Chapter Seven
JEANNE
The second wave hit before his knot had fully released.
One moment Jeanne was lying in Anatole's arms, feathers from the mangled pillow drifting down around them like snow, his spent cock still locked inside her. The next, her body was burning again, need clawing through her veins with renewed urgency.
She whimpered, her hips rolling against his, and his eyes snapped open. Blue, not gold. Still human, still in control.
"Again?" His voice was hoarse.
"I thought—" She gasped as heat spiked through her core. "I thought it would stop after the first time."
"No." His hand slid into her hair, gentle despite the renewed hardness she was already beginning to feel stirring inside her.
"Heat comes in waves. Hours between them at first, then closer together.
Three to five days before it burns itself out.
" He tilted her face up, forcing her to meet his eyes.
"You've never actually experienced a real heat before, have you? "
She shook her head. The suppressants had made her heats manageable—uncomfortable, yes, but nothing like this consuming fire.
"Then let me take care of you." His thumb brushed her cheek. "I'll get you through this. All of it."
His knot was softening now, slipping free with a wet sound that made them both gasp. She whimpered at the loss, at the sudden emptiness, and more come gushed from her, soaking the already-ruined sheets.
"Easy." He rolled her onto her back, settling between her thighs. "I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere."
"I need—" She couldn't finish the sentence. Her body was twisting with need, her inner walls clenching around nothing, desperate to be filled again.
"I know what you need." He positioned himself at her entrance, the head of his cock sliding through her folds. "You need your alpha to mount you. To fill you up. To knot you until you can't remember your own name."
"Yes." The word came out as a sob. "Please, Anatole. I'm so empty."
He thrust inside in one long stroke, and she cried out at the perfect stretch of it.
He was still slick from their previous joining, his cock gliding in easily despite his size.
But this time there was no hesitation, no careful working her open.
Her body was ready for him, had been opened by his knot, and she took him to the hilt with a moan of relief.
"There." His hips were flush against hers, his cock buried as deep as it could go. "Is that what you needed?"
"Yes." She wrapped her legs around his waist, trying to pull him deeper even though there was nowhere left to go. "Don't stop. Please don't stop."
"I won't." He began to move, long deep strokes that made her see stars. "I'll give you everything you need. As many times as it takes."
The second wave was different from the first. There was less desperation, less frantic urgency. He moved with deliberate intent, his hips snapping in a steady rhythm, hitting that spot inside her that made her gasp with every thrust.
"Look at you." His voice was rough with arousal. "Taking my cock so well. Your body was made for this, wasn't it? Made to be filled by an alpha."
She should have hated the words, but her omega nature purred at the praise, at being told she was good, that she was doing well.
"More." She dug her nails into his shoulders. "Harder."
He growled, low and possessive, and his pace increased. The sound of their bodies coming together grew louder, obscene and wet, and she could smell her slick mixing with his seed from before, the scent filling the cabin until she was drowning in it.
"You want it harder?" He grabbed her thighs, pushing them up toward her chest, opening her wider. "Like this?"
The new angle let him thrust deeper, and she screamed. It was too much and not enough all at once, pleasure so intense it bordered on pain.
"That's it." He was panting now, sweat beading on his forehead. "Let me hear you. Let the whole ship know who's making you feel this good."
She was beyond caring who heard. Beyond caring about anything except the thick cock driving into her over and over, the pressure building in her core, the way his knot was beginning to swell again.
"I'm close." Her voice was breaking. "Anatole, I'm—"
"I know." He shifted one hand between their bodies, his thumb finding her clit. "Come for me, Jeanne. Come on my cock."
The combination of his thumb circling her clit and his cock hitting deep inside her pushed her over the edge. She came with a scream, her whole body convulsing, her inner walls clamping down on him like a vice.
"Good girl." He thrust through her orgasm, drawing it out, extending it. "Such a good omega, coming so hard for your alpha."
His knot swelled again, catching on her rim with every thrust, and she was so sensitive from her orgasm that each tug sent aftershocks through her.
"Take it." He thrust deep one final time, his knot locking them together. "Take all of it."
