Kosh's Omega Read online

  With that, he hastily donned his armor and left as she fumed behind him, tugging against her bonds, rolling and testing almost methodically—which earned her another mark of admiration from him—not that he'd let on to her that he noticed.

  "I'm sorry to have hauled you away from her," Vaudt elbowed his second as soon as he saw him in what passed for his office, taking in the chair behind the table that functioned as his desk.

  "That's all right."

  "Well?" he looked expectantly at the older man, who looked baffled right back at him.

  "Well, what?"

  "How did it go?"

  He couldn't believe he'd made Kosh blush, but there it was.

  "It was…fine."

  "You sound as if you're talking about a raid that went slightly wrong or a food you discovered you didn't like as much as you thought you did."

  Kosh took a seat somewhat reluctantly, surprised at himself to find that he wanted to discuss this topic at all. "Do you mind talking about…it?"

  "No, I don't. Until yesterday, I was the only other man here who'd experienced it, and I'm glad now that the other man is you."

  Kosh frowned. "Well, I think I bungled it badly." He put his hand to his face for a moment, and, in one breath, he was both reminded about and brought to full attention because of her potent scent, brought to him by the still damp bandage over his wound.

  Vaudt looked amazed. "How the hell did you do that? It's the most natural thing ever! You bred her to you, didn't you?"

  "Yes," he answered shortly.

  "And everything happened as it should?" He didn't give the other man the chance to answer before continuing, "I don't know what you're usually like with a woman, but you have to have a bit of a different approach with an Omega. The barb setting is a little painful for them at first—Emmy used to try to fight me sometimes because she didn't want it, but then it brings her to the most incredible heights." He blushed himself to realize he was waxing so poetically about it and revealing so much private information about his mate. "And you knotted strongly?"

  "Oh, God, yes." He forced himself not to squirm in his seat—perhaps this was not a good subject to discuss with his leader, after all, since all of this talk was making him crave her even more than he already seemed to on a perpetual basis.

  "Good. So, what was screwed up?"

  "Well, several things, the worst of which is that, this morning, she told me that she'd been a virgin, and I had absolutely no idea—never even thought about it—so I made no considerations for it in regards to her. I don't even know if I should have, really, or if that kind of thing shouldn't really concern me, or if I could have made the odds of her breeding better if I had—"

  "Everything about her concerns you—and don't let her tell you that it doesn't." Vaudt leaned back in his chair. "Hmm. That's tough. Well, some t.l.c.—and by that, I mean making her scream harder than she did last night—will smooth that over quickly enough."

  Kosh looked uncomfortable. "I-I, uh, didn't pleasure her last night."

  Vaudt's eyebrows rose in surprise. "Really? I wasn't even sure that was possible."

  "In fact, I punished her, quite severely for disobeying me before I took her the first time."

  "Nothing wrong with that. Again, I would say, that's the natural order of things. You need to stay on top of her, in more ways than one."

  He knew he should have considered that to be funny, but he didn't smile at his commander's rare attempt at humor. "I agree. And I can say that it is absolutely possible not to pleasure an Omega while fucking her. I was so over-stimulated, and frankly, I was thinking about the fact that not only will I be wearing a permanent scar because of her, but she killed Shuck and Din, too. I didn't think I should reward her for doing so."

  Vaudt nodded his head. "That's reasonable, but you have other considerations if you really want to get a son on her."

  "I do, sir, I do."

  "Well, you might want to consult with a breeding doctor—although it is a bit early for that—but as it was told to me, her pleasure is paramount in getting her with child, as is a certain amount of discomfort, which the barb and the knot are a part of—as, I would think, a punishment would be. It's all the same area, after all. What did that man say? I had Emily examined, you see, but it was a while ago." Vaudt was doing his best to remember. "Something about the combination, the balance of the two—pleasure and pain, I believe it was—is the best way to guarantee that her body remains receptive to impregnation."

