Page 15

"Look at me," Neros commands, one hand capturing my chin, forcing my gaze to his. "I want to see your eyes when you realize the truth."

The tentacle pushes deeper, curling inside me to find a spot that makes stars explode behind my eyes. My mouth opens in a silent scream as pleasure unlike anything I've experienced surges through me. Another tentacle joins the first, stretching me wider, preparing me for what's to come.

"Watch yourself surrender," Neros says, his golden eyes holding mine captive as his tentacles work my body with devastating precision. "Not just your body, butyou."

"No," I protest weakly, even as my inner walls clench around the invading tentacles, my hips rolling to take them deeper. "It's just biology. Just heat. Not me."

"Then resist," he challenges, the tentacles inside me finding that spot again, pressing with rhythmic intensity that builds pressure at the base of my spine. "If it's not you, then stop moving. Stop responding. Stop enjoying."

I try. God help me, I try. I force my hips to still, bite my lip to stifle my moans, dig my nails into my palms to distract from the pleasure. For three heartbeats, I maintain control.

Then his tentacles shift, one pressing directly against my clit while the ones inside curl against that devastating spot, and my resistance shatters. A cry tears from my throat as my body convulses, orgasm crashing through me with such intensity that my vision whites out at the edges.

"There," Neros growls with satisfaction, his tentacles continuing their movement through my climax, drawing it out until I'm trembling and gasping in his arms. "That was all you. Your choice. Your surrender."

"No," I sob, even as aftershocks ripple through me. "You forced this. You're making me?—"

"I'm making you nothing," he interrupts, his voice dropping lower. "I'm merely providing the opportunity for you to be what you truly are."

Before I can argue further, he lifts me effortlessly, tentacles supporting my weight as he positions me. I see his cock emerge from its sheath, already fully extended, thicker and more imposing than I remember. The ridges along its length pulse with bioluminescence that matches the patterns spreading across my own skin.

"Show me," he demands, holding me poised above him without closing the final distance. "Show me you understand your purpose."

The significance of his position slams into me with devastating clarity. He won't claim me this time—he wants me to claim myself, to actively participate in my own subjugation. To make a choice that can't be blamed on restraints or aphrodisiacs or force.

"I can't," I whisper, tears spilling down my cheeks even as my body trembles with need. "Please don't make me do this."

"I'm not making you do anything," Neros says, his tentacles supporting but not directing my movement. "Choose, Isla Morgan. Choose to remain in pain, or choose to accept what you are."

The emptiness inside me borders on agony now, my inner walls clenching desperately around nothing. Slick drips from me in a constant stream, my body begging for what my mind still fights. The heat burns through my veins like liquid fire, consuming rational thought, leaving only primal need.

"I hate you," I say, meeting his gaze with the last shreds of defiance I can muster.

"Perhaps," he acknowledges, unmoved. "But you need me more than you hate me. Choose."

And God help me, I choose.

With a broken sob, I lower myself onto him, guiding his massive cock to my entrance. The initial breach sends shock waves of both pain and relief through my system. He's still too big, still impossibly thick, but my heat-drunk body welcomes the intrusion with desperate enthusiasm.

"Yes," Neros hisses, his hands moving to my hips but not directing, merely supporting as I take him deeper. "Take what you need."

Inch by agonizing inch, I lower myself, my body stretching to accommodate his alien girth. Each ridge along his length creates friction against newly sensitive spots inside me, sending sparks of pleasure shooting up my spine. When I finally settle fully, taking him to the hilt, we both groan at the sensation of complete joining.

"Move," he commands, his voice strained with the effort of maintaining control. "Show me how an omega serves her alpha."

The words should disgust me, should trigger renewed resistance. Instead, they send another flood of slick easing his passage as I begin to roll my hips experimentally. The angle is different like this, allowing me to control the depth and pressure, to find what brings the most intense sensation.

"That's it," Neros encourages as I establish a rhythm, rising and falling on his length with increasing confidence. His tentacles continue their exploration, wrapping around my breasts, sliding along my spine, one finding my clit to provide additional stimulation.

I tell myself I'm just responding to biological imperative, just doing what's necessary to survive this heat. But as pleasure builds with each movement, that lie becomes impossible to maintain. My hands clutch at his shoulders not for support but to pull him closer. My back arches not from pain but to take him deeper. My voice cries out not in protest but in pleasure.

"Harder," I hear myself beg, my hips moving faster, taking him deeper with each downstroke. "Please, harder."

Neros growls in response, his control fracturing as his own rut intensifies. His hands tighten on my hips, not directing but matching my rhythm, adding his strength to each thrust. His tentacles wrap more firmly around me, one sliding around my throat in light pressure that triggers something primal in my omega brain.

"Mine," he snarls, the word vibrating through the water around us. "Say it."

"No," I gasp, even as my body responds to his claim with another rush of slick. "I'm not—I won't?—"