Breeder (19 page)

“You have not claimed…your rights since…since Market day,” she whispered.

No, not since the day his lust had jeopardized them both, and not since he’d crossed a bridge with the Enclave and set it afire. He could not retreat from the decision to return Omra to the BCF. “I do not want…to claim my rights,” he said.

Hurt echoed in her tiny gasp. Then silence. He clenched his fists to avoid hauling her into his arms. If he glanced into his recent past, he would find another burning bridge. He could never “claim his rights” with Omra again. To seek release, to lose himself in her receptive body, yes, but take her without her consent? No. To do so would not grant him what he
needed
—for her to ache for him as much as he ached for her. Desire and misery had become one.

He wasn’t a stupid man. He understood her talk of “rights” meant she was amenable to mating, but he did not dare grant her request lest he impregnate her. The only fortunate circumstance was that she was not with child. He would not be able to send her to the BCF then, and both she and their offspring would be endangered. “I believe you misunderstand my meaning,” he said haltingly. “I do not wish our coupling to be an act I force upon you,” he said. Nor did he want her last memory of him to be an assumption she did not please him, that he did not hold her in high regard.

What will she assume when you abandon her at the containment facility?
He thumped a fist against his breastbone. Monto, he hurt.

“It is not,” she said.

He flinched when she settled her hand on his chest. Heat seared his skin and shot straight to his groin, which had hardened just by lying next to her. His manhood ached with a fierceness that surely couldn’t be healthy.

“You jump as if I scared you,” she observed.

“I am Alpha,” he growled. “I am frightened of nothing.” Except that she would become a casuality of his command.

She scooted closer until her breasts brushed against his side, her legs touching his. Her fingers felt like feathers on his skin as she trailed them over his chest. He squeezed his eyes shut and held himself still. One moment. He would allow himself to savor her touch for one small moment before he shoved her hands away.

Dainty fingers encircled his cock.

His eyelids flew open.
Only one moment.

She sat up to better stroke his length, to fist her hand and pump. “Your manhood is most amazing,” she said, tilting her head as if she were studying a specimen in the laboratory. She squeezed. White heat obscured his vision. “It is so rigid, so unyielding.”

He
wasn’t. He was clay in her palms.

“I’m surprised the tumescence does not hurt.”

“You have no idea.” He choked. He reached inside for self-control and latched on to her wrist to still her hand.

She closed her mouth around his cockhead.

Willpower collapsed.

Her tongue felt like Terran velvet as it encircled the ridge around his glans before tracing a line of wet fire to the base, which she followed back to the tip. Swipe and swirl. Lick and suck. She drew him deep and hard, and his traitorous body surrendered to her command.

She knelt so that the tips of her breasts and her hair teased his thighs with every bob of her head. He threaded the strands around his hands, binding her to him.

Don’t stop. Don’t leave me.

She cupped his testicles and squeezed. Pressure built in the base of his cock, and his hips moved involuntarily, rocking at first, and then thrusting in earnest. She sucked even harder, her mouth so wet, so tight. He cried out with the force of his orgasm, the stars in the sky obscured by the ones bursting behind his eyes.

Omra released him and sat back on her heels, curved her lips into a cheeky smile.

“You are pleased with yourself, are you?” he said, still panting.

She widened her eyes with ersatz innocence. “I do not understand your meaning,
Commander
.”

He lunged for her, and she squealed in mock fright.

He plundered her mouth, kissing her with suppressed longing of days gone by, of a lifetime of years, seeking to feed a hunger that a temporary abatement of lust did little to sate. She moaned into his mouth, her tongue dancing with his. His taste and hers mingled, two becoming one irresistible elixir.

Dak pushed her back on the platform and trailed kisses over her neck. He seized her left breast; she yelped.

“I am sorry,” he said and lowered his head to kiss away the pain. She arched her back, inviting him to draw her nipple into his mouth, and once again he was powerless to refuse. He maintained his gentleness as he sucked on the hard berry. He stroked her body, his hands gliding over curves.

