Chapter 6
"Mine," Vorak growled, but it wasn't his voice. Deeper. More animal than man.
Before I could respond, he flipped me onto my stomach, pulled my hips up. No preparation, no warning—he thrust into me hard. The stretch burned, but my body remembered him, adjusted quickly.
"Vorak—"
He snarled, one hand pressing between my shoulder blades to keep me down while he pounded into me. Each thrust was punishing, primal. His knot was already swelling.
But even lost to the rut, some part of him remembered I was precious. His hand moved from holding me down to my clit, rubbing. The feel of his cock hitting deep and his fingers working me had me coming within minutes.
"Good," he growled. "Again."
He didn't stop. Didn't slow. His knot swelled, locking us together, but he kept grinding against me, his fingers never leaving my clit. I came again, screaming into the furs.
"More," he demanded.
We were knotted for over an hour. He made me come six times before his knot reduced, each orgasm forced from my oversensitive body. When he finally pulled out, I collapsed.
But he wasn't done.
He flipped me onto my back, entered me again immediately. This position let me see his face—beautiful and terrifying in his loss of control. His tusks seemed longer, his muscles more defined. Pure predator.
"Please," I gasped, not sure if I was begging for mercy or more.
He chose more. His thrusts were relentless, his hands everywhere—pinching my nipples, gripping my throat (carefully, even in rut he was careful with my air), spreading my legs wider. When his knot swelled again, I was coming around it, my body trained already to respond.
"Breeding," he growled. "Fill you. Make you round with my young."
The crude words, the way he held me down, the complete possession—it should have terrified me. Instead, I came harder, clenching around his knot.
"Yes," I gasped. "Yours. Breed me."
He roared, thrusting as his knot locked us tight. This time we were connected for two hours. Two hours of crashing waves of pleasure until I sobbed.
Then, to my relief, Vorak went into a form of torpor, and I rifled through the basket of food and drink that had been left for us. After downing another of the potions, Vorak woke, and we were mating again.
When evening came, I'd lost count of how many times he'd taken me. My body was one large ache. But still he continued.
He took me against the wall, my legs around his waist, his strength holding me up easily as he pounded into me. On the floor by the fire, the heat making our skin slick with sweat. Bent over his chair, standing, kneeling.
Each time his knot lasted longer. Each time he wrung impossible orgasms from my exhausted body.
But I noticed something: even lost to rut, he never hurt me. His grip bruised but never damaged. His bites marked but never broke skin. When I whimpered from oversensitivity, he'd growl but his touch would ease, focusing on making me wet again before taking me.
"Water," I gasped during a brief moment when his knot had released.
He brought water to my lips, supporting my head while I drank. I saw some spark of recognition in those black eyes—he knew I needed care, even if he couldn't stop taking me.
As the first day ended and night fell, he carried me to bed. I thought maybe he'd let me rest.
I was wrong.
He arranged me on my hands and knees, entered me from behind again. But this time, he pulled me up against his chest, one arm banded around me, the other playing with my clit.
"Mine," he growled in my ear. "No one else. Ever."
"Never," I agreed, then cried out as he made me come again.
His knot swelled, locking us in this position, me held against him, surrounded by his body. He couldn't thrust, but he didn't need to. "Good mate," he rumbled. "Taking me so well."
The praise made me clench around him, triggering another orgasm.
We stayed locked for three hours this time. Three hours of him holding me, making me come, filling me with his seed. We slept, or maybe I just passed out, delirious from exhaustion and pleasure.
Iwoke to Vorak’s mouth between my legs, tongue working me. My body responded despite exhaustion, despite soreness. I came before fully awake, crying out.
"Awake now," he growled, then mounted me.
Day two was different. Where day one had been frantic claiming, day two was about possession. He took me slower but deeper. His knot lasted longer—sometimes four or five hours. He'd lock inside me and then just... stay. Holding me, grinding slowly.
