Total pages in book: 63
Estimated words: 58365 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 292(@200wpm)___ 233(@250wpm)___ 195(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 58365 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 292(@200wpm)___ 233(@250wpm)___ 195(@300wpm)
All wars he waged he won.
Taming his Omega would be no different.
Simin gave her time to find a comfortable position as his purr softened her tension, a gentle stroke caressing her arm. And then he fed her, slowly. Offering only enough that she’d have to bite off manageable pieces, cooing nonsense words of encouragement—vibrating with pleased groans when her tongue caught his fingers. But each time she tried to lift a piece for him, he took it from her and put it back on the plate.
There could be reciprocation in the future once she knew him better and understood his intrinsic craving to care for her. Once she was at peace in his presence and in love with his heart.
There would be love.
And children who would please his mother and even make his dour father crack a smirk when he thought no one was looking.
When she chewed even slower and a bulge bumped from her belly from too much food, he fed himself the scant remainder on the plate. Eyes on the view, content and growing more confident in his approach, he spoke of all their lives would be and confessed that he’d been lonely for her, had made great, secret offerings to the higher power so he might find her… wondering to himself if he was only willing to admit it aloud because she could not understand and think less of his prowess for unmasculine sentimentality.
Every Alpha desired an Omega mate, but to find a kor’yr was something not one in a billion might accomplish. Simin had found his propped up in a glass cage as if the gods themselves had set her aside for him.
The arm around her supple body grew tighter, pressing them into one being.
***
He had fed her raw meat. Raw.
Morgaine still wanted to cringe just thinking of it. Did these people not know of parasites and bacteria that could rage through a colony and massacre half a settlement? One bad well had poisoned over twenty people when Morgaine had still been a child.
A single wrong sip of water. Dysentery. Burial.
Yet he had partaken in the meal when she was painfully full with smiling lips and sounds of satisfaction. The juxtaposition of this place and their barbaric customs set her head spinning. He looked like a savage, spoke like one, yet possessed the finest rooms she’d ever seen.
That plate was bone china, if not some kind of cut milky crystal. The furnishings were immaculate.
Where was the leather, the bones, the carcasses of his latest kill roasting over an open fire?
How did the male who shattered the glass of her enclosure, who had penetrated her the first time while she still slept, equate with this?
How did he know how to touch her to make her mindlessly spread and howl for more?
When was he going to mutilate her? In what ways?
Would he kill her after? Share her?
What was she going to do?
Dizzy with horrible, circular thoughts, the pounding behind Morgaine’s eyes grew. The male was still talking, his ugly language croaked so deep the one speaking sounded like a cross of a toad and a thunderstorm. And as he talked, he touched.
Light strokes to her brow, across her cheeks, running those calloused fingers between her bared breasts to jostle her ribs until she jumped. No coerced laugh broke past her lips, Morgaine determined to bear the tickling rather than face his ire.
Because her life was in his hands and she was so thrown by the last few days—by the pain that still lingered muscle deep where a cane had lashed her, and the loss of everything she knew—that she had no idea where to turn.
Her cunt, and that was the name it had been reduced to, ached. And even aching, it still wept that horrible fluid.
Part of her even wanted this awkward meal to end so he might take her back to the nest and twist her mind back into that stark white place of feeling. That place where she forgot her name, her inhibitions, where she felt free in the loss of who she was because there was nothing to mourn if she was nothing at all.
Scarred, older than any courting boy she’d received flowers from, older than even grabby Esin. His fingers still sticky with the parts of her body they had delved into and the raw meat they had shared, the crazed male Sergeant Uriel and his commandant had given her to, smiled. It was lopsided but displayed healthy teeth too straight to be natural.
Back home, dentistry was expensive. Morgaine was missing a molar near the back that had gone rotten in her teen years. Tonguing the empty space, a little self-conscious her teeth were a bit crooked, she felt even worse for such shallow concerns. It wasn’t her teeth this man wanted her for.
It was the deceptive slut of a slit between her legs.