  "Thank you, sir. I'll remember that."

  "You'll find that breeding her frequently—making certain each time that she is left blissfully exhausted—will help to calm her down, too. She needs to be bred by you—it's what she's born for—often and hard, although I doubt that little spitfire will ever want to admit it."

  "She is that."

  "How did you leave her this morning?"

  "She's bound to the bed, but I took the gag off."

  Vaudt nodded. "I'll send Anja to her to feed her and care for her."

  Kosh looked a little alarmed. "Please tell her not to untie her, under any circumstances, or I cannot vouch for her safety."

  "I will, but she's used to dealing with recalcitrant Omegas. She got more than enough experience with my mate when she was less than enthusiastic about obeying me. When we've dealt with the current mess, you should take a few days and spend them keeping at her, strengthening that bond—physically, mentally, emotionally and psychologically."

  Suddenly, he looked around him and realized they had work to do. "So, there was a failed raid this morning and we've got to go out and pick up the pieces."

  When he arrived home, late that night, Kosh found her right where he'd left her. Anja had caught him as he was walking home through one of the corridors and had given him a report, of sorts.

  "She refused to eat, at first, then, suddenly, I couldn't give her enough. I've gone twice. She needs to drink—you both do. Breeding can dehydrate you—all of that fluid loss, you know. I massaged her shoulders and arms as best I could; she made no complaint about them but they had to have been hurting."

  He'd nodded at the old woman—realizing that he had again missed something important about her—saying, "We will want something more in a few hours."

  She appeared to be asleep. Kosh took his armor off and sat down on the edge of the bed, taking a long moment just to look at her. She was gorgeous, even with the shadows under her eyes from lack of sleep last night and the occasional scars—which were really quite few, in comparison to most women. Watching the slow rise and fall of those beautiful breasts, noting the ribs he could clearly see beneath her almost translucent skin, her tiny waist and the feminine flare of her hips, he could barely believe that she was his.

  His body, however, had absolutely no problem reminding him of that fact and had indeed been doing so quite insistently since the moment he'd left the bed this morning. He wanted to drag her beneath him and bury himself within her, rutting away until he'd soothed that ever present urge to have her—at least for a few moments, anyway.

  But he resisted the urge, although that tested his will more than anything else he'd ever encountered. Eventually, he forced himself out of his reverie and reached up to untie her arms.

  Tura screamed when she awoke to find him bending over her. If she had been unbound, she would have thrown a punch at him with all her might, not that he would have considered it much worse than a bug bite and she probably would have ended up with a broken fist.

  She was going to have to find a different way to get away from him other than her usual fight-her-way-out approach, although that would probably always be her first instinct.

  "You are safe," he intoned softly, seeking to calm her.

  "No, I'm not, but it's cute that you think I am, as if you're just ignoring the fact that you're holding me against my will, that you've beaten me and raped me—"

  Kosh interrupted her without saying a word, hauling her unceremoniously out of bed with an arm ar
ound her waist and bringing her into the bathroom.

  He didn't bother to pretend he wasn't watching her, either, as she was again forced to relieve herself under his watchful eye.

  "Are you still bleeding?" he asked.

  She shrugged. "What does it matter to you?"

  "Answer. My. Question."

  The threat was implied; he certainly didn't have to say it. If she didn't obey him, she'd find herself getting her bottom scourged again, and she had to admit that he was right—that was definitely something to be avoided.

  Just as he was reaching for her, and she knew she was going to end up being punished, she said, "No, I'm not."

  As it was, he reached down and picked her up, tucking her under his arm so that she was facing backwards and her unprotected bottom was readily available to him, the flat of his palm smacking her sharply with every step he took back to the bed.

  Then he rebound her arms, and she had to work not to cry out as her sore muscles were put into the same painful position, easily outstripping the spanking he'd given her, although the spanking had…other, highly unwanted, effects.

  Except when she was peeing, she continued to harangue him about her predicament, all of her barbs appearing to simply bounce off him.

