But the male never got tired, or hungry, or thirsty. He never stopped. “How will I do these things if he holds me down?”

  There was a hidden determination in the Beta, anger toward Jacques Annette didn’t try to hide. “Alphas enjoy chasing their prey. Do not give him a reason to hunt you. If you went up to him the moment you see him later, got on your knees, and took his member in your mouth, you would have all the power. You would catch him off guard. Don’t run, don’t fight. It’s not working. Mimic all his other women, and he might grow bored.”

  Anything. Brenya would try anything. “What do I do once it’s in my mouth?”

  Annette had trimmed Brenya’s hair into a different shape, put paint on her eyes, pinkened her lips and left her in a dress. The angry red scar pinching her cheek had even been muted with flesh colored paste.

  She looked like a Centrist Beta, doe-eyed and poised.

  They had practiced smiling, topics of conversation, how to nod when another person talked to reflect engagement.

  Just as Annette had said, the bedroom had been cleaned, the terrace remade into a quaint sitting area in the sun. All around, the air was still tinged with Alpha scent, but the offensive nest was fresh.

  It was as if the last weeks had never happened.

  Except the marks of Jacques enthusiasm were hidden under Brenya’s white dress.

  Soon enough, Jacques would return.

  And when he did, Brenya was going to hold her hands tight behind her so the Alpha could not see them shaking, and smile. She was going to walk up to him. Then she was going to ask about his day, offer him tea, repeat the things he said back to him. If that didn’t work…

  If that didn’t work, she was going to touch him as if she wanted to, exactly as Annette had described. She was going to finish him before he might take off her dress.

  With Annette at her side, they had shared a quiet afternoon—the Beta woman composing a letter, Brenya napping on a divan near a fine view of the city.

  To spend a day doing nothing for the sake of pleasure was uncustomary. By this hour, Brenya would have walked outside the Dome, made repairs, written her log, walked back to Beta Sector, showered, attended to her duties in the barracks. Instead she had spent the day sleeping while Annette hummed softly to her belly.

  When she wasn’t dreaming of jasmine, Brenya watched the Beta.

  She was so composed, so sure of herself in all she did. She had no qualms about calling a servant to bring them some lunch or to order an errand.

  Brenya could emulate the woman, copy the way she sat, the way she spoke, her laugh and smile and never come close to the elegance. If all Centrist women were this way, the sole Omega was doomed to be forever awkward.

  She was asleep again when the male barged in, awake in an instant and sitting up alert to the stink of aggression. Brenya did not remember to smile. Everything she had practiced went out the window with one look at the Alpha’s rage.

  Ancil had his hands on Annette, already having dragged his wife from her seat as he roared, “What did you do?”

  The woman, the composed woman who had been so kind to her, stood shocked by her husband’s display. “What on earth do you mean?”

  He gave the woman a hard enough shake that her hair fell loose from its twist. “Do not play coy with me. I know your games and tricks. Your note arrived while we were still in session… and can you guess what happened, dear wife?”

  All innocence, Annette answered as if there was no threat. “Our Commodore asked for a report and I gave him one.”

  “Your Commodore picked up his chair and smashed it into the wall in the middle of a sensitive trade negotiation. I have been winning Jacques over for weeks before he found his disfigured Omega, had practically earned his agreement. Greth Dome’s offer expires tonight; their cargo ship is already turning around. Do you have any idea what you’ve done? What you have ruined for me?”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking ab—”

  Right there, with Brenya braced in her chair, the Alpha struck his pregnant wife. The slap landed with force enough to knock the fair blonde’s head to the side.

  Pressing her hand to her red cheek, staring wide-eyed at her husband as if looking at a stranger, Annette whispered, “He cannot be trusted to take care of her. He forgot to feed her for days, darling. He deserved the words on that page.”

  “If he chooses to use her up until she dies, that is none of your concern. Your sole purpose is to carry my son to term, not dishonor my house with your pathetic meddling. Do not doubt Jacques might have you killed… if there is anything left of you by the time I’m done.”

  Shaking her head, tears running down her face, Annette whimpered, “He would never.”

  Ancil grew before her, his grip distorting the flesh of the Beta’s arms. “You do not know him so well as you think. You are certainly not valuable to him beyond serving as a dimwitted babysitter to his toy. Prepare yourself to learn what his anger looks like, but first you will deal with mine. When I am finished with you, you will remember your place.” The male began to drag her to the parlor door, bellowing, “You will pay for everything I lost today!”

  Brenya didn’t know when she’d stood or how Ancil’s embroidered coat ended up in her fists. But she held on to the man dragging away a terrified woman, grunting from the effort to stop him.

  Her whole life had been an exercise in physical training. She’d climbed the outside of the Dome daily for years, labored with heavy equipment. Annette might have been delicate, with soft arms and skin. Brenya was not.

  But she was much weaker than a hissing male Alpha—one who shoved her so hard she fell back to the floor, her newly sculpted nails having ripped off in his coat.

  Before the door might slam and Annette was to be hauled off, Ancil turned and showed his teeth. “You will take off that ridiculous dress she put you in. Ready yourself on the bed, and when your Commodore returns, you will beg him to fuck you. If I learn you have not, I will make her pay for it.”