She felt him pulse inside her, hot seed flooding her again, filling spaces that were already full from before. The sensation triggered another smaller orgasm, rolling through her as he continued to come.
When the waves finally subsided, they were both gasping, tangled together, locked as tightly as before.
"How long between waves?" she managed to ask.
"Varies." He shifted them onto their sides, careful not to tug on the knot. "Could be an hour. Could be several. Your body will tell us."
An hour. Several hours. And then it would start again. Days of this, he'd said. Three to five days.
She should have been terrified. Instead, she was relieved.
For three to five days, she didn't have to think about the curse, about the forbidden door, about what would happen after.
For three to five days, there was only this: his body against hers, his knot locked inside her, his scent surrounding her completely.
THE THIRD WAVE CAME two hours later.
Jeanne woke from a light doze to find Anatole's hand between her legs, his fingers sliding through her pussy, testing her readiness.
"Again?" she mumbled, still half-asleep.
"Your scent changed." His fingers circled her clit, gentle and exploratory. "Sweeter. Riper. Your body's preparing for another wave."
As if his words had summoned it, heat began to build in her core. Not the burning urgency of before, but a slow simmer that promised to boil over soon.
"I'm tired." It came out petulant, and she immediately regretted it.
But he just laughed, soft and rough. "I know. But your heat doesn't care if you're tired. It will keep coming until it's satisfied." His fingers slid inside her, two at once, curling to hit that spot that made her gasp. "Lucky for you, I'm here to help."
She was already wet again, slick coating his fingers, easing the way. Her body responded to his touch even though her mind was still foggy with sleep, her hips rolling against his hand.
"That's it." He pumped his fingers slowly, adding a third. "Wake up for me. Let me see those pretty eyes."
She forced her eyes open. The cabin was darker now—evening, maybe, or early night. She'd lost track of time entirely. All she knew was the cycle: wave, knot, rest, wave again.
"There you are." He withdrew his fingers and moved over her, settling between her thighs. "Ready for me?"
"I don't think I'll ever be ready." But she was spreading her legs wider anyway, her body betraying her exhaustion. "You're too big."
"And yet you take me every time." He pushed inside, slower this time, letting her feel every inch. "Your body knows what it needs, even if your mind doesn't."
The stretch was still intense, but her body had learned his shape now. Her inner walls gripped him, pulling him deeper, and when he was fully seated she could feel his cock throbbing against her cervix.
"Tell me about the vineyard." His voice was strained, his control clearly costing him. "The one your family owned."
She blinked up at him. "What?"
"Talk to me." He began to move, slow and deep. "Between waves, while we're locked together. That's when wolves talk. When they share things they wouldn't say otherwise." His hips rolled, grinding against her clit. "So tell me about your home. The one you lost."
She didn't want to talk about home. Didn't want to think about Marc, about her father's betrayal, about everything she'd lost. But his cock was moving inside her, steady and relentless, and the rhythm of it loosened something in her chest.
"It was called Belle Vigne." The words came haltingly at first. "Beautiful Vine. My grandfather built it, before I was born. He planted every row himself."
"What did you grow?" His thumb found her clit, circling in time with his thrusts.
"Red grapes. For wine." She gasped as he hit deep. "We used to make our own. My mother knew all the old recipes, passed down from her grandmother. She would—" Her voice caught. "She would sing while she worked. Old songs about the harvest."
"What happened to her?"
"Died in the field. Heart attack." The guilt rose up, familiar and bitter. "My father blamed me for it. Never said it out loud, but I could see it in his eyes every time he looked at me."
Anatole's rhythm faltered. "He was a fool."
"He was a coward." The words came out sharper than she intended.
"Marc tried to make up for it. Tried to be both mother and father to me.
Taught me everything—how to tend the vines, how to read the weather, how to hide what I was when I presented.
" Her throat tightened. "He died trying to save me from this. From you."
"I know." His voice was low. "I'm sorry."
"Are you?" She looked up at him, this alpha who had bought her, who was buried inside her, whose knot would lock them together in moments. "Sorry he died? Sorry you took me? Or just sorry you got caught?"