Page 62

"I should finish changing these bandages," I say, not pulling away from his grip but not giving in to it either.

"You should," he agrees, though his hold doesn't loosen. "But that's not what either of us really wants right now."

The bold statement hangs between us, charged with possibilities neither has directly acknowledged before this moment. His injuries make any physical claiming impossible—or should, if feline biology followed human limitations.

"You're wounded," I remind him, though the protest sounds weak even to my own ears. "Badly."

"Not everywhere," he counters, voice dropping to that rumbling register that seems to vibrate directly through my core. "And your scent tells me exactly what your body wants, little omega."

The term that once felt like insult, like reduction to biological function, now carries different weight—acknowledgment of connection beyond rational choice, of compatibility neither of us looked for but both now recognize.

"This is a bad idea," I murmur, even as I lean slightly closer, drawn by something that goes beyond conscious decision.

"Most battlefield victories require bad ideas." His hand releases my wrist, instead rising to cup my face with surprising gentleness. "The question is whether the potential gain justifies the risk."

The calculated risk assessment, so typical of his strategic mind, somehow makes this moment more intimate than purepassion would. He's considering this—considering us—with the same tactical precision he applies to military operations. Yet beneath the strategic thinking, I detect something rarer, something his guarded nature rarely shows.

Want. Need. Desire beyond biological imperative.

My decision crystallizes with sudden clarity. I lean forward, pressing my lips to his deliberately. Not the desperate battlefield kiss outside the caves, not the tender contact as he drifted into injured sleep, but something claiming in its own right. His response is immediate, mouth opening beneath mine with hunger that defies his weakened state.

The kiss deepens, his tongue—rougher than human, made for grooming and claiming rather than just pleasure—exploring my mouth with thorough intent. The rasp of it against my own tongue sends shivers down my spine, a sensory reminder of his alien nature that now excites rather than repels. The taste of him floods my senses—medicine herbs and something uniquely feline, wild and powerful even in injury.

When we finally break apart, both breathing harder, his eyes have darkened to burnished gold, pupils expanded in the low light and heightened emotion.

"You aren't strong enough for this," I say, my words undermined by my hands already moving to unfasten my clothing, my fingers trembling with an urgency I don't try to hide.

"Then you'll have to do the work," he counters, a flash of the commanding alpha emerging through the injured warrior. "Take me, omega. Show me what you need."

The challenge ignites something within me—not submission but its opposite. Power. Control. The ability to reduce this fearsome commander to something vulnerable beneath my hands. My core clenches at his words, slick already gathering between my thighs embarrassingly fast.

I strip efficiently, practical rather than seductive, though his gaze tracks each revealed inch of skin with predatory appreciation. When I stand naked beside the bed, his nostrils flare wide, drinking in my scent with visible satisfaction.

"Gods, you're dripping for me already." His voice drops an octave, rumbling from deep in his chest. "The pregnancy makes you even sweeter down there. I can smell how wet you are from here."

The crude words from his usually controlled mouth send another rush of heat through me. I've never heard him speak so explicitly outside of rut-driven claiming.

"Come here," he growls, one hand reaching toward me while the other moves to unwrap the simple covering around his hips. "I need to feel you, to be inside you."

I comply, but on my terms—carefully straddling his hips while avoiding his worst injuries. The position puts me above him, a reversal of our previous encounters that feels significant beyond mere practicality. His cock springs free, already fully hard, the specialized ridges that will become barbs clearly visible along its impressive length. My mouth goes dry at the sight—no longer something to fear but something my body has come to crave with embarrassing intensity.

"You're so fucking beautiful," he murmurs, hands settling at my waist with deliberate gentleness. "Carrying my cub, your breasts fuller, your scent richer. Take what you need, Aria."

The use of my name—not "omega," not "mate," but my actual name—creates intimacy more potent than the dirty talk. I reach between us, wrapping my fingers around his thick shaft, feeling it pulse against my palm. The heat of him burns against my skin, his temperature several degrees higher than human normal.

"Careful," he warns, muscles tensing beneath me as I position him at my entrance. "My control is... not great when you're this close. When you're this wet for me."

The admission of vulnerability, of potential weakness, creates trust I never expected to feel toward my captor. I lower myself slowly, taking him inside with careful movements. The stretch is exquisite—burning pleasure-pain as my body accommodates his inhuman size. The ridges along his length catch against my inner walls, stimulating nerves with precision that draws a broken moan from my throat.

"Fuck," I gasp, the crude word escaping before I can stop it. "You're so deep."

His pupils contract to vertical slits at my profanity, hands tightening slightly on my hips. "That's it. Let me hear how good I make you feel."

When I'm fully seated, his cock filling me so completely I can feel him against my cervix, we remain motionless for a breathless moment. The sensation is overwhelming—the ridges pressing against places inside me that make my thighs tremble, the heat of him radiating through my core.

"Move," he growls, the single word vibrating through his chest beneath my splayed hands. "Ride me. Take what you need."

The permission—the command that is also invitation—breaks something open inside me. I begin to rock against him, finding an angle that grinds my clit against the base of his shaft with each movement. Each roll of my hips sends lightning pleasure spiraling through my pelvis, building with ruthless intensity.