Red's Mate (Alpha's Woman Book 3) Page 6

  But she was too intellectually curious and generally happy to remain depressed for long, despite the circumstances. So, instead of dwelling on what she couldn't do, she decided to concentrate on what she could do.

  Her mind had always been sharp, and she had exercised it as much as she could, so she turned her attentions to doing that in her present situation, observing and memorizing everything she could about the room itself, first, then about him and his routines next. She saw others—guards—twice a day, and did her best not only to remember details about them—when they came to her, who came each time, and what they did—but also to try to befriend them. They were quite obviously not interested in her in the same way he was, and she was curious about why that was.

  "Are you castrati?" she asked one day of the friendliest one, whose name was Dolar.

  "What is that?" he asked, offering her another piece of meat that had been roasted over an open fire and was quite delicious.

  Ebby blushed. "It's when a man no longer has…uh…"

  "Oh, a eunuch. No, I am not. I'm an omega, just like you."

  She was stunned. "You—you can't be."

  Dolar laughed. "There are male omegas, although not a lot. I am one. Why do you think the colonel allows us to see to you? We are not rivals for you."

  "Why not?"

  "Because what my body craves is something that is very nearly as rare as you are—an Alpha female."

  That was a very interesting bit of information. She'd never known that male omegas existed. Ebby wasn't sure how that might help her, but she filed it away, just in case. She talked to him—the other was monosyllabic at best and seemed to be annoyed that he had to babysit her—as often as she could, trying to discreetly acquire as much information as she could about the layout of the camp, the number of soldiers, how many others there were who could guard her—anything that would help her.

  Luckily, Dolar was the social sort and not given to suspicion, except of an Alpha male. He treated her questions as entirely innocuous and answered all of them as fully as he could.

  And when she was alone, she could escape this place, if only in her mind. So, she began to read her favorite books in her head, and, if she tried hard, she could almost pretend that nothing in her life had changed. She was in her tiny makeshift room, surrounded by those who loved her and cared for her and watched over her, sitting on her bed, reading Charlotte's Web or Anna Karenina or any of the other stories she'd read. She didn't know why, but she'd always remembered—like pictures in her brain—anything she'd read. She didn't have a lot of stories to recall—books were not considered a priority, and beyond teaching her to read, few around her cared to read for pleasure.

  But one of the women shared her love of books and would give her one any time she could. Ebby had no idea where they came from—and, as the woman was one of the fiercest warriors in their group and therefore one of her best teachers—she wasn't sure that she wanted to know. But her special abilities along those lines made her an archive, of sorts, and she had tried—with little success—to get everyone to give her as many books as they could.

  Unfortunately, she didn't have as much opportunity to escape that way as she would have liked to have had. Her days usually consisted of being bred—sometimes twice, once before he fed her breakfast by hand and once afterwards—before he left in the morning. A guard would visit her mid-morning to offer her food and water, change the sheets on his bed, and unbind her for ablutions, if needed, during which a gun was always trained on her, at first, anyway, and she wasn't allowed any kind of privacy.

  Since she was kept naked at all times, she was surprised that bothered her as much as it did, but it left her very shy about such things, and that was no better around him, which he tended to tease her about.

  Lunch was delivered and fed to her by one guard or the other, and there was a midafternoon visit, also. Occasionally, he would come to her mid-day—but not often—and more normally, he would arrive late in the day, sometimes looking as if he'd fought a war entirely by himself.

  Those were the times when she knew it was going to be harder for her than it ever was, because instead of releasing her completely from her bonds, he would simply unbind her ankles, turn her over and free himself, sometimes barely managing to do so before thrusting into her fully, in one bone jarring stroke. Of course, her pussy was never not receptive to him, but that didn't make the way he manhandled her any more pleasant for her. Often times, when he was in a mood like this, she would find herself being spanked while he was fucking her, or—almost worse than that—he would hunch over her, reach down and hook her legs over his arms, practically lifting her bottom off the bed, both of which added to her discomfort considerably.

  The latter left her even further open to him than usual, and he used her badly those times. To her horror, even that kind of treatment had her greedy privates grasping at him. During those times, he didn't bother with the niceties—such as they were—at all. There were no big, rough hands on her breasts, milking them almost as thoroughly as she would him later, no callused fingers on nipples that were kept at least as tender and sensitive as the rest of her by his close attentions. And neither his hot, wet mouth and that torturous tongue of his nor his demanding fingers would tease her clit.

  Instead, she would find herself impaled by him and on him with no preparation whatsoever, hooked and knotted within less than a minute. And that, she was horrified to discover, was really all she needed—despite her mewled protests that he was hurting her, the grunts and groans she issued as he pounded relentlessly into her, how she tugged at the silken bonds around her wrists, as if she desperately wanted him to stop, when she thought she'd die if he did.

  Ebby was terribly afraid that he had realized the same thing she had—that on those rough evenings, she came harder than at any other time. The imbalance—not in her favor—of sensations carried her away more quickly, more surely, and with increased intensity.

