Breeder by Cara Bristol Page A

longest moment he peered into her eyes. She ached for him with a ferocity that caused her knees to tremble. His scent, so warm, so him , filled her nose, her lungs, her being. She floated on a cloud of his subtle musk and spice, the fragrance of hope. He grabbed her, clutched her against his broad chest, and she discovered his heart raced too. Against her lower abdomen, his erection laid proof to his warning he intended to “take her,” but instead of stirring alarm, his arousal caused yet more yearning, more wetness to pool between her legs. More aching.
    He cupped her head and flattened his other hand on her back. For the longest time, he held her. Then he brushed his mouth against her hair. Her temple. No one had ever touched her so with such tenderness.
    Whisperflies. Fields of them took flight. So many that she could rise and drift away on the draft of their wings. She clung to Alpha’s hard biceps. She didn’t care if the coupling hurt.
    With his lips, he grazed her jaw. Her cheek. Her eyelids, which fluttered shut.
    “Say my name.”
    “Dak,” she whispered.
    His breath warmed her face for an instant; then he pressed his lips to hers and stuck his tongue into her mouth.
    Omra’s eyes sprang open. He stared back, his gaze lit by that blinding fire, but he continued to move his mouth, to lick, to stroke. She closed her eyes. Sensation spiraled. Awkward. Foreign. Intimate. Satisfying. He tightened his arms around her and pressed a little harder, continuing the invasion.
    When he broke off, she felt bereft, her lips swollen.
    “That’s called a kiss,” he said hoarsely.
    “A kiss?” She practiced the alien word. “Do it again.”
    She’d issued an order to Alpha! But no chastisement came, and he placed his mouth on hers once more, filling her with his scent and taste. He was a rare liquor, reserved for those of the highest rank, the kind served to Alpha himself. And she’d been permitted a goblet from which she’d been granted freedom to drink her fill. She threw off caution and mimicked his movements, twined her tongue around his.
    He groaned, a rumble of such pleasure and satisfaction, her knees did buckle, but before she could collapse at his feet, he lifted her into his arms and in two strides deposited her on the sleeping platform. And he shocked her yet again when he proceeded to disrobe. His uniform shirt fell away like it had been whisked off by a village magician, and his booted foot coverings and pants followed.
    She stared. Alpha proved a sight to behold. Coiled muscle, mass, and power personified. Without the cover of clothing, his shoulders were even broader, his chest wider. Sinewy arms appeared like thick tree branches, his thighs like logs. And between them? A massive specimen jutted forth. No wonder penetration had hurt. She marveled his member had fit inside her at all.
    Instead of anxiety, anticipation welled, causing trembling and lightheadedness as if the room spun. She wanted to touch his manhood, to clasp his shaft, rub her fingers over the cap, even lap at the man essence beading at the opening, but courage and boldness deserted her. She raised her gaze to his face and found him observing her.
    “I will do what I can to minimize your pain.”
    “It is all right.” She smiled to reassure him. He looked so conflicted.
    “Take off your shift.”
    She disrobed, then rolled to her side and folded it to conceal the embarrassing wetness that had seeped out of her and darkened the fabric.
    The Commander growled, not a pleasured-filled noise but a shocked, furious one that shot fear through her. What had she done to displease him? He grabbed her thigh and flipped her onto her stomach. “What is this?” He traced a line across her back, an area still tender after yesterday’s chastisement. Corren had been angry, brutal. He’d discovered her in the stable feeding forbidden scraps to the beasts. He’d dragged her outside, cut a branch off a tree, and stripped it of its leaves.
    “I do