by Addison Cain
Hand to slender hips, watching the bouncing tits of his pretty Omega, he fucked and fucked and fucked away—tossing his head back when she began to flutter.
When her pussy began to beg.
As it should!
The knot, perhaps his sixth of the day, was not his most impressive. Still, it locked behind her pubic bone, shot deep and true.
It was genuine, just like the text claimed. Mated Alpha’s testicles were always swollen. They needed to be milked.
Jacques had learned this the hard way, moaning as he circled his hips and dug even deeper.
Gods, she was small. When she grew fat with his babies, she would scarce be able to stand upright.
She could hardly contain him as it was!
Which only urged him to fill her even more.
Bones creaking under his hips, she opened enough that his knot might dig deeper.
And deeper still as his perfect female swooned.
That fucking Beta! The arrogance of the man. To think that he might ever be capable of tasting her sweet slick without Jacques to draw it forth. A mere Beta couldn't make her bloom with a single rumbling note, the application of the perfect force.
Brenya needed an Alpha...
The sleeve encasing his cock began to rhythmically convulse. Little hands touching on his body as if he were a console.
Could a console fuck this hard?
The wayward Omega squealed like a cute little piglet each time he shoved his knot deeper.
That first wad of seed…
It was as if Jacques could feel how thick and globular it might be, traveling down his shaft, his sperm searching for her cervix.
Omegas were meant to drink. All the text said so.
So this one had been conditioned to bloat. Brenya didn’t even cry anymore when her tummy got fat. Like any good mate, she lay and accepted.
When his knot inevitably shrank, she even held a good portion deep inside.
He’d tested her more than once. Gently pushing on her tummy to watch the flood he left inside her wet the bed.
It came out curdled these days, solid proof that her sweet cunt wanted to retain what he had graced her with. But there was something about watching his gift flow.
Drinking it down was even better.
Honey.
The perfect slippery sweetness. Sucking her empty, enjoying how she groaned when he brought her to an empty climax, Jacques thought of the Beta trapped below and slurped down a mouthful of himself.
17
Bernard Dome
Muscles stiff from built-up lactic acid, scraped raw inside and out, bruised—sleep had dragged Brenya down so deep she didn’t so much as toss in the sticky puddle of fluids left behind when Jacques finished with her.
The first sharp jerk didn’t so much as register. It was the following insistent tugs on her arm that, oh so slowly, gave her a reason to part her lashes.
It was still dark, yet a single lamp had been lit, outlining the form of a radiant woman dressed in maroon silks. Pin-straight black locks perfect, almost as smooth as the glass of the Dome.
“You must rise, Commodorina!”
Accent thick, fingernails sharp, a slender figure literally pulled her almost to the floor.
“What?” What on earth could anyone want when there had been dreams of sandy beaches, jungles outside the Dome? There had been fresh, unrecycled air….
“I was ordered to fetch you. Wash, dress, quickly. Chancellor Shepherd waits for no one.” Narrowing her eyes, Lucia clicked her tongue. “You have to answer for what you did.”
Her stomach dropped, the sense of failure in duty hardwired into every part of her being. She did need to answer, but not to the men. She needed to answer to Annette.
Defeated, Brenya couldn’t even find the energy to snarl at the unexpected and undesired presence. Blinking up at the woman with the perfect sheet of black hair, her aristocratic features and straight nose, her sun-bronzed skin, Brenya found it hard to see her past prejudice. “Lucia.”
The Omega was pregnant with Ancil’s preferred child. His mate.
“Hate me later, Commmodorina. Bathe now, and dress for royalty. The men wait to judge you, and I will be held accountable if they are not impressed.” Lacking all mercy, Lucia yanked her arm again. “Come, come, the bath is already full, and you stink.”
Even bleary and aching head to toe, from Brenya’s position, she had all the leverage, applying the proper force to take back control of her arm.
The very thing she had been unable to do when Jules Havel was the one with his paws on her. It was either set Brenya free, or Lucia was going to end up on the disgusting bed beside her.
The Omega set her free, bracing before she too might end up on that horrendous bed.
Once her footing had been gained, Lucia snarled, raising her head only to bite back whatever she had planned to say.
In their little struggle, the sheet had fallen away, an unobstructed view of Brenya’s nude upper body exposed.
Openly staring, Lucia took in all that was on display: the shape of Brenya’s breasts, the bruises, the bites, each scrape. Eyes rolling upward, she sighed. “You’re one of those Omegas. Gods, send me strength.” As if to dig some barb that Brenya didn’t quite grasp deeper, the woman added, “And your nesting skills are atrocious. You are practically a queen, yet you sleep like a peasant. No wonder Ancil sent me to prepare you. You shame us all!”
Just the sound of Ancil’s name set Brenya’s teeth on edge. “I have no interest in being prepared. I can be judged as I am.”
There was no shame in what she had done, only regret that she had failed Annette and her son. That she had been caught and might never have another opportunity to do what was right.
There was regret in having heard a man cry out for his woman when he was tempted by something as inconvenient as her traitorous pheromones. There was regret in how Brenya had gone to Jules Havel first to make it right. Regret in her failure to understand normal feelings—in assuming the Ambassador cared for Rebecca.
