Chapter 3
I cling to his shirt, afraid of falling into the abyss as he weaves through the maze of metal. Too tall and broad to walk upright in the narrow hall, he leans forward and angles his hips, and when my head finally stops spinning, I realize he does so to prevent me from bashing my knees into the walls.
Without me in his arms, he wouldn’t have to stoop so low, but he moves with such grace I take far longer than I normally would to notice.
He steals a sliver of my omega heart with his small display of care.
The Sisters always warned me against alpha brutality, but they never mentioned the potency of alpha kindness.
I have no defenses against him. Violence would be easier to handle.
With his massive hand holding my head to his chest, his muscular arm blocks most of my view, but flashes of red light reveal well-kept, painted walls and legible signs. The steady beat of his heart against my ear tempts me to nuzzle into him, but with only his shirt between my sex and his abdominals, I’m too aware of my predicament.
Despite the terror flowing through my veins, his promise to use me for years comforts me, even though a large part of me doesn’t believe him.
My entire life, I’ve only seen and heard stories of alphas using their strength for violence. The crazed men swarming my cage represent my expectations.
Maybe it’s because I’ve spent years hardening my heart against what The Sisters taught me to expect in the rutting room, but my fear seems so much easier to handle than the hope sneaking into my heart.
An embarrassing squeak bursts from my throat as the ground disappears out from under The Submarine.
He lands on the lower level, ignoring the ladder built into the wall, and continues without missing a stride.
I don’t want to give him access to my heart, but if he were the same as the other alphas, he would have savaged me on the deck of the slave market. I can’t ignore the restraint he’s shown, even if I hate how easily he could decimate my soul.
Hope hurts. That’s why I buried it so long ago.
I tell myself that living is enough, but to have an alpha claim and care for me would fulfill my omega heart’s deepest desire.
He mentioned offspring. I want younglings with every fiber of my being, but sourness coats my tongue.
The Sisters wanted to breed me, but any babe I birthed would belong to them. They never planned to allow me to raise my younglings.
I blink back tears as The Submarine stops and removes his hand from my head. My mind races as he spins the handwheel at the center of a large airtight hatch.
I don’t want to be his broodmare if he plans to take my younglings away from me, but I can’t imagine this giant, virile male suffering the fragile existence of a babe in his den.
It’s safer to send my younglings out of reach, where he can’t hurt them. Just the thought of separating from my theoretical children makes my heart ache, but I’ll accept his violence alone if it means protecting my offspring.
I jolt out of my musings as he ducks through the hatch into a tiny compartment. He shuts the first door and cranks the wheel until it seals with a hiss. I loosen my grip on his shirt, but duck closer to his chest to avoid scraping along the wall as he pivots to face the other door.
After breaking the watertight seal, he swings the inner hatch open and steps inside.
My core clenches at the delicious pheromones permeating throughout the space. I fill my lungs and hold my breath to savor the scent, but the stench of death wafting from my body ruins the rich bouquet.
He flicks a switch and bathes the room in painfully bright fluorescent light. I flinch and hold my eyes closed as he spins and seals the hatch.
My fear neither heightens nor diminishes as he locks us away from the world. The danger hasn’t changed. The sealed door is nothing compared to the submerged vessel. By hauling me onto his ship, he’s already ensured I have no escape.
I study the space through my lashes as The Submarine sits on one of the two benches lining the walls. Gear hangs from hooks in the ceiling and boxes sit under the benches. The rigid organization unsettles my omega instincts while my logical side appreciates the practicality.
A built-in ladder on the wall opposite the door leads to both an upper and lower level, each with their own watertight hatch, but with levers instead of wheels.
Cold air replaces the arms wrapped around me, but before I can react, the alpha pushes me onto my knees between his legs and uses my hair as a leash to lift my face toward his.
“Take out my cock.”
His guttural voice arrows into my abdomen and broadcasts his barely leashed desire while his stiff shoulders and tensed thighs confirm his waning control.
Mouthwatering musk punches into my nostrils. More enticing than the dessert I once earned from The Head Sister, the wet spot on his thigh wafts spicy cinnamon and alpha power.
Yearning fills me. Instinct demands a taste. I lean down and run the flat of my tongue over the soaked fabric.
His groan pulls me deeper into need.
I hiss as he tightens his grip on my hair.
“Don’t test me, angel. Take out my cock and put it in your mouth before I rut you on the floor,” he rumbles.
My core clenches. Pinching pain plagues my insides. Wetness seeps onto my folds. Saliva floods my mouth.
My hands move without permission. I open his belt with shaky fingers and pop the first button free. The straps of his thigh holsters scratch my shoulders, adding another layer of sensation to my already overstimulated nervous system. The cold floor under my shins barely registers through the heat emanating from his body. His thicker scent dominates my olfactory system, making the stench of blood and death less cloying.
I pull down his zipper. Anticipation and dread war within me.
He lifts his hips. I hook my digits into his waistband and lower his trousers until the holsters prevent me from continuing.
His cock slips free of his pants and bobs in front of my face. I stare in an overwhelmed stupor at his partially engorged knot and thick, veiny shaft.
There’s no way that monstrosity will fit inside my body. I’ll die. Even the first few inches would split me in two. I’ll never survive the entire length and the knot at his base.
Disbelief spears through me and a ridiculous half laugh, half scoff, escapes my chest. The Sisters must have never seen an alpha’s cock if they thought I could survive being rutted and knotted by a weapon like this.
“Mouth, angel. Now,” he snarls and guides my head toward his tip.
As I frantically search for an escape, I notice his fist clenched on the bench beside him. The floor drops out from under me as I glimpse his scarred knuckles.
My omega self wants his protection. His strength. His control.
If taking his cock into my mouth will earn me even a fraction of his power, I’d be an idiot to resist.
And if I lose myself to bliss the moment his taste hits my tongue, I blame it on my encroaching estrous.
Because I can’t allow this alpha into my heart. He may dominate my body and dictate my future, but I must protect my sanity. If I’m to survive through the years to come, I’ll need every ounce of mental fortitude.
He’s too potent. Too addictive. Too delicious.