caught. The consequences would be far greater for a male of his position than for an anonymous alpha. He would be stripped of his command, and he shuddered to ponder what would happen to Omra.

  He scrambled to his feet and freed his erection. He clapped a hand over her mouth to stifle any sounds she might utter before pressing against her mons and pinching her clitoris. Holding her securely, he plunged his cock into her receptive heat. His palm muffled her pleasured cry. She accommodated his girth easily, so ready for him she was. Always ready. Whenever he needed her. He gritted his teeth to suppress a growl of satisfaction.

  Dak rutted like an animal in season, and he suspected he was—but his season had no end.

  He removed his hand from her mouth and lifted her until her toes skimmed the dirt floor and thrust, consumed by fire, by need, by her.

  His buttocks clenched, and his balls drew tight as he pounded into her. In his head he muttered the words he would have said if they’d been at home, switching to a Terran language. Your cunt feels so fucking good. Take my cock, Omra.

  A sudden shaft of light and draft of air came over them as the tent cover was yanked back. Omra jerked and cried out.

  “I’ll take some of that,” said a man with a raucous laugh.

  Dak twisted sideways. Two betas stood there. They zeroed in on his insignia. Ribald lust on their faces transformed to fear. “Begging your pardon, Commander. So sorry,” said one of them. Both backed out of the tent and dropped the cover into place.

  “That was Alpha! Why would the Commander be here…” Conversation outside the tent faded away.

  Dak shuddered. Only moments before… But even near discovery could not mute his desire. Pressure tightened like a spring wound too tight. His balls and cock contracted. He rubbed Omra’s clitoris in hard circles.

  The betas were gone. But who else might be outside, waiting, listening? Had his guard approached when he spied the two men?

  He pinched Omra’s clit, applying greater pressure, and she shuddered with release. The spring snapped. He cried out and pumped into her.

  With lust temporarily slaked, cold, hard reason returned, and he cursed his indiscretion. He had allowed Omra’s smile and sweet looks to seduce him. A wink, a gesture, a casually spoken endearment—there were so many ways to slip up, and news traveled fast. If he had been seen with his face buried between her thighs, there would have been no recovery from disaster. He was Alpha; the embodiment of Protocol.

  The risk he’d taken to satisfy his hunger had been huge. His action had threatened not only his command but Omra’s life.

  Hubris had deceived him into believing Omra would be better off with him than she would have been at the containment facility or with some other alpha. But taking her in the stall, where they’d come so close to being discovered, had ripped away his arrogance. She was far worse off by being with him. He had endangered her. A calamity was rolling toward him like a boulder picking up speed on a downhill run. His refusal to condemn the Enclave would cause a political uproar. Should anyone suspect he had developed affection for his breeder, they would assume she had motivated his unpopular stance. Perhaps they would be right. Would he have shielded the Enclave if he had not come to know Omra? He could not say. His only certainty was that his enemies would make an example of her.

  What did it reveal of his honor that he cared for her yet disregarded her safety?

  He had sauntered through the Market as if he were an anonymous alpha accompanied by his beta. Had Corren’s absence been noted? Dak had his men searching to bring his former beta to justice for what he’d done to Omra, but thus far, had been unable to locate him. He’d contacted Corren’s brother, Enyi, but he’d sworn he hadn’t seen his sibling in months. The Council of Civil Affairs had annulled the anointment in absentia and expunged the records, but memories of the union could not be erased. Mouths could not be silenced.

  Not in a manner he would employ. A man had once spoken out against Marlix, and the Alpha had ordered his lips sewn shut.

  Marlix and Tarbek both had witnessed his defense of Omra.

  That alone should have forced him to act with greater prudence.

  His cock throbbed in longing for another session, but he pulled out. He threaded and snapped the lock-ring into place, yanked down Omra’s shift, and fastened his pants.

  “We must go.” Posture rigid, he turned to leave.

  “What’s wrong?”

  He erred in peering back at her and read the confusion, the hurt on her face. He’d spoken no sweet words after taking her, offered no soothing caresses, had not kissed her as was his practice after a coupling.

  Despite frequent mating, he’d not yet impregnated her. If an alpha of no special status had purchased her, she would have been protected by anonymity. Regret seized his chest in a vise and squeezed. He couldn’t breathe, could not bear to gaze upon her hurt-filled face when he would cause her further emotional injury no matter what he did. She cared for him, and he knew of only one way to ensure her safety.

  Return her to the BCF.

  So he did what he always did when emotion overwhelmed him.

  He fled.

  Dak flung open the flap and charged outside.