Why else would he have whispered her name?
It had not been Brenya’s imagination—the moment, like every moment she had ever lived—was catalogued and memorized. Even now, she could replay the look on his face and the pain in his voice.
Yet he had chosen to stay locked in a cell?
And she now chose to lay in the soggy bed of her own making.
Ignoring the Alpha who yanked at her mind with such force she was little more than a puppet. Rejecting the treacherous Beta’s void and the lies within it.
Let them have their icy cold indifference and burning hot anger.
Brenya was done with them both.
Rubbing her sore shoulder, she closed her eyes and allowed herself a deep breath. Then another, too tired to care.
Fingers repeatedly snapped in her face, Lucia saying, “We are all aware that you are unpolished, but I didn’t assume you were also dimwitted. Men of this level do not wait on one foolish Omega.”
No, they didn’t. “I’m ready.”
Lucia’s beauty was not marred by her irritated expression. “You are naked.”
Did it matter anymore? She had just crept through the palace bare from the waist down. Projections of her writhing in a sexual encounter were playing on repeat for a prisoner in a shoddy cell. Modesty had yet to apply in her new existence.
“I’m always naked.”
A trill of aggressive foreign language followed, Lucia moving to the dressing room to pick through the uncomfortable clothing that hung from every last rail—so many dresses. Brenya had not even worn a portion of them. She had not so much as entered that room. Jacques picked all of it.
Out of sight, Lucia shouted, “You want to stink of a sewer and show us all once again how lacking you are, I will not be blamed for it. Dios mio, these dresses are ghastly! Is this what I will be expected to wear here? Split skirts? Never! How much more of a burden could you be? We came here for the best life might offer, and you a
re the reason we cannot enjoy it.” As if she did not care to be overheard, the woman muttered, “The first time I am allowed to leave my apartments in days and this is all I’m afforded. And the clothes, I have been ordered to cover my body from neck to toes, thanks to your preferences in fashion. My entire mating wardrobe is forbidden.”
Ignoring the woman’s ramblings, Brenya slipped from damp sheets and padded to the window. No hand reached out to test the door. No thoughts of taking the golden fork and fleeing for her freedom arrived. Her attention was on the rising moon; the way light cast from its beautiful face was slightly bent by the shape of the Dome.
It led an eerie light over a city that did not glitter as it should have in the dark.
Because she had been caught…
Lockdown had been engaged.
There would be barriers bolted into place that could not be opened with a golden fork and knife.
The Commodore had anticipated she would run, but Annette had been right. There was nowhere to run.
Not through the city she loved. Not to sandy beaches she’d flown over on her ill-fated way to Thólos. Not to the ruins of the once great Paris.
The Alpha was hooked into her chest, raging like a roaring lion. The entirety of the city had been shut down.
Annette’s child was probably being smothered in that moment.
It was over.
Lucia returned, beautiful and lithe, her arms full of fresh frothy white material, and watching her reflection in the window, Brenya couldn’t find it in her to hate the female. The foreign Omega had said it herself—she had come here for the best life. Being mated to Ancil would be the worst.
Though Lucia clearly didn’t understand that yet.
“Did he tell you he will murder his son? Annette’s life will be next.”
Compunction soured an angry expression to one of discomfiture. “No. But I will not lie and pretend that such an outcome has not occurred to me. The customs and laws regarding Omegas in this Dome are centuries behind the progress of Greth. I cannot be expected to change them overnight, especially when our Commmodorina does nothing with her influence. You have done nothing for any of us—your Omega guests locked away for these past weeks? We have not been able to even speak with one another. But, why should you concern yourself with your kind? You lay in filth and refuse to wash yourself.”
There was only one thing Brenya might offer. “I will request that Jacques send you my honey.”
Confused, Lucia cocked her head. “What does that even mean?”
Brenya turned away from the view. “It means I can do nothing for you.”
“You could take a bath.”
She could. Brenya could do this one and only thing for the woman who had inadvertently led to the destruction of two innocents. “It will be the only thing I ever do for you, Lucia.”
“Fair enough.” Setting the fresh gown on a nearby divan, Lucia tossed her sheet of shining black hair. “And know this. At no time did I suggest we be friends.”
“That is good. The Commodore has tortured all my friends.”
It was as if the female was finally starting to understand. Painted lips parted as if she might speak, but only silence grew between them. Turning from the view of a city she loved, Brenya went to the lavatory and stepped down into the steaming tub.
The water was warm, a comfort. The company was anything but.
18
Despite her acerbic jabs, Lucia had taken great pains in assuring Brenya was scrubbed clean, patted dry with soft towels, her hair wrung out and dried with a moisture transfer unit. It was then combed into order.
Chastising Brenya for failing to take care of her mottled skin, the Omega went so far as to dig through Jacques' cabinets in search of bandages and unguent.
Chin pinched in between the woman’s pointed, lacquered nails, Brenya allowed Lucia to turn her head and expose the wound that refused to heal.
One glance, and the foreigner said, “This is infected.”
Brenya didn’t care and said as much.