He dipped his fingers between her legs, found her swollen and wet. He groaned. His hand shook as he grasped the lock-ring, slickened from her moisture. His thumb found the depression. The lock released. He slipped it from her folds.

He slid downward and settled between her legs.

Studying her face, he spread her open and took a long lick. She gasped. Her hips jerked. He smiled. He planned for her to gasp and jerk much more.

He fluttered his tongue over her engorged and glistening clit. She mewled and clutched at his hair. He rubbed his face in her wetness, as if he could absorb her essence into his skin, into the core of him to carry forever. He delved into her channel, filling himself with her female scent and taste. Fill himself? Impossible. In a lifetime, it could never be done, and he had only this moment. But he would remember her always. In the darkness of despair, he would cling to the memory of this night.

As he sucked on the nub, he watched her face. Stored an impression of how her mouth formed an “O,” the way her forehead furrowed in concentration, how her cheeks blushed with desire.

He drew out her pleasure, bringing her to the peak’s edge, then backed her down from it. With a chuckle and an ache in his heart, he accepted every blow of frustration she rained upon his shoulders, knowing as she did not that this moment would have to see him through to forever.

At last, when he’d tormented them both more than they could endure, he let the sweetness of rapture claim her. She cried out in ecstasy. Inside, he wept in anguish.

DAZED, OMRA FLOATED back to solid ground to find herself curled in Dak’s arms, his front to her back. His manhood, semihard, rested between her butt cheeks. They hadn’t coupled the way she’d wanted, but the intimacies they had performed reassured her. Since Market day, she’d sensed a withdrawal. He had not claimed her, and they hardly spoke.

Of course the latter could be attributed to the fact that she was already asleep when he got home. He worked late. And she retired early because she’d been feeling unwell. She’d been unable to shake a bone-deep weariness that dogged her, and the queasiness she’d experienced on the ride home from the Market returned with vengeance each morning. She could no longer look at or smell certain foods without having to run for a basin. Her breasts had become tender.

She’d felt no twinge of pain inside, but when she put all the other signs together, she suspected she might be impregnated. Casually, she flattened a hand over her stomach. No swell.

He’d bidden her to tell him of the first sign, but she wasn’t
sure
yet. And if she
was
pregnant, wouldn’t he cease mating with her? Would it be wrong to hold her tongue just a little longer?

Wrapped in his arms now, it was hard to imagine the distance she thought she’d sensed. Alpha was a man with many important responsibilities. Certainly his duties demanded most of his attention. She was fortunate he offered time to her at all.

“What have you been doing this week?” he asked lazily.

“I have almost completed a sewing project.” His shirt required a few finishing touches.

“A smock for yourself?”

“Mm…uh-huh,” she lied.

“How did you get the fabric?”

“I bought it with the sweetcake money.”

“You didn’t need to do that. I would have bought you a uniform.”

“I wanted to use my money.”

“Well, you don’t have to.”

She bent her head and kissed the crook of his arm. He tightened his hold in a hug and brushed his lips over her hair.
Ask him now
. She recalled his hesitation when the panna baker asked if there would be more sweetcakes coming. “Tomorrow I planned to bake—for the Market.”

He stiffened.

“You don’t want me to make sweetcakes for the panna baker?” Omra held her breath.

“It’s not that.”

“What is it, then?”

He untangled himself and rolled onto his back. “We won’t be going to Market on Saturday.”

Omra twisted around to look at him. Not go to Market? She had to! Anika would be waiting. “Why not?”

He took a breath and let it out. “Because you and I have someplace else to go in the afternoon. If you want, bake the sweetcakes. I’ll collect the money for you. It is getting late. Let us sleep now.” He rolled onto his side, presenting his back.

Omra blinked. She hadn’t imagined the distance. Dak had gone from warm to cold in the space of a heartbeat. What was it about the Market that affected him so? He’d gotten upset with her when she’d called out his name in the Market, but otherwise, he’d seemed content spending the time with her, happy for her about the sweetcake sales, and had taken her to the Terran bazaar.

For the life of her, she couldn’t imagine what she’d done to displease him. She curled onto her side so that she faced away from him and stared into the night.

