Her Broken Alpha - Isoellen Page 0,16

hair away from her face, Darre’s claws caught at the fabric covering her soft, interesting curves. He began to unwrap the marvelous treasure brought to him.

In the deepest parts of his brain, a voice protested. The man whose body the monster inhabited wanted to be faithful to a female who no longer existed, to a dream that was long gone. The man shouted and demanded, trying to push through the monster's control of his body.

But this sweet treasure right here smelled delicious. She needed a mate. He would be that mate. He would take her and fill her with his child. He would breed her.

The man said no.

The monster raged at his refusal.

He went back to the piles of flesh and bone on the floor—men once, but only carcasses now—found one that was whole, and tore it to pieces. Anything in his way, he picked up and smashed against the walls.

He wanted. He hurt. He had waited. He would have.

He silenced the foolish man, pushing him into darkness with his fervor. Elemental and animalistic, the man had given this violent part of himself free rein too often and too long to try to practice control now.

The monster wanted to take a mate, claim her, and soothe his pain inside of her. Unlike the man, he had no reason to refuse.

Covered in the gore of his victory, he went back to his female. She was curled up tight again, avoiding his rage. No, this wouldn't do.

He barked commands at her, then purred—a claiming song. It wasn't long until she was lost to her own instinctive response.

He pulled her open, seeking that wonderous summoning smell and finding it in the valley between her legs. The monster snuffled at her pussy, finding soft, vulnerable, hairless flesh, ready for him to kiss and taste. He lipped the intimate skin of her slit, discovering a flow of golden, salted arousal.

He’d been starving for this. This flavor; the cycle of life; the testimony of a female ready for a male. Her taste was the answer to all his emptiness. She was his other half, and she would make him whole.

His cock throbbed. The female grabbed a handful of his hair and tried to push him away, but then she pulled him near and bucked, whimpering and whining.

He put a hand on the middle of her softly rounded belly to still her while his other hand commanded her leg, splitting her open. Salivating with anticipation, he positioned his face and shoulders deep between her thighs.

He lapped with long strokes of his tongue. There was no finesse to the action, no goal but to devour every bit of her he could. Nothing had fed the monster like this before. He would never have enough.

Darre licked and she began to keen a beautiful howl of a song. He focused on the interesting shape at the top of the slit—a tiny pearl of tissue—and on how her sounds changed when he worked his tongue there.

The delicious female squirmed, and her honey coated his chin when he gently suckled and discovered a rhythm that made the female sing her song again and again.

This was what he was made for, what he should have been doing all along. This was what the man said he'd never be allowed to have.

I am a dead thing walking, the man said.

I am here, the monster answered. I am alive. This is mine.

He soaked himself in that golden slick, scented himself with it so that it covered the stench of his dead enemies and the memories that haunted him. He plunged his tongue deep, seeking more. He needed to own it, to live inside of it.

His leather pants stuck uncomfortably to his crotch and thighs, the sheer quantity of his own pre-cum saturating them. Always sore and angry, endlessly unsatisfied, his cock throbbed with renewed pain at the sight of this treasure.

He tried to pleasure himself all the time, but nothing eased the hurt of having no womb to tunnel through. Masturbation never ended in release. No matter what he did, he only felt like his balls were being twisted in a vise. With the man's female stolen from him, they'd both been stuck in this cursed fucking state of readiness for so long it had become a way of life.

Her legs were spread wide, her little hands clenching and grasping at air. She watched him, pupils so blown he couldn't tell their color. She was making noises—speaking, he thought. But all he heard was her