  Chapter Ten

  Omra gaped at the empty space where Dak had stood moments before. What had she done? How had she upset him? They’d been caught coupling, but public displays weren’t unusual. They’d passed several booths where betas and even a few alphas had a female on all fours. In one not so remote corner of the Market, a vendor had collected coin from men who lined up to use his female, her pain-filled cries mingling with ribald cheers.

  The only difference was that she enjoyed being taken by Dak. Was that the problem? Was i
t that she found pleasure in the act? Was that why he’d ordered her silence, had placed his hand over her mouth? And why would the pleasure they’d shared cause him to look so lost? He’d exhibited the same expression her mother had the day her sire had delivered Omra to the containment facility.

  After the way Dak had warned her, he would not abandon her in the Market—but there was no telling how far his long-legged stride would take him. The twists and turns of the Market had befuddled her, and in truth, she had paid more attention to Dak than to where they’d been heading. So many people bustled through the Market. What if she couldn’t find him?

  She ran from the tent. “Dak! Dak!” she called out, halting when she spotted him a short distance away. He spun around, his features darkened with such fury she flinched. He swept the aisle with his gaze like a storm tearing across the land; then he closed the distance between them and grabbed her shoulders. “Do not ever address me by my given name in a public place. Have you no sense?” he hissed.

  He clamped onto her arm and hauled her back into the stall. He ripped the sudon from his belt and shoved her over the table again. Her stomach contracted, this time in dread, not excitement.

  Fire streaked across her buttocks. Seconds later the afterburn ignited as the venom from the quills spread through her system. A harder strike topped it. So intense was the pain, her breath caught in her lungs.

  He landed another blow.

  And another.

  The air left her in a scream.

  Dak didn’t miss a stroke as he chastised her verbally and physically. “You will refrain from using my name in public.” Whoosh.

  “You will maintain distance and decorum.” Whoosh.

  Omra clawed at the wooden table. Her pleas and apologies did nothing to deter him, even seemed to spur him to greater fervor as he worked the sudon over her buttocks and down the backs of her thighs.

  Omra shrieked when a streak lanced her skin, as if he’d laid her flesh open.

  Twenty lashes? Twenty-five? It could have been a hundred, the pain was so searing by the time he yanked her upright to face him. His hands bruised her arms as he shook her until her head wobbled on her neck. “You will follow Protocol. Do you understand?”

  Shivers racked her body. “Y-yes.” Omra sobbed in agony and shame. She had become so comfortable in private, she had slipped. No matter what occurred in their domicile, in their sleeping chamber, she was a mere breeder and he was Alpha.

  He shook her hard. Glowered. “What?”

  “Y-yes, Alpha.”

  “Yes, Alpha. That is correct.” Still retaining a hold on one arm, he swung the sudon against her ass. She cried out and rose up on tiptoes. He laid several more blistering blows to her backside and thighs before he reattached the implement to his belt.

  She did not recognize this frightening, angry man whose physical stature expanded with his rage. He’d grown taller, broader, his musculature bulging and coiling, presenting her with a blood-chilling glimpse of what his opponents faced in battle—the most awesome warrior of their society. Peerless, except for the four other Commanders.

  But something else had slipped through his fierce facade, something none of his foes would ever see. Fear. Pain. He hid it well, so it was only a glimmer, a speck beneath the outrage, but she recognized it. Somehow, without intending to, her actions had hurt him. Her eyes filled with a fresh spate of tears, and he released her so abruptly, she almost fell.

  His face transformed into a stony wall. “Let us finish our business here,” he said.

  “Y-yes, Alph-pha.” Tears poured down her cheeks, and she hung her head.

  * * * *

  Dak neither ambled nor charged but wound through the maze of vendors as if his purpose required his attention but not his concern. Omra followed, the burning in her buttocks and legs overshadowed by the aching hole in her heart. Their relationship was like the Market, a confusing maze of twists and turns, and she couldn’t shake the worry she had ruined the easy amity they had enjoyed. She had been born and bred under Protocol. Why, oh why, had she forgotten the rules?

  During the punishment, he had ordered her to maintain her distance, which she’d taken to mean a physical one. Stay behind him, don’t touch him, don’t speak unless addressed. Though she walked a mere stride away, the emotional distance swelled like a river engorged by a storm. His back, that she’d considered so broad and strong, now appeared like a fortress, unsalable, impenetrable. He had locked her out. He no longer checked on her with an indulgent smile. He refused to look at her at all.

