Page 9 of Dragon’s Captive (Prime Omegaverse #1)

CHAPTER 8

CLAIMED BY FIRE

His mouth captures mine with the precision of a hunter closing on prey, stealing what little breath remains in my heat-ravaged lungs. This isn't a kiss—it's conquest, a physical declaration of dominance. His lips radiate intense heat like sun-warmed stone, the pressure hovering just below bruising as he claims what Conquest law says belongs to him.

I should fight. I should bite his alien mouth, rake my nails across the scales I feel beneath his tunic, struggle against what's coming. Instead, my body yields beneath him, lips parting on a helpless gasp that his tongue immediately exploits. He tastes like cinnamon and something ancient—like the air before lightning strikes, like danger in its purest form. The flavor floods my senses with chemical responses I can't control—more wetness gathering between my thighs, an empty aching deep inside, a surrender my mind abhors but my body embraces.

Kairyx pulls back just enough to study my face, his golden eyes with their vertical pupils tracking the flush spreading across my skin with predatory satisfaction. "The resistance in your scent is fading," he observes, his voice a deep rumble that vibrates against my sensitized nerves like distant thunder. "Your body knows its purpose, little librarian, even if your mind still clings to its delusions."

"Go to hell," I manage, though the words lack conviction, undermined by my breathlessness and the way my hips shift restlessly beneath him, seeking friction I still mentally reject.

His laugh reverberates through his chest and into mine where our bodies press together. "Perhaps someday," he concedes, one scaled hand capturing both my wrists and pinning them above my head with insulting ease. "But today, I claim what is mine by right of conquest."

With his free hand, he grasps the silk robe clinging to my sweat-slicked skin. There's no gentleness, just efficient force. The delicate fabric surrenders with a soft ripping sound that echoes obscenely in the heated silence, leaving me completely exposed. The cool morning air hits my overheated skin, raising goosebumps that instantly transform to trails of fire as the next wave of heat surges through me.

Naked. Vulnerable beneath his assessing gaze. The power imbalance is absolute—his massive body still partially clothed, mine exposed and trembling with need I can't suppress. The ancient dynamic of predator and prey, alpha and omega, plays out between us with biological inevitability.

His golden gaze travels over my exposed form with possessive hunger. "Beautiful," he murmurs, the unexpected compliment catching me off guard. "A resilient vessel for such a strong spirit. More perfect than I anticipated."

Before I can process the contradictory statement, his free hand moves to my breast. His talons are carefully held away, but the pads of his scaled fingers create unexpected friction against my sensitive skin. He rolls my nipple between thumb and forefinger, the precise pressure sending lightning bolts of sensation straight to my core. A moan escapes me—high, needy, desperate—a sound I didn't know I could make, a sound I would have sworn I was incapable of producing.

"Your body sings its surrender," Kairyx observes, his touch growing bolder, mapping the contours of my fever-flushed skin with proprietary assurance. "Let go of the resistance, little librarian. Yield to the inevitable."

"Never," I gasp, the declaration weakened by the way my back arches into his touch, seeking more contact, more pressure, more of the heat radiating from his scaled hand.

His smile is pure predator, confident and ancient. "We shall see."

He shifts his massive weight, positioning himself between my thighs with deliberate intent. The head of one shaft presses against my entrance. The heat is shocking—not just warm but hot , like holding my hand too close to flame. Despite my heat, despite the shameful wetness meant to ease his way, terror spikes through me at the impossible size, the alien texture, the radiating heat of what's about to happen.

"Wait," I plead, a last desperate bid for control that's already slipping away. "You can't—I can't—it won't fit! It's too much!"

Kairyx pauses, his gaze sharpening. "It will fit," he states with absolute certainty. "Your body was designed for this—to adapt, to accommodate, to yield. You will not break; you will transform."

He begins the breach before I can protest further, the ridged head of one shaft pressing insistently against my entrance. The stretch is immediate, overwhelming, a burning friction beyond anything I could have imagined. I scream, the sound torn from my throat without conscious permission, my body instinctively trying to escape the invasion.

His hand releases my wrists only to grip my hips—both hands now, talons carefully retracted but his strength pinning me in place. There's no escape, no retreat, just the relentless pressure of his shaft forcing its way inside me with implacable determination.

"Take it," he growls, voice roughened to something barely recognizable as language. "Take my first shaft."

The command vibrates through me, resonating with something primal in my omega hindbrain. Each inch stretches me wider than I thought possible, the burning friction both agony and a strange, terrifying ecstasy. My body fights itself—muscles clenching against intrusion while simultaneously producing more wetness, biology betraying conscious rejection with ruthless efficiency.