Chapter Thirteen

Before the domestic fowl crowed, a beta arrived to pick up Omra’s sweetcakes, twice as many trays this time. She handed them off and returned to preparing the morning meal. Instead of joining her in the kitchen to keep her company as had become his habit, Dak waited in the dining hall. She found him seated but gazing out the window when she arrived with the food. After she dished out his plate, he stared at it but made no move to eat.

“Is something wrong with the food?” she asked.

“No, it is fine. As usual.” His jaw tightened, and he glanced away. “I am going out this morning. I will return in the late afternoon for you, and we will leave.”

“For where?” she asked but could not wait for his answer because her stomach roiled. She had only enough time to excuse herself and run to a basin before she expelled the contents of her stomach. After cleaning her mouth and face, she reentered the dining hall to find the meal untouched and Dak gone.

She stared at the vacant seat, hurt pricking at her. He had insisted he was not angry, but his actions seemed to indicate otherwise. But he was Alpha, and the burdens of ruling a province were great. Perhaps his withdrawal had nothing to do with her like he’d said. Perhaps the stress of his command consumed his focus. She had no experience with an arrangement such as theirs. The manner in which Dak spoke to her—
when
he spoke to her, how he treated her in private, the way he brought her to pleasure—was as far from Protocol as one could get.

She foundered in confusion. If gossip spread about their living arrangement, it could jeopardize his command. Alpha, the
embodiment
of Protocol, had violated it time and time again. She wished she could share her concerns with someone who could be trusted to not use her confidence against Dak.

Like
Anika
. Who would be waiting at the Terran bazaar, wondering what had happened to her.

Omra nibbled on a fingernail. Dak had never said,
Don’t go to the Market alone
, but that was a technicality. He had not prohibited it because he could not have fathomed she would go. And if she did? Her punishment would make the one she’d received in the Market seem like a gentle caress. But only if he found out. If she hurried, she would have enough time to meet Anika and get home before Dak. The Market was a big place; no one would recognize her. Alpha was the one who attracted attention, not a female. She could cross her arms so no one would see her insignia.

* * * *

Omra raced into the Terran tent and found her friend pacing, her brows drawn together.

“Anika!” Omra waved.

Her friend’s face lightened with welcome. “I was starting to believe you would not visit.” She embraced Omra. “Are you all right? You are breathing heavy as if you ran all the way here.”

Omra pressed a hand against her burning chest. “I did run all the way here.”

“The Commander did not bring you?” Anika tilted her head.

“He does not know I came.”

Anika widened her eyes. “Is that wise? He will be so angry.”

“Only if he finds out. Which I don’t plan for him to do,” she said with bravado. “What about Jergan?”

“He was fine with the visit. He is off someplace acquiring more supplies for our move to the Enclave.”

“Sh!” Omra glanced around to see if anyone had overheard. “Do not say that too loud. Did you not learn of what happened last week in the square?” She tugged on Anika’s arm and led her off to the side. Her chest tightened with worry for her friend. When Anika moved to the Enclave, at best she would be ostracized by all of Parseon. At worst, she could be stoned to death.

“I did.” Anika bobbed her head in assent. “But did you not hear the latest announcement?”

Omra frowned. “No, what is it?”

“Alpha has placed the Enclave under protective status. By his directive, no one may act against it or any of its citizens.”

Omra dropped her jaw. “My Alpha did that?” Dak had never said a word. But he did not confide the details of his command. Though they lived in a state of relaxed Protocol, it had not vanished completely.

Anika nodded. “So you see, there is nothing to fear anymore.”

Omra wished she could share her friend’s certainty, but just because one enacted a ruling did not mean behavior would automatically comply. Anika had not witnessed the mob’s hostility. Not even the Commander’s powerful presence had been able to completely calm the crowd—he’d been hit by a rock. Shored by strong emotion and engrained by Protocol, attitudes would not be easily changed. Not even if Alpha willed it. That was what Dak had feared, why he insisted on public discretion. If he ever learned she’d sneaked off to the Market… How foolish she’d been to disregard his concerns.