Page 19

SECOND HEAT

ISLA'S POV

"Your cycle accelerates," Neros says, his voice dropping to that bone-deep rumble that seems to vibrate through the water between us like a biological tuning fork with very specific ideas about my immediate future. "Your body synchronizes to mine."

I back away from the holographic display, pressing my palm against my abdomen where the heat builds like a gathering storm with all the subtlety of a volcanic eruption in my endocrine system.

"No," I manage, though the protest sounds hollow even to my own ears.

"It's too soon. It can't be happening already. "

His nostrils flare as he draws in my changing scent, pupils dilating until his golden eyes are nearly black with hunger.

"Your body disagrees," he says, advancing slowly through the water, his massive form suddenly seeming to fill the entire chamber like a very large, very dangerous weather system. "It knows what it needs now."

"We're not finished discussing the smuggling routes," I say desperately, clinging to strategic analysis like a drowning woman grasping at flotsam.

But the holographic display blurs before my eyes as another wave of heat crashes through me, more intense than the first—because apparently my biology has decided that political intrigue is boring compared to the pressing matter of getting thoroughly claimed.

"The discussion is over," Neros growls, his skin darkening to midnight blue as his own biology responds to my pheromones like a very enthusiastic participant in the universe's most overwhelming chemical conversation.

The bioluminescent patterns along his arms and chest pulse faster, brighter, an answering call to the markings spreading beneath my own skin. "Your heat demands attention. Now."

He moves with predatory grace, seven feet of primal alpha strength cutting through the water with barely a ripple.

Before I can retreat further, his tentacles emerge—not just two or three but six, each thicker than my wrist, undulating with menacing purpose as they reach for me like very polite but insistent party guests who've decided I'm the entertainment.

"Don't fight it," he commands as two tentacles wrap around my wrists, pulling my arms wide and exposing my body to his hungry gaze. Another slides around my waist, lifting me effortlessly until we're face to face, my feet dangling uselessly above the floor. "You'll only make it worse."

The size difference between us is obscene—my entire body could fit within the span of his chest and arms like a very inappropriate doll in a very large toy box.

The strength differential more so, his single tentacle able to restrain me completely without apparent effort.

The knowledge should terrify me, but instead sends another flood of slick between my thighs, my omega biology responding to alpha dominance with shameful eagerness.

Without warning, he pulls me against his massive chest, one hand tangling in my hair to tilt my face upward.

His mouth claims mine in a kiss that's nothing like human affection—demanding, invasive, his tongue pushing past my lips to stake ownership of this territory too.

The taste of him floods my senses—salt and something uniquely him that triggers cascading memories of previous joinings.

I should bite, should fight, should resist this intimate invasion.

Instead, I find myself yielding, my lips parting to grant deeper access, my tongue meeting his in a dance of submission that feels like another form of claiming.

"I'm taking you to the claiming chamber," he states when he finally breaks the kiss, not a question or suggestion but simple fact delivered with the confidence of someone who's never met a problem he couldn't solve through superior tentacle coordination.

His tentacles secure me against his massive chest as he moves through the corridors of his territory, my feeble struggles nothing but token resistance against his overwhelming strength.

By the time we reach the claiming chamber, my heat has fully ignited like a biological wildfire that's decided my nervous system makes excellent kindling.

My skin burns from within, nerve endings raw and hypersensitive.

Between my thighs, slick flows in quantities that seem to violate several laws of physics, my body preparing itself for penetration with humiliating eagerness.

The emptiness inside me becomes an aching void that demands filling, a primal need that overwhelms rational thought like a very insistent biological imperative with excellent timing.

Unlike my first heat, triggered by suppressant failure and withdrawal, this is something more disturbing—a genuine biological response to compatible alpha pheromones.

My body recognizes Neros now, anticipates him, prepares for him with an efficiency that feels like the ultimate betrayal by my own circulatory system.

He doesn't place me on the claiming platform as before.

Instead, his tentacles arrange me in the center of the chamber, suspending me in the water with my arms stretched wide, legs spread, completely exposed to his predatory assessment like a very naked, very aroused exhibit in the universe's most uncomfortable museum.

"Look how wet you are for me already," he says, one tentacle sliding between my thighs to gather the evidence of my arousal. The sensation of those suction cups against my most intimate flesh draws an involuntary whimper from my throat. "Your cunt weeps for my cock."

"It's just heat," I gasp, trying to maintain some scrap of dignity as my body betrays me completely. "Just biology. Not me."

His laugh is dark and knowing as he circles me, his massive form casting shifting shadows across my suspended body.

"Still lying to yourself? Your body knows the truth.

" His tentacle slides deeper between my thighs, one suction cup attaching directly to my clit with precise pressure that makes stars explode behind my eyes like a very effective biological fireworks display. "And so do I."

I cry out, back arching against his restraint as pleasure spikes through me with shocking intensity. My inner walls clench around nothing, desperate for filling that only he can provide. The emptiness becomes unbearable, a physical ache that borders on pain.

"Please," I hear myself whimper, the omega cry for alpha attention slipping past my defenses like a very needy biological ambassador. "Please, I need?—"

"Tell me what you need," Neros demands, his face inches from mine, golden eyes consuming my field of vision. "Say it. Beg for it."

"I need you inside me," I confess, shame burning alongside heat as the words spill forth unbidden. "I need to be filled. Please, alpha."

The title slips out without conscious thought, a biological recognition that transcends rational resistance. Neros' skin darkens further with pleasure at the submission, his bioluminescent patterns flaring brighter in response like a very satisfied Christmas tree with territorial issues.

"Good omega," he purrs, the praise sending a shiver of unwanted pleasure down my spine. "You're learning."

His cock emerges from its concealed sheath, already fully extended, monstrously thick with textured ridges spiraling along its length like someone designed it specifically to ruin my ability to form coherent thoughts.

The head flares wider than the shaft, designed to stimulate every sensitive spot inside me.

Even in my heat-drunk state, the size seems impossible—thicker than my wrist, long enough to reach places no human could touch.

"You were made to take this," Neros growls, positioning himself between my spread thighs. His tentacles adjust my body to the optimal angle for penetration, tilting my hips to present my dripping sex for his use. "Made to be bred by me."

Two more tentacles join the others, one wrapping around each thigh, spreading my legs so wide it borders on pain.

Another slithers between us, circling my clit with maddening precision while yet another explores the seam of my ass, the dual sensations creating a circuit of pleasure that shorts out rational thought.

The coordination is terrifying—each appendage moving with independent purpose yet harmonized toward a single goal: my complete submission.

When he pushes inside, there's still the stretch and burn of something too large breaching my body, but nothing like the tearing pain of our first claiming.

My transformed biology accommodates him with eager efficiency, inner walls yielding rather than fighting his invasion like they've been specifically renovated for this purpose.

"Fuck," I gasp as he fills me inch by agonizing inch, each ridge along his length creating friction against newly sensitive spots inside me. "How are you—why does it feel so?—"

"Because you're mine," he answers, tentacles tightening their grip as he establishes a rhythm that sends waves of pleasure crashing through me with each thrust. One tentacle still works my clit in perfect counterpoint to his thrusts, while another slides between my ass cheeks, circling that tight entrance without penetrating, the dual stimulation creating overwhelming sensation.

"Your body knows who it belongs to now."

His size means each stroke reaches depths no human could touch, the flared head of his cock pressing against my cervix with each thrust. The pressure borders on pain yet sends sparks of pleasure shooting up my spine, a sensation so intense it fragments consciousness into prismatic shards of need.