  9

  Blood trickling down his nose, a bright bruise blooming under one eye, Jacques stood before the mirror and waved off a Beta attendant ready to blot his monarch’s face clean. After the sparring he had endured, he was in no mood to be touched by anyone.

  Except Brenya.

  But should she see him so battered, it might startle the Omega. So, something had to be done before he returned to their apartments.

  White linen wet with cold water soothed the cut on his lip. It was the only thing cold water soothed. His quick rinse had done nothing to battle the erection even hours of physical exertion had yet to diminish.

  Five Alpha males had been summoned to spar against him.

  Five, because the Commodore of Bernard Dome wanted to feel pain.

  He needed the penitence; he needed his body to be a reflection of hers.

  In her letter, Annette had described in detail what he’d ignored in the rut. Annette had outlined every last way in which he was killing his mate.

  Bruises, bite marks, starvation, dehydration.

  She had called the most powerful male on the continent powerless over himself—accused him of a complete lack of control in the presence of his lover. Every word was correct.

  Even now, even with pulped flesh and sore muscles, his thoughts circled on how tight Brenya had been when he’d callously rutted the Omega in the streets.

  Her pain had been his ultimate pleasure.

  The guilt had come later.

  And it had come hard.

  Guilt was not a powerful enough motivator to a man who always got what he desired. He could force her at any time. In fact, he was starting to think that he should. Whatever damage was done to keep her safe from his needs would all be erased the instant his pairbond tied her soul to his.

  Ancil had made a strong point. Rape her now if need be, make her like it and call it what he will.

  Do what had to be done so rational thought won the day—so that his Cabinet did not see him this way and presume to find their leader weak. Do it before someone used this weakness against him.

  Would she scream or cry? Would he be able to care when her cunt was spasming around his cock?

  How much of his soul would be forfeit once the knot formed and the copious seed engorging his balls forced its way into her belly. Could he live with himself?

  Yes.

  Yes, he could, and he knew it.

  Behind him, his security advisor, one of the most influential men under the Dome and his longtime comrade, watched his every move. Ancil’s dark hair had already been brushed and braided back into the rope required by all ranked Alphas. His skin had been oiled, his wounds tended by a pretty Beta attendant. That same attendant was now bent over the locker room’s bench, his ass stuffed full of Ancil’s cock.

  Pleasure was the heart of Centrist culture, using a nameless Beta attendant, male or female, this way normal. Before Brenya, the pair of them had even made a game of it.

  It was a game Ancil was tempting him with now.

  The Alpha was making low throat noises with each forward thrust, stretching open the soft, hairless young male who braced.

  Ancil would work the boy’s cock with one hand, in a slow steady rhythm. He would get that Beta organ swollen and ready to burst, only to squeeze his fingers around the base, fuck in harder, and deny the attendant release.

  This they had done side by side many times, the ultimate goal, to see how hard the attendant might spray his come once the knot pressed the Beta’s prostate. Whoever could get them to shoot farther won.

  In this case, Jacques had already waved off the attendant who could have served his needs. So, Ancil had thought to tempt him by working up his Beta’s moans, making sure the pretty male’s throat was open and ready to choke down an Alpha cock.

  They could share him. There could be relief.

  Jacques didn’t know when he’d turned from the mirror to observe, was hardly aware of how swollen his cock was or the constant drizzle of pre-come leaking from his crown. Transfixed, he watched Ancil grow rough with his toy, heard the slapping of the male’s groin against the soft cheeks of the Beta… took in the grimace of pleasure the Alpha wore as he threw back his head and just took what was his.

  That was not the scene Jacques saw. He saw Brenya bent over the bench, her legs splayed and ass up as he pounded into her.

  She, like the Beta, would have her mouth hanging open. She, like the Beta, would brace and make low mewing sounds.

  When she came, she would cry out, milk his cock dry, and be forced to submit, stuffed full throughout the duration of his knot… her belly bulging a little more from each accumulative blast of ejaculate trapped behind the knot.

  The Omega would be completely at his mercy, unable to stop or run from whatever part of her his hands wanted to explore.

  Her ass… he’d stretch that sweet pucker with his fingers and show her what pleasure could be had there. Knotted, caught in the mating high, he’d finger that hole. Someday, he’d fuck her there.

  The pliarator was not just for stretching cunts.

  How many women had he shared with Ancil over the years, pushing the female body to the limits of pleasure and pain with two knots and the occasional third cock down her throat? It was a pretty picture to see Brenya in his thoughts that way… and then it wasn’t.

  The concept of sharing her was… infuriating.

  He’d seen the way Ancil looked at her. His security advisor was biding his time for the invitation to taste Omega.

  Sudden wrath abruptly ended the daydream.

  No Alpha but he would ever touch her.

  That in itself was a problem… and yet another reason Jacques was considering moving against his best judgment toward the Greth situation.

  His mate would be coveted; his power already was. No one was infallible and no friend really existed at court.

  Breathless, watching Ancil’s every last muscle tense as he orgasmed, Jacques said, “Contact the Greth Queen’s Consort. Tell Chancellor O’Donnell we will accept his trade agreement. His ship may land.”

