So you did. #5
“Isn’t it?” His voice rumbles through me where my body presses against his.
His hand slides from my hair down to cup the nape of my neck, holding me steady.
“Eight years you’ve been carrying everyone else’s burdens.
Eight years of being strong because no one else would be.
Eight years of standing alone against the dark while everyone you protected leaned on you and never once asked if you could bear the weight. ”
My eyes are burning. I realize distantly that I’m crying—tears tracking down my cheeks to drip onto his bronze skin.
“Don’t you want to rest, Hannah?” His arm tightens around my waist, and I feel his cock hardening against my belly—that impossible thickness, those ridges I’ve felt through clothes for weeks.
My hips roll against him without my permission, seeking friction, seeking anything.
“Don’t you want someone else to be strong for once? ”
Yes.
God help me, yes.
The answer rises up from somewhere beneath my resistance, somewhere I’ve been trying not to acknowledge since the first time he pinned me to the training mat.
I’m so tired. So fucking tired of fighting, of carrying, of being the one who holds everything together while everyone else gets to fall apart.
And he’s offering to hold me.
“I hate you,” I whisper, even as my body grinds against his cock through our clothes, even as my tears soak into his skin.
“I know.” His hand slides down from my neck to grip my ass, pulling me tighter against him.
I feel every inch of that massive shaft pressed against my belly, and my mouth goes dry imagining it inside me—stretching me, filling me, finally giving my body what it’s been screaming for.
“Hate me all you want. But let me take care of you.”
I should say no. Should push him away and crawl back to my cold bath and fight this heat until it breaks me completely.
That’s what the old Hannah would do—the Hannah who walked into his arena knowing she would lose, who chose captivity over letting three girls be taken, who has never once in her life let someone else carry her weight.
But that Hannah is drowning. Has been drowning for eight years, maybe longer, and she’s so tired of keeping her head above water.
“Please,” I hear myself whisper.
The word hangs between us for a long moment. His golden eyes flare with something that looks like triumph and hunger and absolute possession—but underneath all of it, something else. Something that almost looks like satisfaction that goes deeper than just winning.
“Good girl,” he murmurs. “Come with me.”
He scoops me up like I weigh nothing—one arm under my knees, the other supporting my back, lifting me against his chest as easily as I’d lift a child.
I should struggle. Should fight. Should do something other than melt into his arms like I’ve been waiting my whole life for someone strong enough to carry me.
But his arms feel so solid around me. His scent is everywhere, filling my lungs, soaking into my skin. And I’m so tired of resisting something that feels, in this moment, like exactly what I need.
I bury my face against his chest and let him carry me toward whatever comes next. Chapter 12: Karax
She’s finally mine.
I carry her through the corridors of Stone Court, her fevered body burning against my chest, her face pressed into my skin like she’s trying to drown in my scent.
She’s stopped fighting. Stopped pretending she doesn’t want this.
The heat has stripped away her defenses, leaving nothing but raw need and the desperate hope that I’ll give her what she’s been craving.
I will.
But not the way she thinks.
The claiming chamber is deep in the mountain—a room I’ve prepared for this moment, carved from living stone and lit by phosphorescent crystals that cast everything in a dim golden glow.
The bed dominates the space, massive even by Fae standards, piled with furs and silks that have been saturated with my scent for weeks.
There are no windows. No other exits. Once I seal the door behind us, she’ll have nowhere to go.
Nowhere except underneath me.
I lay her on the bed, and she whimpers at the loss of contact—reaching for me with trembling hands, her gray eyes glazed with heat and need. Her training leathers are soaked through with sweat and slick, clinging to her body in ways that make my cock throb against my breeches.
“Please,” she breathes. “It hurts—”
“I know.” I step back from the bed, letting her feel the distance between us. Letting her understand that relief comes when I decide it does. “Take off your clothes.”
She hesitates. Even now, even burning alive with need, some part of her resists. That warrior’s pride, clinging to the last shreds of dignity.
I let my voice drop into command. “Now, Hannah.”
Her hands shake as she reaches for the laces of her training leathers.
She fumbles with them, fingers clumsy with fever, and I watch without helping.
Watch her struggle to undress herself for me because I told her to.
