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"No," I whisper, but the protest sounds hollow even to me, like I'm going through the motions of resistance because it's expected rather than because I mean it.

"Your mouth says no while your body screams yes," Neros growls, positioning himself between my spread thighs with the kind of careful precision that suggests he's done this before. His tentacles continue their exploration, wrapping around my waist, sliding across my breasts, finding every sensitive spot with unerring accuracy. "Which should I believe?"

When he enters me this time, there's still the stretch and burn of something too large breaching my body like a very intimate home invasion, but not the tearing pain of first penetration. My traitorous body has already begun adapting to his impossible size, producing excess slick to ease his passage, inner muscles yielding rather than fighting like they've decided to become very helpful collaborators.

"Fuck," I gasp as he pushes deeper, each ridge along his length creating friction against newly sensitive spots inside me. The sensation borders on too much, but not quite pain—a fullness that walks the line between discomfort and devastating pleasure like a tightrope walker with very specific skills.

"Your body remembers," Neros says, his voice rougher now, deeper with rut like he's speaking through gravel that's somehow become arousing. "Already adapting to take me. Made for this purpose."

The most horrifying part isn't the invasion but my response to it. Without restraints or aphrodisiacs, my hips rise to meet his thrust, taking him deeper with the enthusiasm of someone who's apparently forgotten that this is supposed to be violation rather than participation. My hands grasp at his shoulders not to push away but to pull closer. My back arches to optimize the angle of penetration without any external compulsion.

"No," I sob, even as my body says yes in every possible way with the kind of comprehensive betrayal that would be impressive if it weren't happening to me.

"Still fighting," Neros observes, stilling his movements with the patience of someone who knows exactly how this is going to end. "Perhaps you need convincing."

His tentacles shift their attention, one wrapping around each breast, the suction cups creating exquisite pressure against my nipples that makes me see stars. Another finds the sensitive bundle of nerves between my legs, circling without direct contact, building tension without release like the universe's most effective torture device.

"Move," I finally gasp, unable to bear the emptiness as he holds himself still inside me like he's waiting for a formal invitation. "Please move."

His smile contains triumph as he begins thrusting in earnest, each powerful stroke reaching deeper than the last, his cock expanding inside me, claiming territory no human could reach. The ridges along his length create friction against spots that send electricity arcing through my nervous system like I've been plugged into the world's most overwhelming power grid.

My body responds with enthusiastic betrayal, inner walls rippling around him, hips rising to meet each thrust like I'm actively participating in my own conquest. The pleasure builds with frightening intensity, a tightening coil of sensation I canneither control nor escape—like being caught in a very specific, very overwhelming storm.

"That's it," he growls, pace increasing as his own control fractures with the kind of inevitable momentum that makes me realize we're both past the point of pretending this is anything but what it is. His skin darkens to near-black, the patterns across it pulsing with rut intensity. "Take what your body needs. What it was made for."

One tentacle shifts to wrap around my throat—not choking, but asserting dominance, reminding me of my place in this biological hierarchy. The pressure triggers something primal in my omega brain, a submission response I didn't know I possessed. My back arches sharply, offering my breasts, my throat, my whole body for his use like I'm presenting a gift I never meant to give.

"Please," I hear myself beg, the word torn from some primitive part of me I no longer recognize. "Please, alpha."

The word slips out unbidden, and Neros growls in response like I've just said the magic phrase, his thrusts becoming harder, faster, more demanding. His tentacles tighten around me, holding me exactly where he wants me, using me with single-minded purpose that makes everything else fade into background noise.

"Mine," he snarls, golden eyes locked on mine, pupils fully dilated with rut. "My omega. My breeder."

The words should revolt me. Instead, they trigger something deep and primal, a response written into my DNA that ten years of chemical suppression couldn't erase. My inner walls clench around him in rhythmic pulses that I can't control, like my body's decided to send him a very enthusiastic telegram.

"That's it," he encourages, one hand sliding between us to apply direct pressure to the sensitive bundle of nerves at my center. "Surrender to it. Show me what you were made for."

When the orgasm hits, it's not the chemically induced pleasure of last night but something deeper, more primal, more devastating in its authenticity. I shatter around him like glass meeting reality at high velocity, inner muscles convulsing, back arching, a cry tearing from my throat that's equal parts pleasure and despair. Wave after wave of sensation crashes through me, each more intense than the last, like the universe has decided to demonstrate exactly how thoroughly it can rewrite someone's understanding of their own body.

My climax triggers his. His cock expands impossibly further, the base swelling into a knot that locks us together completely like some kind of biological security system. He roars, a sound more animal than human, as his release floods my womb in hot pulses. The quantity is obscene, my lower belly visibly distending with the volume pumped into me like I'm being filled with liquid evidence of my own defeat.

Locked together by his knot, we float in the aftermath like two people who've just survived a very intimate natural disaster. I turn my face away, unable to bear the triumph in his eyes, but he catches my chin with implacable strength, forcing me to look at him.

"See what happens when you stop fighting biology?" he says, voice returning to something closer to normal though still rough with satisfaction. "Your body knows its purpose even if your mind rejects it with such impressive stubbornness."

Tears burn behind my eyes, not from physical pain but from the knowledge that with each claiming, the ghost smuggler fades further away. My body adapts to his alien biology with frightening speed, finding pleasure where there should be only pain, creating dependency where there should be only defiance.

As his knot gradually subsides enough to allow separation, Neros traces the luminescent patterns that have intensified beneath my skin. They pulse brighter now, more visible, aphysical manifestation of my transformation that I can't hide or deny.

"Tomorrow," he says, his voice returning to the businesslike tone of our earlier exchange like we've just concluded a very successful merger, "we continue our information arrangement. I believe you have more to share about coastal extraction methods."

And I do—carefully selected intelligence I've prepared to reveal in our delicate dance of mutual exploitation. But as he leaves me alone in the recovery chamber, his seed still warm inside me, I face the terrifying reality that with each claiming, my capacity for strategic resistance diminishes.

The ghost smuggler is disappearing with each surrender, replaced by something I barely recognize—an omega whose body has betrayed every principle her mind still struggles to uphold. And the worst part is, I'm starting to wonder if the betrayal feels so much like relief.

CHAPTER 8

BREAKING BARRIERS