  At least he wasn't still dressed—he'd been dressed all night last night, as if he couldn't bother to expose any other part of him to her but his cock.

  Naked, he was an even more impressive sight. Try as she might, she couldn't seem to keep her eyes off him. Although she tried to gawk at him surreptitiously, she knew she wasn't accomplishing her goal very well. She'd had the idea that his bulk might largely be his armor, but that was not at all true. He was muscle on more muscle, through and through, with heavy thighs and calves, big, seriously ugly feet, and enticingly curved buttocks that she wanted to wrap her hands around and squeeze.

  The ripples on his stomach were chiseled from granite, as were the plates of his pecs. His arms were so thick, they looked like they were just more legs, those long, thick fingers able to span her waist easily. He bore many more scars than she did, but then she wasn't a real soldier and he was, and they didn't dull the constant, distressing buzz of the ache of her attraction to him one bit. His dark hair was very short—which she figured was strategic, so that it couldn't be used as a weapon against him—but he also wore a neatly trimmed beard that was little more than bristle—she'd felt its roughness last night when he'd abraded her nipples with it.

  And his eyes—they were the most disconcerting feature of all—pale blue, clear and intelligent, but with a cruel edge that she'd also endured the truth of.

  Throughout all of her minds meandering, she had kept up a litany of complaints, although when he'd laid his big hand on her stomach, her speech had faltered and come to a stop, she'd picked it up again as soon as he hadn't moved it in a few seconds.

  "Be quiet." He gave the order while looking into her eyes.

  But she ignored it, even knowing that she was risking another session with the brush. She tended to talk when she was nervous, and she was very nervous. Besides, she was making some very valid points, too.

  "When are you going to let me up? I can't stay in this bed forever—"

  Seconds later, she found her mouth full again—not of the leather that had been there before—but something soft and thick that occupied almost all every bit of it, forcing her to keep her mouth just slightly open. Then he tied one of his handy leather straps over the bundle—and between her lips and teeth—to keep it in place.

  Now the only sounds she could make were whines and whimpers, which he much preferred.

  Although, eventually, he did hope to be able to trust her enough to kiss her.

  But, remembering what she'd done to his hand, he had a feeling that might be some time down the road.

  Frankly, he liked the sound of her outraged squeak when he caught her unaware—too preoccupied with the gag to pay attention—and captured her little cunny in his hand. It was sopping wet, and his own straining, surging body wanted desperately to respond to that silent invitation in kind, mindlessly, endlessly.

  But he was going to do his best to follow Vaudt's advice. After all, he'd certainly had success breeding his mate.

  In the end, there was not a spot on her body that has not felt the touch of his fingertips or the gentle—or more insistent probing—of his tongue. Some places were treated to both, and Kosh had to admit that he thought that had been a very good idea.

  He had deliberately held her gaze as he'd said, "There is no part of your body that I don't own, that I will not touch or caress, lick or suck." And then he had suited actions to words, leaving her literally trembling in the aftermath, although he was pretty sure that she had yet to reach fulfillment, which he was not trying—at the moment—to bring her to.

  He wanted to gentle her to his hand, and he intended to continue on the course of touching her frequently and not simply in the most obvious places. She had, at first, of course, fought against it as much as she could, but when he finally moved away from her for the first time in a long time, she had actually whimpered at the loss of contact with him.

  Tura cursed herself for being weak, but her body was becoming more and more his and under his control rather than hers, and there didn't seem to be anything she could do about it. She craved him, and it was already becoming more than just him inside her, which was bad enough, but was rapidly including any interaction with him, his touch, which had been both deeply soothing and incredibly arousing and had succeeded in making her forget to continue to struggle against whatever he did to her.

  And there was little she could do about anything that she was being subjected to since he had claimed her. She had a miserable night and had gotten almost no sleep as he had snored exhaustedly next to her. Her shoulders hurt and she was hungry and tired, but the painful and embarrassing things he had done to her had stirred her up in some unfamiliar and not altogether unpleasant at all way, and her body was so wound up that it wouldn't let her fall asleep.