The submission is as important as the act—her choosing to obey, even when every instinct screams at her to fight.
The leathers come off first, peeled away to reveal sweat-damp skin flushed pink with heat.
Then her breast band—soaked through, clinging to nipples so hard and swollen I can see them straining against the fabric.
She pulls it over her head with a gasp, her breasts spilling free, and I watch her shiver as the cool air hits her overheated skin.
Her smallclothes are last. She hooks her thumbs into the waistband and hesitates, her face flushing darker.
“All of it,” I say. “I want to see what belongs to me.”
She pushes them down her hips with a sound that’s half-moan, half-sob, and then she’s naked before me.
She’s beautiful.
Lean muscle and soft curves, strength and vulnerability laid bare in the golden light. Her breasts are full and heavy, nipples flushed dark with arousal, rising and falling with each ragged breath. Her stomach is flat and firm, the muscles twitching beneath her skin. And between her thighs—
Between her thighs, she’s glistening. Her cunt is swollen and flushed, slick dripping down to pool on the furs beneath her.
The scent of her arousal floods the chamber, so sweet and desperate it makes my mouth water.
I’ve been breathing her in for weeks, but this is different.
This is an omega in full heat, her body screaming for something only I can give her.
She looks up at me with those steel-gray eyes, and I see the warrior still in there—fighting even now, hating herself for wanting this. Hating me for making her want it.
Good.
I want her aware. Want her to remember every moment of what’s about to happen. Want her to know exactly who’s claiming her, and exactly how thoroughly she’s being claimed.
“Spread your legs.”
A flush creeps up her chest, painting her skin in shades of rose. “Karax—”
“Did I ask you to speak?” I unbuckle my belt slowly, letting her hear the slide of leather through the loops. Her eyes track the movement, her tongue darting out to wet her lips. “Spread your legs. Show me what belongs to me.”
She obeys. Slowly, reluctantly, her thighs part to reveal her cunt—glistening wet, swollen with need, the inner lips flushed dark and parted like a flower.
I can see her opening clenching around nothing, desperate for something to fill it.
The scent intensifies as she spreads wider, flooding my senses until I can barely think.
“Wider.”
She spreads further, her face burning with shame even as her hips tilt toward me involuntarily. She’s so empty. So desperate to be filled. I can see her pussy fluttering, can see fresh slick dripping onto the furs beneath her with every clench.
“Touch yourself.”
Her eyes go wide. “What?”
“You heard me.” I strip off my shirt, baring my chest to her hungry gaze. I see the way her eyes trace the lines of my muscles, the silver veins pulsing beneath bronze skin. “Touch that pretty cunt. Show me how desperate you are.”
Her hand trembles as it slides down her belly. I watch her fingers find her clit—swollen and hard, peeking out from its hood—and watch her whole body jerk at the contact. A moan escapes her lips, high and desperate.
“That’s it.” I unfasten my breeches, freeing my aching cock.
Her eyes lock onto it immediately—onto the thick shaft, darker bronze than the rest of my skin, ridged with spiraling patterns that catch the golden light.
The flared head is already leaking, glistening with precum.
I see her throat work as she swallows, see the fresh gush of slick that floods from her cunt at the sight.
“Keep going,” I tell her, wrapping my hand around the base of my shaft. “Make yourself feel good. Show me what you’ve been doing alone in my bed, thinking about me.”
Her face flames, but her fingers keep moving—rubbing her clit in shaky circles, her hips rocking up into her own touch.
Little moans escape her lips, desperate sounds she can’t hold back.
But her eyes keep returning to my cock, watching as I stroke myself slowly, letting her see what she’s about to take.
“Please,” she gasps after a few minutes, her whole body trembling. “I need—”
“What do you need?” I move closer to the bed, close enough that she can feel the heat radiating off my body. “Tell me.”
“You.” The word comes out broken, wrenched from somewhere deep. “I need you inside me.”
“Inside you where?” I kneel on the bed between her spread thighs, and she moans at just my proximity—at the scent of me flooding her lungs, at the heat of my body so close to hers.
I wrap my hand around the base of my cock, dragging the head through her soaked folds, and she cries out, her back arching off the bed.
“Say it, Hannah. Tell me exactly what you need.”