Page 17

Her sharp intake of breath confirms my barb hits its target. I shouldn't feel satisfaction at the small cruelty, shouldn't enjoy provoking her when heat already makes her vulnerable. But something about her continued resistance, her refusal to acknowledge how thoroughly her body has surrendered to my claiming, triggers possessive instincts I've spent decades suppressing.

"That's none of your business," she snaps, though another wave of slick betrays her body's reaction to my words. The scent of it hits me like physical blow, my rut response accelerating beyond my usual control.

"Everything about you is my business while you're in my territory," I growl, moving closer until I stand directly over her. "Everything about you is mine until your heat passes."

I strip my uniform with controlled violence, each piece falling away to reveal the predator beneath commander's restraint. Her eyes widen as she takes in my naked form, gaze dropping inevitably to my already rigid length. The barbs havebegun to emerge along the shaft, partial extension that will become complete once inside her. My knot already shows signs of swelling at the base, alpha biology responding to omega heat with primal urgency.

Despite having experienced my claiming before, fear spikes briefly through her scent at the sight. Good. She should remember that I am not human, that feline alphas bring both pleasure and pain in equal measure. That what's about to happen between us transcends her childish dragon fantasies with evolutionary reality older than civilization.

"Present," I command, allowing no room for refusal in my tone.

For a moment, defiance flashes in her green eyes. "I'm still processing for facility transfer, then? Still just tactical necessity?"

The question catches me off guard, as does the hint of something beneath anger and resentment in her scent. Something almost like... disappointment? I push the thought away, focusing on reasserting control of the situation.

"Your fate hasn't changed," I inform her coldly. "After your heat cycle completes, you'll be processed according to standard protocol. Now present before I make you present."

Her jaw tightens, but her body responds to the alpha command despite conscious resistance. She turns to hands and knees on the pallet, back arching to elevate her hips, thighs spreading to reveal the slick-soaked shift clinging to her center. Her head drops forward, exposing her neck in the classic submission posture that satisfies something ancient in my alpha biology.

I dispose of the thin shift with one swipe of partially extended claws, baring her completely to my gaze. The sight of her presented before me, slick glistening on inner thighs, sends another surge of rut response through my system. Mybarbs extend further, pre-seed gathering at the tip of my length without conscious permission.

Mine. The word echoes through my mind without permission as I position myself behind her, the pallet dipping beneath our combined weight. I shouldn't think of her that way—she's temporary biological relief, tactical necessity rather than chosen mate. Yet something about her continued resistance, her refusal to yield completely despite her body's eager response, makes breaking through those barriers uniquely satisfying.

I grip her hips with careful restraint, claws partially extended but nowhere near breaking delicate human skin. My tail wraps around her upper thigh, the fur-covered muscle providing both restraint and additional point of control. When the head of my cock presses against her entrance, I feel her momentary tension before omega biology overrides conscious resistance.

"Still tight," I observe with satisfaction, feeling her body's initial resistance to my size despite our previous claiming. "Still fighting what you need."

"Just get it over with," she hisses, the words belied by another flood of slick preparation that eases my entry. "I don't want this."

"Don't you?" I lean forward, using my greater size to cage her beneath me, my chest against her back, my breath hot against her ear. "Let's test that theory."

I enter her with single powerful thrust that tears a cry from her throat—not quite pain, not quite pleasure, but something exquisite in between. The sensation nearly shatters my control completely—her tight channel gripping my length with perfect pressure, slick heat surrounding me more completely than any fantasy could replicate.

"Gods," she gasps, her body shuddering around the invasion. "You're bigger than before?—"

"Rut response," I growl against her neck, forcing myself to remain still while she adjusts to my size. The scent of her, the heat of her, triggers biological imperatives that intensify physical reactions. "You remember my barbs, don't you, little omega? How they rake against spots inside you nothing else can reach?"

As if on cue, the barbs along my length begin to extend fully, pressing against her inner walls with evolutionary precision. Her reaction is immediate and visceral—a broken cry as her channel clenches around me, more slick easing the friction that should be painful but clearly isn't. Her body remembers our previous claiming, adapts more readily to my inhuman anatomy, welcomes what her mind still fights.

I establish a measured rhythm, each withdrawal dragging barbs against sensitive spots designed to respond to exactly this kind of stimulation. Each thrust drives me deeper, claiming territory I've already marked but need to reinforce. Her body yields with increasing eagerness, the initial resistance melting away as omega biology triumphs over conscious rejection.

"Tell me," I demand, voice rough with rut intensity I can no longer fully suppress. "When you touched yourself earlier, did you imagine dragon cocks filling you? Did you pretend it was their dual shafts stretching you open rather than feline barbs?"

She tries to pull away, a token resistance I counter by tightening my grip on her hips. "Don't—" she gasps, but I cut her off with particularly deep thrust that makes her cry out.

"Answer me." The growl rumbles from deep in my chest, alpha command she can no more ignore than she could stop breathing. "Did you imagine dragons while my scent still marked you as claimed?"

"Yes!" she admits, the confession torn from her alongside a sob as another wave of unwanted pleasure clearly crashesthrough her system. "Yes, I imagined dragons, I imagined anyone but you?—"

I shouldn't care. Her fantasies are irrelevant to tactical necessity, to biological relief that satisfies heat symptoms while securing territorial boundaries. Yet the admission triggers something primitive and possessive, something that demands I erase any thought of other alphas from her mind completely.

My rhythm intensifies, control fracturing as rut overrides tactical purpose. I drive into her with force that would damage a human who wasn't in full heat adaptation, who hadn't already been claimed by me once before. My barbs fully extend within her channel, each one catching and dragging against nerve endings with devastating precision.

"Yet here you are," I snarl against her ear, "taking feline cock like you were made for it. Your body knows what you need better than your stubborn mind."

As if to prove my point, another flood of slick eases my increasingly forceful thrusts. Her resistance fractures visibly as pleasure overrides conscious rejection, small sounds escaping her throat that have nothing to do with pain and everything to do with unwilling pleasure.

I realize with startling clarity that I'm claiming her this way—with punishing intensity, with deliberate domination—at least partly to prove feline superiority over the dragons she fantasizes about. The realization should disturb me more than it does. My history with dragons goes beyond territorial disputes; the scars along my flank and back tell story of near-death encounter ten years ago, when dragon fire nearly ended my military career alongside my life.