Page 817 of Fated Mates of Breeder Prison

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“Don’t do this!” I cried. “Please!”

“Begging will get you nowhere,” he insisted.

He carried me to the bed and placed me on it face first.

I made to get up but his powerful hand held me pinned down.

I struggled, flailing, but it was no use.

It was like a cat with a mouse.

I was helpless.

He raised my negligee above my ass and laid down on top of me.

I felt his cock prod at my pussy.

I tightened it as hard as I could.

Maybe if he couldn’t fit, he wouldn’t want me, I prayed.

His body weight was heavy and, with a deep sigh, he lay on top of me.

And then didn’t move.

As his snores rumbled through the room, I realized he had fallen asleep.

* * *

Asleep? Now?

I pushed and wriggled, trying to slide out from under him.

At last, I managed to free my legs and then, with a bit more effort, the rest of my body.

I was free, but the ordeal left me disheveled and panting.

An idea popped into my mind: the champagne!

It was the only explanation.

The liquid gold that had tasted so divine must’ve had something in it that knocked Fleth out cold.

I looked at him, sprawled on the floor, and for the first time since I’d met him, he seemed vulnerable.

The cruel, cunning predator was now a snoring heap, giving me a chance to make my escape.

As I tried to stand, my knees felt wobbly and the room spun.

Another realization hit me:

If the champagne had knocked out Fleth, what had it done to me?

I had to act quickly.

I ran for the door and beat on it but it was no use. “Computer,” I said, “open door.”

“Negative,” Computer said. “You lack the proper authority.”

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