“Enough,” he snapped, the stiff ridge of his mane rising up along his spine. But for a moment, Hadim did little more than eye his wife. And shaking himself, said, “Fine. They can have this one when I’m done with her.” He discarded the rest of his armor. “Beginning to wonder if she’s barren anyway.”
Straightening, Samina eyed the girl with keen interest. “Well, isn’t that convenient! Lets the boys practice without giving them a proper breeder. No kits running wild underfoot to threaten your position.” Humming low in her throat, Samina approached the girl. “She’s otherwise capable? Pleasing? Triggers your rut without issue?”
Hadim shrugged, unlacing his pants with his left hand, reaching for the girl with his right. Lips pressed to her cheek, he took a breath of the Hathorian’s fine, pale skin, letting her scent fill his brain. “I’ve been breeding her for a little over three years, and she refuses to take.”
“Are your cycles regular, Omega?” Samina asked, her tone not altogether unkind, despite the racial slur.
The girl swallowed and said, “Yes, mistress. Every three months, with the moons.”
“Looks healthy enough.” Clapping her hands, Samina smiled. “Let’s try her on a natural cycle without suppressants, and if she isn’t carrying a litter the next time the moons are full, the boys can have her.” And then her demeanor shifted. Became almost coy as she glanced at her husband from beneath the fan of thick dark lashes. “Wouldn’t want them building an army and challenging their grandfather before you do, hmm?”
Hadim snarled, bristling at his wife’s goading insult. His rut beginning to show in earnest. “I will challenge my father when I am ready. On my terms, woman.” Tail lashing, mane bristling, he turned on her. Fingers tight on the Hathorian female dressed in gossamer silks, he twisted the length of her braids around his fist. A black rope that gave him control over her every terrified breath. “I’ve got the largest army of all my siblings. Second only to my father himself.”
Tail flicking, Samina sashayed away, tossing a sultry, “Yes, well Ahmelek mentioned his intent in passing yesterday. I think he was trying to lure me away from my darling husband,” she said, retreating into their marital chambers. “Haven’t decided if I’m tempted or not…” Trilling, hearty laughter preceded the soft click of her bedroom door sliding shut, having succeeded only in goading Hadim’s temper into a seething lather.
Teeth bared, tail whipping and held high, Hadim freed his swollen prick, kneading the base where it bulged. His knot threatening to balloon prematurely. And then, using her braids as leverage, he jerked her closer—then forced her down to her knees.
“Suck,” he barked. Still scowling after his wife when he hissed, “Vicious bitch,” under his breath.
The girl was inclined to agree. Anhur to her core, Samina had played Hadim’s temper, his rut, and his pride to her advantage—and she’d played him beautifully. In goading her husband, she’d earned herself a quiet night and a bed free of a rutting male who’d be too tired to bother her when he returned. His energy spent and drained.
Squeezing her eyes shut, the girl bent to her task. Trying not to gag when the tapered tip of Hadim’s dick opened her throat. Confident only because she knew he’d soon tire of the accidental scrape of her blunted teeth. That fucking her throat as hard and fast as he wanted would likely result in a corpse that couldn’t produce strong hybrids for his army.
Still, he indulged himself. Tugging on his heavy sack with his free hand, kneading as it began to swell. Pausing only long enough to allow her a chance to take a desperate sip of air, before forcing her all the way down once more.
A splash of tangy seed coated her tongue, making her nose wrinkle even as her slit grew plump. Tempted by the salty brine, the Biquea glands ringing the inside of her opening grew swollen and ripe, dripping on the luxurious fur rug beneath her knees.
Redoubling her effort to swallow him whole, her mouth watered. Pupils blown wide, her brain filled with the muted scent of a dominant male who could ease the desperate ache throbbing between her thighs.
Rumbling low in his throat, Hadim jerked her off his dick and said, “Up.”
Obedient, almost eager, the girl assumed the position. Ears following his every movement, her tail flicked high and clear as she braced her hands on the side of the bed.
Hadim kicked her ankles apart and took her tail by its base. Adding pressure, he bent it back, making her mewl in pain even as he forced her down. Face buried in the bedding as she tried to arch away from the dull throb tugging her spine crooked.
The harsh rasp of his stubble whispered between her thighs a millisecond before she felt the caress of a warm tongue. Flicking and probing, he readied her with an air of detached boredom that was still enough to make her gush. A prisoner to instinct, her body responded immediately. Giving him a taste of the hormone-laden lubricant that would send him into rut. One taste of the slick fluid produced by the Biquea gland and he’d be primed to fuck her until her cycle ended, keeping her fat and sedate with every copious injection of sperm.
Of course, Hadim would never wholly give himself over to instinct. Would never allow himself to be vulnerable or at the mercy of a female—especially not a Hathorian.
Sparing her nothing, Hadim lined up and seated himself in the oily heat presented before him. Absentmindedly working her tight sheath with a diligent efficiency that saw him thicken to the point of discomfort within a few punishing strokes.
Knowing the male covering her back would finish at exactly the pace that pleased him, she snaked a hand between her thighs. Rubbing furious little circles around the swollen bud of her clit while she still had the sense to do so. Her knuckles grazing his sack with every forward swing.
Some of the courtesans chose to suffer during their heat, punishing themselves, refusing any meager dollop of pleasure a breeding session might bring. But she had long since decided to claim what enjoyment she could in this dreary life, and as Hadim began to bear down, she came.
Fluttering around his girth, she milked him. Powerful internal muscles clenching and pulling, enticing him to go deeper. To lock with her and fill her womb with thick cream and relieve the tension building in her glands.
He denied her even that.
Instead of driving deeper, his strokes turned shallow. And where he should have been fighting to force his knot inside and penetrate that most sacred part of her, she felt it thicken on the wrong side of her sheath. Fucking her with rapid, shallow strokes, he held himself back. Knot blooming fat and churlish where it pulsed between her lips. She was left to grasp at his shaft alone. The bundle of nerves within going unstimulated, giving no relief to the persistent ache begging to be stretched out.
With a grunt, he came. Wrenching back on her tail just to make her squirm as he bred her, cruelly refusing to lock with her.
Breath hitching, ears laid flat, she dared to glance over her shoulder. Forgetting herself when she said, “Hadim, please!”
He wrenched free of her saturated depths with a breathy snarl, wrapping one large hand about her throat. Mane bristling waves of ruddy brown, his anger pooled between them. His fingers cinching tight enough to choke. With one hand he worked through his orgasm, glazing her asshole, cheeks, and tail in wasted sperm.
And then, lips pressed into the cone of her ear, her tail bent awkwardly against sweat-slicked skin, he hissed, “What did you say?”