  But others did. They whispered and pointed. What caught their interest the most, she wondered. The welts crisscrossing her thighs? The tears streaking her face? Wetness trickled down her thighs, and she had worried she might be bleeding, that Alpha’s punishment might have broken the skin, but when she dared to appraise her condition, she discovered only his essence from their mating.

  He’d been angry when he’d spanked her, yet had not lost control—such a contrast to the way he’d coupled with her moments earlier. His hard body thrusting in hers, his fingers rough on the nub between her legs, his breath hot in her ear. Growling the whole time, though she sensed he wasn’t aware of it. She relished his abandon, the times when he let himself go, when they existed as two individuals. Could her utterance of his given name have ended the intimate companionship forever?

  Dak stopped outside a stall, and with a jolt, she realized it was her booth. Well, not hers—but the panna baker’s who had taken her sweetcakes on consignment. She’d spotted the sign requesting pastries during last week’s Market trip. With Corren gone and not devising a plethora of minutiae for her tend to, she’d whipped through her chores and by midmorning had little to occupy her time. She loved reading but could read only so much. She had surmised if Dak enjoyed her sweetcakes, perhaps others would too.

  “What does the sign say?” Feigning ignorance, she’d pointed at the advertisement.

  Dak had shrugged. “The vendor bakes bread but is looking for additional suppliers.”

  “Like sweetcakes?” she’d asked.

  He had narrowed his eyes, and for a moment she feared he’d guessed her secret. “Like sweetcakes.”

  “I could bake them.”

  “What about your chores?”

  “I can do both.”

  He’d conferred with the baker and had arranged for one of his men to deliver several trays of her sweetcakes early in the morn. She surveyed the vendor’s spread but saw only panna. Her heart sank in disappointment. Had the baker not put them out? Had the man delivering them dropped the trays?

  Apparently the same questions arose in Dak’s mind. “Where are the sweetcakes that were delivered this morning?” he asked the baker.

  “They sold out before the sun rose, Commander,” the man answered. “I divided one into small samples, and once they had a taste, people bought two and three at a time. A brawl almost ensued when I ran out.”

  Omra widened her eyes. People liked her sweetcakes!

  The baker produced a drawstring bag. Coins clanked. “Your share, Commander. I hope there will be more next week?” The baker looked at Alpha as he dropped the bag into his palm.

  “That is still to be determined. I will inform you later of my decision,” Dak answered.

  Omra hung her head in humiliation. Her misbehavior had angered him so much, he would not allow her to bake sweetcakes.

  “Very good, Commander.”

  With a nod, Dak set off at a pace requiring Omra to jog. The lock-ring swung between her legs, tugged at her still-swollen sex. Her shift rasped her tenderized buttocks. Several rows down from the baker, Dak stopped, grabbed her arm, and pulled her into an alley.

  “You did well,” he said in a low voice and shoved the bag of coin into her hand.

  She gaped at his about-face, but his praise lit a glow in her chest. “I am pleased people liked the sweetcakes.” She hefted the bag in her palm. “It is very heavy,” she commented and handed it back to Dak. Anyth
ing a female had belonged to her alpha.

  He shook his head. “It is yours. You have earned it.”

  She blinked and glanced from the bag to him. “What shall I do with it?”

  “Anything you want.”

  Alpha had allowed her to keep her earnings! Of course the sum was small to a man as wealthy as he, but the gesture was huge. She had never owned anything. That he considered her worthy of wealth and granted her the freedom to use it as she desired caused her eyes to well up anew, this time with gratitude. Love for him.

  Dak’s nostrils flared, and his eyes flashed. “Do not behold me in such a manner,” he growled.

  “In what manner, Alpha?”

  “Like I have bestowed upon you the riches of the world.” He scanned the crowd, then stared at some point over her head. His chest rose and fell. “I am not worthy of such regard.

  “Come.” He gestured for her to follow. “Let us select our food for the week before it sells out like your sweetcakes. Then we have one more stop before we leave.”

  The détente did not erase all tension, but hope supplanted misery. She would work harder to please him, to fix the damage she had caused.

  Omra selected game, fish, and fowl, tubers and vegetables, and fruits along with a large sack of milled grain and a container of leavening agent. After what Dak had told the baker, she held her breath when she requested the latter items, but he said nothing and directed the vendors to deliver the staples to his domicile later that afternoon. They moved on.

  At the Market’s far corner, Dak approached a large freestanding tent that hadn’t been there the previous weeks. She widened her eyes when she read the sign over the entrance. TERRAN ENTERPRISES, LTD. Many Parseon males milled around outside, their reluctance to enter as obvious as their curiosity.