  It did so for the both of them, it seemed. He was much more vocal that usual then, too.

  Even afterwards, the purr he had begun employing with her at those times was much more like a demanding growl, and the hands that could be gentle and soothing when they wanted to be were, instead, plundering the areas he'd neglected, keeping her contracting and spasming, even though he was no longer inside her, until he could be again. And again. And again, until they both fell into an exhausted sleep, sometimes still partially locked together, with her continuing to grip him and spasm helplessly around him, Ciaran still gushing at her body's behest against the neck of her womb.

  Dinner was late on those nights—often very late—but he wouldn't allow her to skip a meal. On routine nights, though, he would often remove her bonds—sometimes before, sometimes after taking her, but almost always when their meal arrived.

  On one of those nights when he was late and he allowed her to go free, she had a bit of a plan she intended to implement. Ebby usually got up, even if she didn't really want to, any time it was offered just to change her position—but also to put as much physical distance between them as she could, so that his presence wouldn't befuddle her mind as it usually did. Not that that worked, really, but she kept hoping.

  She had already eaten her supper, but he was eating at the table, and she was wandering around the room. She never touched anything—she might have if she was alone, but she wasn't about to while he was there.

  It took her a while, but she worked up her gumption and asked, "What must I do to be considered obedient enough to no longer be bound while you are gone?"

  Ciaran paused with a piece of meat halfway to his mouth, wondering if that was the first voluntary question she'd ever asked of him.

  "Sir," he corrected, taking the bite he'd delayed.

  "What must I do to be considered obedient enough to no longer be bound while you are gone, Sir?" She did her best to keep her tone from sounding snide, although she wasn't sure she'd achieved it.

  Chapter 5

  He didn't a
nswer her immediately, but when he'd finished his meal, he pushed his chair back. "Come here."

  Her immediate thought was to be stubborn and refuse, which he saw clearly in her face, rising to call her over to where he was patting the bed, instead. "Well, that was quick. Come. Back on the bed."

  "No, please, Sir," she protested prettily, almost stomping her foot, but obeying him and coming to stand before him, in the interesting position of looking down at him. Not that it gave her any sense of power over him at all. "What do I have to do? Please tell me!"

  Ciaran looked up at her, gathering her down onto his thigh, his hands automatically beginning to wander, even though he'd had her not ten minutes before. "You must stop resisting me, Ebby. It's very naughty of you."

  "In what way?" she asked, wanting specifics and hating that he was using terminology with her that he'd use with a child.

  His eyebrow rose. "In every way."

  She swallowed a derisive snort and met his eyes. "I-I will try to do that," she vowed, barely able to believe what she was agreeing to.

  "I am supposed to take your word for it?" he asked incredulously.

  "My word that I will try, yes!" She sounded highly insulted. "Do you think I have no honor?"

  He frowned. "I don't believe I've ever met a woman of honor."

  She frowned back at him. "Well, I have met a lot of them, and now you've met one, too."

  Ciaran looked dubious, and Ebby sighed.

  "Even if you don't think I'll do my best to keep my word, you can still punish me if I don't."

  No sooner were the words out of her mouth than she found herself over his lap.

  "No, but I haven't done anything!" she protested, struggling to get up.

  His laugh was the purest of evils. "I'll finish that sentence for you, little girl—yet. Besides, you don't have to have done anything. You are mine, and I am your Alpha—your Lord and Master. I don't need a reason to punish you, although I would point out to you that promising that you would submit to me and then trying to get away from me five seconds later is neither adhering to your vow, nor proving to me that you are a woman of honor."

  Hating the fact that he was right, Ebby immediately relaxed over his lap, heartily wishing she'd kept her mouth shut, but doing her best to assume the role, even if she only intended to do so long enough to escape him. She wasn't sure where she was going to go, but she was going to get herself as far away from him as she could, although she knew she was going to have to make damned sure that she got the timing right—she did not want him finding her once she'd gone.

  She particularly regretted opening her mouth once he began spanking her; however, this time, it was slightly different from before. Although he gave her a long round of swats that left her very close to tears, she felt him adjust her a bit when he paused, and soon his hand had worked its way between folds that never seemed to be anything but puffy and where it found her clit throbbing and swollen as always around him.

  His first pass of three fingers firmly over her made her groan in a manner that he knew was the most natural in the world—but she cut it off in the middle, even though it was terribly hard to do.

  His free hand landed viciously, right in the middle of her cheeks. "No! That, too, is resistance, little omega. You are not allowed to suppress any signs of your discomfort—or your pleasure—as they add considerably to my own."

  She opened her mouth to complain, but then thought better of it. "I'm sorry, Sir."

  Ciaran loved the sound of that, and knowing that she had to work against herself—against her own interests—to say it made it even more delicious to him. "Good girl. If you can maintain that submissive attitude while I am breeding you this time, then I will allow you to remain unbound tomorrow morning, until lunch."

