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"That's it," he encourages, voice barely recognizable through the rumbling growl underlying each word. "Use me. Use my cock to make yourself come."

The explicit direction floods me with fresh heat. I move faster, lifting myself nearly off his length before sinking back down, feeling every ridge and vein drag against my sensitive inner walls. Sweat beads between my breasts, my thighs burningwith exertion, but the pleasure building at my core makes everything else irrelevant.

His hands guide my movements without controlling them, strength carefully restrained even in passion. One slides from my hip to between my thighs, his thumb finding my clit with perfect accuracy. The contact sends a shock through my system, my inner walls clenching around him involuntarily.

"You're so fucking tight," he groans, the crude words strange from his usually controlled mouth. "Your body squeezing mine like it never wants to let go."

With each thrust, the specialized ridges along his length extend further, the barbs creating almost unbearable friction against my most sensitive spots. It's too much and not enough simultaneously, pleasure so intense it borders on pain but which my body craves with animal need.

"Fritz," I gasp, abandoning any pretense of control as I chase my release. "I need—I can't?—"

"I know exactly what you need," he growls, his thumb circling my clit with merciless precision. "Come for me. Come all over me, let me feel that sweet body milk me dry."

The explicit command paired with the dual stimulation shatters me completely. Orgasm crashes through me like a physical force, my back arching, walls clamping around him in rhythmic pulses that tear a scream from my throat. Wave after wave of pleasure radiates from my core, vision blurring at the edges as my body surrenders completely to sensation.

As I convulse around him, I feel it beginning—the distinctive swelling at the base of his cock. My body responds instinctively, inner walls fluttering around him as the knot grows.

"You're going to take my knot," he growls, hands tightening on my hips as the swelling grows more pronounced. "Going to let me lock inside you, keep you filled with my seed."

The pressure against my entrance is intense, bordering on too much. Yet my body yields, craving this final joining despite rational thought.

"Fritz—" I gasp, torn between caution and overwhelming need. "Your injuries?—"

"Need this," he grits out, pupils contracted to mere slits in pools of molten gold. "Need to knot you. Feel you take all of me."

With a deliberate downward thrust of my hips and an upward surge of his, the knot pushes past initial resistance, stretching me to burning fullness. The sensation of being so completely filled triggers a second climax that crashes through me with even greater intensity than the first.

The contractions of my inner walls around his knot trigger his own release, his cock pulsing as seed floods me in hot spurts. With a roar that would terrify me in any other context, he bucks upward despite his injuries, instinct temporarily overwhelming pain.

"Mine," he growls, the possessive claim punctuated by another pulse of his release. "My mate. My omega."

The word no longer feels like reduction to biology but acknowledgment of connection beyond rational choice. My inner walls continue to squeeze his knot, milking every drop of his seed, our bodies communicating on a level far more honest than words.

Locked together, I carefully adjust my position to avoid putting pressure on his wounds, settling against his chest as aftershocks of pleasure continue to pulse through me.

"I can feel your heartbeat," he murmurs, one hand sliding to rest over my lower abdomen where our child grows. "From inside. Your pulse around my knot."

The intimate observation creates warmth that has nothing to do with physical exertion. I press a kiss to his chest, tasting salt and that distinctive flavor that is uniquely Fritz.

"I should finish changing your bandages," I say eventually, though I make no move to leave the shelter of his arms.

"You should," he agrees, though his hold doesn't loosen. "But not yet."

His cock, still inside me, gives a twitch that shouldn't be possible given his injured state and recent release. I lift my head to look at him in disbelief, finding his golden eyes watching me with unmistakable hunger.

"Felines recover a lot faster than humans," he explains, a hint of smug satisfaction in his voice. "Especially when properly motivated."

"You're wounded," I remind him, though my body has already begun responding to the renewed hardening inside me.

"Then you'll just have to keep doing all the work," he counters, hands sliding to my ass to guide me into gentle rocking motion against him. "Unless you'd prefer to stop?"

The question is genuine—I can see it in his eyes, the willingness to yield to my preference despite his obvious desire. This, perhaps more than anything, shows how far we've come from that first claiming—the alpha offering choice rather than demanding submission.

In answer, I roll my hips deliberately, drawing a groan from him that's half pleasure, half pain. "I'm not finished with you yet, Commander."

As aftershocks subside, I carefully lift myself from him, mindful of his injuries despite post-pleasure haze. His hands guide me to lie beside him rather than withdraw completely, arranging my smaller form against his uninjured side with protective care that belies his fearsome reputation.

"Your wounds," I murmur, suddenly remembering the purpose of my presence in his quarters.