  Brenya Perin was beyond the door, secured by no less than seven Alpha guards. It did not seem enough for something so fragile and so priceless. The helmets shielding them from Central’s environment and preventing the scent of nearby Omega from teasing their nostrils reflected back the approach of their unsmiling Commodore.

  He did not ask for a report. He did not look at a single one of them. Jacques’ thoughts and flesh were devoted to a single mindedness.

  Things could not be allowed to proceed as they had. He had done wrong here indulging her fears, in letting the lion play the kitten. He had done wrong believing patience was the cure.

  Facts were facts. He was an Alpha; she was his Omega. Order had to be established and domination enforced.

  He had given her all the power, an unstable female, and in doing so, had harmed her.

  So he would treat her like a slave, guide her in what was expected from an Omega, and adore her all the while. The rest he would teach her… later.

  Pushing through the door, he found the foyer dim. She was not in it, did not come to properly greet him as a good wife should.

  “Brenya Perin.” Gruff, cold, he managed to speak her name without the whine of a dog in pain entering his voice. His cock twitched, balls so heavy with unshed ejaculate they throbbed miserably. “Brenya Perin, come here at once.”

  There was no sound in return, no shuffling of feet. No answer.

  A scratch of irritation sharpened his gaze. No one disobeyed him. This poor behavior he had fostered by coddling her and begging for her attention. Too many smiles he’d wasted, too many longing looks.

  That was at an end.

  “Brenya Perin!”

  Still nothing.

  Tearing at the collar of his shirt, he rejoiced that it was anger pumping through his veins and not insatiable desire. It would give him something to hold on to when she received her first punishment. It would give him focus before he fell at her feet and begged her to love him.

  Plodding through the foyer, the parlor, throwing open doors he found more darkness and quiet.

  There was one last place she could be. His bedroom.

  Perfect. He would not have to drag her far to the nest. It would be done quicker, and then his Omega would be told exactly what was expected of her from now on.

  Unlike the rest of his apartments, the lights were softly glowing, showing just enough to betray his errant guest’s whereabouts…

  Her head was turned away from him, and though he could not see her face, he knew her eyes were unblinking and focused. On her hands and knees, naked, her thighs parted just enough that her pink slit became the center of attention.

  He’d held her legs spread open enough times to know every last detail of that perfect place. The inner labia peeking out of soft outer lips, the warm, wet pussy that could drip the sweetest honey.

  She held that position, a suggestive statue that lacked the scent of her male on her skin.

  She was presenting the only way she knew how.

  The lie of control failed. Jacques forgot his anger, why he was there, who he was. His entire being came down to the meat hanging between his legs. A tear of fabric, and his member was in his hands, his slacks hanging open, zipper ruined.

  Noises were coming from his throat like those of a vicious animal and they made his prey tense… and also excited her. He could smell as much, feel the traces of slick in the rushed seconds it took him to surge forward and prod that slit with the swollen head of his dripping cock. It was a blur, a sloppy entrance to a place not quite ready and yet on offer.

  Shoving his way inside, he took her hips in a harsh grip that would prevent any thoughts of resistance. He fell over her back and set his teeth to a tense shoulder.

  Inside she felt like velvet, lacking the abundant slick he demanded. That was set right with a guttural growl and more force.

  Halfway.

  Halfway buried in tight Omega cunt, fully out of his mind, and dangerous. His hand found her hair, yanked her throat back and bowed her body. He could see her face, the dilation of her eyes, and the fear.

  “Submit.”

  She could not nod. She could hardly maintain her position under his attack, her wide honey eyes locked on his.

  Frustrated that her channel revolted and grew unyielding at his order, he pulled out enough to leverage his weight, and slammed back in. “You brought this on yourself.”

  Her lashes lowered when he hilted, a shaking breath passing her lips.

  The animal pounded away, the beast inside him folding her down so the Omega’s cheek was flush to the bed. It was graceless, disgusting, loud, and violent.

  Glorious.

  This moment was the epitome of the word fuck.

  The Omega’s noises, her muffled grunts under the force of his hips fed his need. They were not the sounds of pleasure, but the whimperings of surrender.

  He had waited so long to feel her encase his cock, long enough that he was going to exact every last ounce of pleasure from the mating that he could. But her insides began to flutter, and his hands began to shake. Rhythmic squeezing of the female’s impending orgasm moved up his shaft, coaxing the beginnings of a knot.

  The basest part of him, the animal, wanted to rage at the little body that was his to use as long as he wished. His greater urge was to shout out at the blissful pain of so much repressed ejaculate gathering up for the first eruption.

  Unable to pump his hips, mindlessly trying to force the expanding knot deeper, Jacques roared.

  Her timid orgasm was twisted up into his until it surpassed her ability to bite back her shrieks.

  The Alpha wrung it out of her, just as her pussy milked his cock for everything the Omega feared.

  His mind did not clear from her panting into the sheets, or at seeing the blood from the scratches he’d left on her back. The beast under his skin wasn’t done, fiddling with her this way and that while the knot persisted and his orgasm continued.