"Feel that?" he growled. We were spooned together, his cock locked deep inside me. "Feel how you grip me? Made for me. Only me."
"Only you," I agreed, then gasped as he made me come again with just the feel of his knot against my inner walls.
But the most intense moment came in the afternoon. He'd been knotted inside me for hours, my body limp with exhaustion, when suddenly his entire body went rigid.
"Vorak?" I whispered.
For a moment, copper flickered in his eyes. "Kaela," he groaned, his voice almost normal. "I'm sorry, I can't—I can't stop—"
"Don't stop," I said, reaching back to touch his face. "I'm okay. I'm yours."
"Hurts you—"
"No. Makes me whole." I clenched around his knot, making us both gasp. "I need this too. Need you."
The copper faded, black returning, but something had changed. His touch became more deliberate. Still primal, still desperate, but when I whimpered from oversensitivity, he'd slow (though he couldn't stop). When I gasped from a particularly good angle, he maintained it.
"Beautiful," he growled. "My beautiful mate."
That night, he took me in the bath. The hot water soothed my aching muscles even as he claimed me again. His knot swelled while I was seated on his lap, facing him, and I could see his face—savage and beautiful in his need.
"Mine," he said, but it was almost a question.
"Yours," I confirmed, kissing him despite his tusks. "Always yours."
I stopped fighting it. Stopped trying to maintain any control. I submitted to the rut, to him, to my own body's desperate response.
"Please," I begged as he mounted me again. "Please, Vorak. Need you."
He growled approval, entering me slowly this time. "Good mate. Asking for it."
I ground back against his knot, begging for more.
"Look at you," he growled as I positioned myself on hands and knees without being told. "Desperate for my cock. Desperate to be bred."
"Yes," I admitted. Because I was. The rut had triggered something primal in me too. I needed him as desperately as he needed me.
This partnership, this mutual need, drove him wild. He took me harder but also more carefully. His knots lasted up to six hours, but he'd hold me through them, praising me, making me come gently when I got too sensitive for rough touch.
The most intense knotting came that evening. He'd been locked inside me for five hours, my body limp with exhaustion, when I felt it—our bond. Not just physical but something deeper. Magic from the ceremony, strengthened by the rut.
I felt his need, his fear of hurting me, his joy at my acceptance. And he felt me—my trust, my body's complete acceptance of his.
"Mate," he growled.
"Mate," I agreed.
We came, the bond snapping into place. I felt his orgasm as he felt mine, doubled sensation that left us both gasping.
"Last day," he growled, and I heard a hint of his true voice underneath. "Make it count."
He made love to me. Even lost in rut, he made love to me. Slow, deep, watching my face. His knot swelled gradually, giving my body time to adjust. When we locked, it was perfect—no pain, just fullness.
"Love you," he growled. "My mate. My perfect mate."
"Love you too," I gasped, then came around his knot.
He took me only four times that last day, but each time was profound. The claiming was complete—I was his, and he was mine. Our bodies knew each other. I could take his knot without hesitation, come from just the pressure of it, milk him dry with my internal muscles.
As the fourth day ended and the rut began to break, he was still knotted inside me. I felt the change. His body relaxed, his desperate need sated. The knot softened.
"Kaela?" His voice was hoarse but his own.
"I'm here."
"Did I—are you—"
"I'm perfect," I assured him. "We're perfect."
When his knot released, we both gasped at the loss. Four days of almost constant connection ending.
He began checking me over, horrified at the marks covering my body. But I stopped him with a kiss.
"They're badges of honor," I said. "Proof I'm yours."
"Proof you're extraordinary," he corrected, then gathered me against him. "Most said you wouldn't survive a day."
"I didn't just survive," I said, curling into him. "I loved it."
He groaned. "Don't say that. The next rut isn't for a year, but if you keep talking like that—"
I laughed, exhausted but happy. "Let me heal first. Then we can discuss how much I loved being claimed by my beast of a husband."
"Your beast," he agreed, pressing a kiss to my temple. "Always your beast."