When I think I can't possibly take more, when the pain threatens to overwhelm even heat-induced need, something inside me shifts. My body, responding to biological imperatives deeper than conscious thought, begins to adapt . Inner muscles, impossibly elastic, yield around him with omega flexibility that defies ordinary human limitations.

The first shaft seats fully inside me, the stretch still intense but the burning easing slightly as my tissues accommodate his heat. I have one moment to drag in a ragged breath—then the second head presses alongside the first, seeking entrance where one already fills me completely.

"No," I gasp, genuine fear cutting through the heat-haze. "I can't—you'll tear me apart! It's too much!"

"You can," he insists, scales darkening from obsidian to something deeper as his control slips further. "You will ."

The dual penetration begins with brutal determination, his twin shafts pressing forward together now. The stretch is beyond comprehension—a burning, tearing sensation combined with overwhelming pressure. I sob with pain despite the wetness flowing from me in omega preparation. My inner walls spasm around the intrusion, confused signals of agony and pleasure short-circuiting my nervous system.

"So tight," he snarls against my neck, his massive body completely covering mine now, pinning me to the mattress with his weight, his heat enveloping me like a furnace. "Perfect little omega, taking both shafts when you claimed you couldn't."

His mocking praise shouldn't affect me—I'm being claimed against my will—yet something primitive in my hindbrain preens at the alpha's approval, omega biology responding with another rush of wetness. The additional lubrication eases his way fractionally, both shafts now seated halfway inside me, their ridged surfaces creating excruciating friction against my inner walls.

With a growl that seems to shake the entire bed, Kairyx drives forward in one powerful thrust, sheathing both lengths fully inside me. The invasion steals my breath completely, the stretch so intense I can't even scream. For one suspended moment, I hover on the edge of consciousness, the pain too overwhelming for my mind to process.

Then he begins to move.

The first withdrawal drags his ridged lengths against every sensitive spot inside me, the textured surfaces transforming initial pain to confused pleasure. When he thrusts back in, the angle shifts slightly, hitting something deep inside that makes stars explode behind my eyelids.

"There," he rumbles, satisfaction evident in his voice as my body jerks beneath him. "Your sweet spot. Let's see how many times I can make you come while claiming you."

No. No no no. I don't want this pleasure. I don't want to respond to his invasion with anything but rejection. But my body has other ideas, inner walls clenching greedily around his twin shafts as he establishes a rhythm designed to target that spot with every thrust.

Each drive of his hips sends his shafts deeper, the ridges creating devastating friction against my g-spot while the heat radiating from both shafts seems to melt me from the inside out. The sensations are overwhelming—pleasure edged with pain, fullness bordering on too much, heat that should burn but instead ignites every nerve ending with white-hot sensitivity.

My fingers scrabble uselessly against his scaled shoulders, seeking purchase against the tide threatening to sweep me away. The scales ripple beneath my touch, darkening from obsidian to something deeper, absorbing light rather than reflecting it. The transformation suggests his control is slipping with every thrust, his draconic nature emerging more fully as rut overtakes civilized restraint.

The claiming continues with increasing intensity, each thrust harder and deeper than the last. His pace increases, the powerful drives of his hips slamming my smaller body into the mattress with enough force that I'll surely find bruises later.

My body's response is beyond my control now, inner walls pulsing rhythmically around his invasion, back arching to take him deeper despite my mind's continued rejection. I hate this. I hate him. I hate my biology for betraying me so completely. Yet I'm helpless against the tide of sensation threatening to drown me, each thrust pushing me closer to unwanted release.

"Mine," he growls against my neck, teeth grazing the sensitive skin where my scent gland pulses with each frantic heartbeat. "Say it. Say you're mine."

"No," I gasp, clinging to this last defiance even as my body surrenders completely.

He punishes my resistance with a particularly brutal thrust, both shafts driving so deep I swear I can feel them in my throat. "Say it," he demands again, scaled hand moving to grip my jaw, forcing me to meet his golden gaze now glowing with reptilian intensity.

"Never," I manage, though the word emerges as more whimper than defiance.

A sound escapes him—not quite laugh, not quite growl, but something between that vibrates through both our bodies. "Your mouth lies, but your body knows the truth," he says, deliberately grinding his hips against mine in a circular motion that makes me see stars. "You were made for this. Made for me."

The words should enrage me. Instead, my omega biology responds with shameful eagerness, inner walls rippling around his twin shafts as pleasure builds to unbearable levels. Each thrust now hits spots inside me I never knew existed, the dual penetration creating fullness beyond anything I could have imagined.

For what feels like hours but is probably minutes, he continues the relentless claiming, driving into me with mounting intensity as rut overtakes calculation. The room fills with obscene sounds—the wet slide of his shafts moving through my abundant wetness, the slap of scaled skin against human flesh, my involuntary moans and his guttural growls. It's primal, animalistic, a claiming that transcends species and civilization, reduced to pure biological imperative.