  She knew this had all been her idea, but what he was requiring of her wasn't going to be at all easy for her to accomplish. Ebby firmly set her mind to it, though. She had to be able to get off that bed while he wasn't there in order to find her way out of this frightening, untenable situation. She could feel how much more muddled her mind was getting—which was another reason why she had taken to exercising it when she could—each time he mated with her. She was very concerned that, eventually, the submission that she was going to play act now would become real!

  "Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir," she managed to say with no prompting.

  "Don't thank me yet, Ebby. Considering how completely you resist me every time, I have serious doubts about your ability to earn that reward."

  But she had to—she had to! Her sanity—her very life—depended on it! Tears flooded her eyes, and when she might have dashed them away, preferring that he not know she was weeping as she saw it as a sign of weakness, she instead allowed him to hear them in her voice. "I'm s-sorry, Sir."

  He said nothing more but continued where he'd left off.

  And he was right about just how hard it was for her not to put up any kind of a fight, but allowing herself to vocalize more about what he was doing to her seemed to help—some. This time, she didn't bother to stifle her cries of distress as the spanking went on, every loud, crisp slap singeing her bottom anew. But—because of the hand he'd put right back where it had been between her legs—she was sometimes caught between moaning because he was concentrating the swats on the sensitive tops of her thighs, or because he'd inserted his big thumb up inside her as he continued to brush his fingers determinedly over that all too eager button. Often, her wail started as one thing but ended as the other, switching over midstream, based on what he was doing to her.

  As always, the combination of the two distinct feelings was incredibly potent to her.

  It ended somewhat abruptly, though, when he lifted the both of them up to the top of the bed, stretching himself out next to her as she was lying gingerly on her back, not quite sure where she should put her hands as she didn't often have use of them with him.

  To her great surprise, he cupped his hand around the back of her neck and drew her face nearer to his. "I'm going to kiss you, Ebby. I suggest you remember your goal and keep your teeth to yourself."

  She supposed she couldn't blame him for the warning. If she was willing to stab him with a knife, attempting to bite him when he tried to kiss her must've seemed inevitable. She didn't even have time to say, "Yes, Sir," before his lips covered hers.

  It was the first time she'd ever been kissed, and it was incredible. No doubt because it was with him, although she was loathe to admit it. And it was surprisingly tender, too, almost tentative at first as he nipped gently at her lips before pressing his to hers. Her hands found his chest automatically, palms slipping over the light covering of hair as he pulled back from her slightly.

  "Open your mouth for me."

  Her puzzled expression told him everything he needed to know about her level of experience with such things. "Open my mouth?" she repeated automatically, then grew worried that he would think she wasn't submitting. "I'm not—I just didn't know."

  His voice was the softest it had ever been with her. "I understand, little girl. All of this is new to you."

  She blushed, looking down. "Yes, it is."

  "Which is a terrible pity."

  Her eyes flicked back to his in surprise.

  "Relax and let me lead you. You know that's really what you want to do, anyway. It's what you were born to do, even though you fight against it."

  When he kissed her again, she remembered to leave her mouth open a bit, emitting a slight yelp of surprise when his tongue—which had already known her very intimately—explored boldly past her lips. She might have pulled away at that, but his hand held her still, and he deepened the kiss, although it remained dangerously close to tender, regardless.

  After ending it on a gentle, if passionate note, Ciaran leaned away from her a bit. "What did you think of your first real kiss?"

  "I liked it!" she replied, and it was no lie.

  He took his time with her for once, arousing her carefully, using the knowledge he had be
en cataloging about her since he'd acquired her—which somehow seemed to be becoming a much easier task over time. He suckled hard at her nipples, his tongue strumming frequently over tips he held between his sharp teeth. They were just slightly sore after he'd made her gasp and writhe as he'd pinched them cruelly seconds before, returning to her lips to kiss her frequently as he touched her everywhere—again. Those long arms of his could reach anywhere on her small, delicate person with no effort whatsoever. His touch reinforced his ownership of her, yes, but she also seemed to quiet a bit whenever he did that, finally settling himself for the second time to feast between her legs as he lifted them over his broad shoulders.

  He was determined to test the boundaries of her tantalizing vow by drawing this out as much as he could—relishing his slow possession of her. But seeing her lying there, her body flushed and already highly aroused, breathing in the fevered aroma of her desire, seeing their juices leaking sluggishly out of her, there was nothing he wanted to do more at this moment than to mount and fuck her furiously—submissive or not. And in some ways, he found himself favoring not.

  But he took ahold of himself with both hands and forced himself to back down a bit.

  Again, she looked as if she had no idea where she should put her hands, even after her fingers knotted themselves into his sheets. He had certainly enjoyed the soft, tentative feel of them on his chest a few minutes ago, but he wasn't at all sure just how much of that he could handle.

  "Put your hands above your head and leave them there," he commanded calmly.

  Her eyes flew to his and she gave him an almost frightened look, although she was already moving to obey him. "Are you…are you going to—"

  "No," he interrupted. "This time, I won't allow you to fall back on the crutch of being restrained. You shall have to rely solely on your own will to honor your vow—that you will conform yourself to my will, as by rights you should, being my omega."