A light smack came to her cheek, Lucia turning up her nose. “You should care. You will be judged on this mark for the rest of your life. It will be captured in paintings and projections. Talked about by an entire civilization throughout their history, and there is already the unfortunate issue of your face.”
“How I look doesn’t matter. Omegas are meant to be people.” And really, what was the point of beauty? It didn’t do anything. Just as disfigurement had done nothing. Jacques knotted her either way.
With a mean laugh, Lucia chided her. “Whoever told you that lie has never lived as an Omega. I have five older sisters, all Omegas. To be one of us is to be always at war. With each other, with ourselves, all the while working hard to impress the Alphas. Do not think I say this to be cruel. Both my nose and eyes were improved so I might outshine rivals.” All of this was said as those sharp nails began to poke at the open, oozing wound. “There is an abscess that needs to be drained.”
No warning was offered to brace for the pain; Lucia just pinched the flesh of Brenya’s throat until an audible pop proceeded a stinking flow of puss. Despite the short-lived agony, instant relief followed, whatever needed purging drained, damaged skin sinking in on itself.
“Green.” Shaking her head as if blood and gore was nothing but another inconvenience, Lucia swabbed up and sanitized the mess. Next came unguent, followed by a large gauze patch, taped down so quickly it was obvious Lucia had training in such things. “It was poor taste for the Commodore to bite you twice when the first one was well-placed and in proportion to your neck and shoulder—exactly where gowns could be cut to highlight the claiming mark. For such a glamourous city, the men are a bit savage, aren’t they? That is what happens when there are no proper women available to tame their urges and keep them in line.”
Keep them in line? With what, a cattle prod?
Despite the tangle of her insides, the hurt of her outsides, and the sure feeling that all of this was a waste of time, Brenya found it in her to offer a single dry chuckle.
“You will see.”
Doubtful. After all, she was going to be judged for trying to free Jules Havel. And she already judged herself deeply for failing Annette again.
The loud, endlessly talking Lucia kept up a constant vocal stream of her every thought while simultaneously bandaging and dressing a woman who had no interest in responding.
But the work had been done, and done quickly—another heavy, uncomfortable dress hung from a shoulder that was swelling under the fabric. Kissing a throat that was oozing infection into a bandage.
A loud squawk from Lucia and Alpha guards swarmed the room. Brenya was surrounded by no less than eight prime Alphas, encased as they quickly ushered the pair of women down the halls. At her side, Lucia had no trouble with managing her skirts in the hurried gait; she didn’t struggle as Brenya did to keep all the fabric from twisting around her feet. She looked regal, bright-eyed.
While Brenya was panting with exhaustion at the pace. While she could hardly breathe for the stiffness of the fabric at her neck and the added weight of a diamond collar that dripped like starlight over her shoulders and chest.
She needed to catch her breath, already snapped at for wiping sweat from her forehead and mussing the twisted configuration of her hair.
“You don’t have time to be lazy, Commodorina. Curl up and complain later.”
The statement was so far off base that it was almost impossible for Brenya not to tear at the style of her hair and set her stinging roots free, or yank off the diamonds dripping from her neck.
She’d had enough!
If Jacques wanted to punish her for doing what was best for the Dome, then he could come do so right there in the hall. What was coming for her didn’t require such fuss or pretension.
Let those who feed off her people see her as she was.
Brenya dug in her heels, the entire party surrounding her stopping so abruptly Lucia almost ran into the guard runni
ng point.
A new side of the aggressive Omega appeared. Lucia went from exacerbated to nervous. “What are you doing? I told you there is no time.”
Sucking in a deep breath to answer, Brenya froze.
Was that ozone?
Smoke?
The very quintessential signs of an electrical fire. And why were there so many guards and workers shuffling around the hall to her right?
There had been a fire, not a meter away from where she stood, Brenya having been so self-possessed that she had not noticed the char marks.
That was unacceptable. Her basic duty was to notice the minutia so unseen issues could be attended to before they became dangerous problems.
Lucia took her arm, urging her forward. “There is no time for you to stop and look at the scenery.”
Brushing away the woman’s touch, Brenya grabbed a handful of skirt, hefting it high so she could actually move in the ugly dress, and went straight to the char marks on the far wall.
Whispering to herself, she said, “This shouldn’t be here.”
She had not even come this way. Furthermore, sorting through the memories of the night, Brenya could recall no action that would have triggered a voltage surge. She had purposefully avoided all electrical conduits so as not to trigger any alarms.
Behind her, Lucia demanded of the silent guards, “Why is she staring at the wall like that?”
Having been intimate with several of the palace’s maintenance shafts, Brenya was certain that the well-maintained circuitry did not experience random surges of this nature. Even the shafts themselves were spotless—worthy of Palo Corps’s mark of excellence.
An impatient hand came to Brenya’s arm, Lucia barking, “What part of ‘men of such status do not wait’ did you not understand, Commodorina?”
Still studying the pattern of the char marks on the wallpaper about the light fixture before her, Brenya said, “Commodorina is not a word in our language. I understand that you are attempting to give me a designation, but I do not have one anymore.”