  She had come to the reluctant realization that he was the cause and the cure for it all, and she couldn't accept either of those conclusions.

  When he had been inside her, he had hurt her in several different ways, but that was far from all he had done. There had been pain—and there was absolutely no doubt about that—especially when she felt some kind of thorn or something digging into a very tender spot on her insides. She had screamed and cried from behind the gag when he'd done that—but it was much more than that, because there had been an almost unimaginable heightening of the arousal she felt that accompanied it, especially when he began to move within her.

  Losing her virginity had been painful, but the feeling of that long, thick pole of his forcing her open around it as he surged into her, stretching her painfully in one way, but ecstatically in another, made her wish that it had all simply been painful. She could have dealt much more easily with that.

  But the entirety of the act—his dominance, his pure possession of her and mostly his physical presence within her body—made her feel right, somehow, toning down, at least a little, of the constant buzz of arousal that seemed to plague her on account of him.

  It was that wholehearted response to him, the way her body hummed to life when he was around, more so when he was touching her, that bothered her. She felt as if her entire body swelled up and became ultra sensitive, even that stern, autocratic voice of his wormed its way into every one of her pleasure centers—and she was rapidly learning that she was made up almost entirely of them, apparently.

  Not even the fact that, when he'd turned her over onto her tummy and had given her a series of twenty smacks with the brush for disobeying him, delivering them very hard and very quickly, without giving her a chance to come to grips with any of them, had dulled her insatiable need for him to fill her. She didn't even cry behind the gag. She simply left her mouth open in a silent scream the entire time.

  And he did the strangest thing afterwards, befo
re he turned her over. He reached between her legs, to the place where he joined their bodies, dipping his fingers into her just slightly. They came away literally dripping her dew.

  Now she was on her back, having been thoroughly, embarrassingly explored, and he stretched out his full length beside her as his hand again found her breasts. He seemed fascinated by them, and—to her horror—they were embarrassingly eager for his attentions, whether gentle and teasing or full of sharp, unkind teeth. He liked to capture just the barest tip with his teeth, then worry the end of the poor nub where it poked through them and was available to his avid tongue.

  The more he touched her, the more of herself she lost, the more of her struggle she lost, because who wanted to struggle against pleasure?

  This time, when he pulled her legs up around his neck, he remained poised for a long moment.

  "Look at me."

  She did as she was told, for once.

  "In a few short months, I fully intend that you will be heavy with my child because I will be at you, day and night. You will become accustomed to my demands, because that is your nature, whether you want it to be or not."

  Tura's gasp as he began sinking into her—which quickly changed to a sharp cry of pain—were both muffled by the gag, but she knew he heard it, not that he let it stop him.

  In fact, as Kosh slowly took up every available inch of her, he reached down, between their bodies, slipping two fingers between puffy folds that were widely spread around him to wet them down, then he brought them up to cover one of the exact spots that had been throbbing and hungering for his touch the most but had yet to be sated

  The first stroke of those long fingers over that eager little button coincided with him setting his hook into her—much like a fisherman does with a fish—and despite the bright pain of it, Tura's eyes practically rolled back into her head with the counterbalancing ecstasy of those demanding fingers, which, once they had found her, never seemed to let up.

  When he began to knot and then rock himself within her, backing out a bit, as if he intended to pull out, stretching her uncomfortably with every powerful motion he made, she was very nearly undone by what he was doing to her. It was too much. If they had been free, her hands would have been pressing against his chest, trying to get him to let up on her. But she couldn't even begin to convey to him that was what she wanted him to do, and he wouldn't have done it, anyway, she sensed. She was breathing heavily and trying to move restlessly—although she really couldn't, beneath his weight—trembling and sweating and reduced to utterly mindlessness.