When he nears completion, his pace becomes punishing, driving deeper as small flames escape his mouth with each exhale. The flickering heat against my neck should terrify me—a reminder that I'm being claimed by something not human. Instead, the display of draconic nature pushes me closer to the edge I've been fighting.

"Surrender," he commands, voice raw with rut-need. "Come for me. Now."

My body obeys before my mind can resist, the orgasm crashing through me with devastating force. A keening cry tears from my throat as pleasure obliterates conscious thought. My back arches off the bed, pressing my body more firmly against his massive form as waves of release pulse through me with humiliating intensity.

"Perfect," Kairyx snarls, his rhythm faltering as his own release approaches.

I feel it first as additional heat at my core, his twin shafts seeming to expand further inside me. Then I realize with dawning horror what's happening—the bases of both shafts are swelling, forming knots designed to lock us together during breeding. The stretch is beyond anything I've experienced yet, burning pleasure-pain that tears another sob from my throat as my body yields to accommodate him.

"Take my knot," he growls, his hips grinding against mine as the swelling increases. "Take all of it."

The dual knots lock inside me with a final, brutal thrust, stretching my entrance to the point where pain overtakes pleasure momentarily. I can't breathe, can't think, can only feel the impossible fullness, the primal claiming of alpha knot in omega heat.

With the knots fully formed, Kairyx throws his head back, a roar escaping his throat that shakes the entire chamber as his release begins. His burning seed floods my womb in pulsing waves I can actually feel, the temperature noticeably hotter than human ejaculate would be, the quantity far greater. It keeps coming, jet after jet of scorching fluid filling me beyond capacity, sealed inside by his knots so not a drop can escape.

The sensation triggers another unexpected orgasm that tears through me without warning, my inner walls clamping down around his shafts and knots, milking his release with biological efficiency despite my mind's continued horror. The contractions intensify his pleasure—I can see it in the way his scales ripple with color, in the small flames that escape his mouth with each exhale, in the tightening of his massive body above mine.

For long minutes, we remain locked together, his seed continuing to pump into me in diminishing waves. The room reeks of sex and submission, of alpha claim and omega surrender. The physical evidence of my body's betrayal pools around us where small amounts of his release manage to escape despite the knots' seal, mixed with my own abundant wetness—proof of my unwilling pleasure written in the most primal language.

Eventually, his release subsides, leaving us locked together by his expanded knots, his seed sealed deep inside me where omega biology will ensure it takes root. The physical claiming is complete, the biological bond established regardless of my consent or lack thereof.

In the aftermath, as we remain joined by evolutionary design, I turn my face away from his golden gaze, unable to bear the satisfaction I know I'll find there. Silent tears slip down my cheeks—not from physical pain, which has mostly faded into a dull ache, but from the deeper wound of my body's betrayal, its eager acceptance of what my mind still rejects.

"The tears are unnecessary," Kairyx says, his voice gentler than I expected given the brutality of the claiming. One scaled thumb brushes moisture from my cheek with surprising delicacy. "Your body responded exactly as it should."

"Don't touch me," I whisper, the words lacking conviction when he's literally still inside me, his knots ensuring we remain physically connected for what could be another hour, based on what I know of alpha physiology.

He sighs, the sound almost human in its weariness. "The claiming is done, Clara. Fighting what's already happened only prolongs your adjustment period."

Adjustment period. As if this is a job transition or a move to a new city, not the complete upending of my identity, the violation of everything I've fought to preserve for a decade.

"I hate you," I tell him, meaning every syllable despite the lingering endorphins from forced pleasure still flooding my system.

"For now," he acknowledges, shifting our position with surprising care so that we lie on our sides, still joined by his knots but with less of his weight pressing me into the mattress. "That will change."

I want to argue, to insist that nothing will change my hatred for him or what he represents. But exhaustion crashes over me in the wake of heat-satisfaction, dragging me toward unconsciousness despite my determination to remain alert, to maintain some semblance of control.

The last thing I register before sleep claims me is the strange gentleness of his hand stroking my hair, the unexpected care in how he arranges my limbs more comfortably against his massive form. The contradiction—brutal claiming followed by tender attention—confuses my heat-addled brain, creating cognitive dissonance I'm too exhausted to process.

As consciousness slips away, one terrible truth follows me into darkness: my body has surrendered completely to evolutionary imperatives I cannot fight. The claiming is done. I am his now, in the most fundamental way possible.

And some traitorous part of me, buried beneath layers of resistance and righteous anger, whispers that perhaps this isn't the end I feared, but a beginning I never allowed myself to imagine.

I silence that whisper with the last of my strength, clinging to defiance even as dragon-warmed sleep claims me completely.