Page 12 of Stolen By the Submarine

No matter how much control he gives me, I’m powerless against the strength of his body.

I must endear him to me somehow, so when the time comes, he won’t become the heartless devil he claims to be.

I’ll make him want to give me what my omega soul yearns for.

A doting alpha. Arms overflowing with precious babes. Love.

A family. Happiness.

More. Always more.

With him.

Somehow.

Chapter 6

Port

Her shaking worsens with each passing second. The jiggling of her breasts proves too tantalizing, so I spread the fabric of her dress over her to hide the most tempting bits and grab the emergency stash of fluids from the box under the bench. I sling the bag over my shoulder before standing and kicking my discarded clothes and the empty bottles into a pile and heading toward the ladder.

The bottles clink together as I move her from a cradle hold to press her front against mine. I wrap her legs around my waist and her arms around my neck.

“Hold on, little angel. It’s a tight fit.”

My cock jerks at my innuendo, but I ignore both it and her wet, silky pussy brushing against my abdomen and climb the first few rungs of the ladder before reaching above us and twisting the lever.

I swing the hatch upward and secure it to the wall so it stays open. With a few calculated rolls of my shoulders, I work my way through the hole and continue up the ladder until I reach the upper level. When I step onto the floor and pivot away from the ladder, my omega makes a surprised sound in the back of her throat. My shaft pounds in response, but I stride across the space and set her on the counter.

“Don’t move,” I warn before stomping back and locking the hatch.

A panel of glass on the left reveals the wet room. With the tiled floor already filled with water, the narrow bench glimmers under the surface. Dozens of showerheads line the ceiling, and although none are on, the sound of running water echoes through the chamber.

My omega leans over and twists the sink faucet handle. Her stunned expression as she watches crystal clear water splash into the basin fills me with pride.

“How?” she asks, more to herself than to me.

I push her knees apart and press my thighs to the edge of the counter, letting my cock bob against her stomach, but don’t pull her close for fear of losing control again. As she continues to stare at the water, I place the sack on the counter and fish out another bottle of juice.

She jerks when I press the glass to her lips, but dutifully swallows when I cup the back of her head and tip the drink into her mouth.

Her pallor lifts and her cheeks flush pink.

The need to see her in all her naked, ethereal beauty, without blood, guts, and jizz obscuring the paleness of her flesh, pulls a snarl from me. I yank her close and snatch the bag off the counter before sliding open the glass door and stepping down into the bath. After setting the drinks on the ledge, I shut the glass and pin her against the wall beside the shower controls.

I shield her with my body as I adjust the water temperature. When steam fogs the glass and the surface of the bath warms to match the showers, I turn and lower us both onto the bench.

Filth swirls around our hips before the current pulls it toward the grate underneath the shower control panel. I stroke her hair away from her brow and enjoy the slow progression of my seed as it slips down her face, neck, and shoulders. The torn straps of her dress hang over her breasts and the fabric clings to her curves, defying gravity.

Her pink nipples show through the thin material.

I distract my hands by reaching for the liquid soap. Her bottom lip disappears between her teeth as she sneaks one last taste of my seed from her lips before it slips away, but when I squirt a dollop of fragrant soap onto my palm, her nostrils flare and she releases her lip.

Her dainty fingers cling to my shoulders as I shift her out of the direct spray of water and scrub the shampoo over her scalp. I tilt my hips, grinding the underside of my shaft against her soft stomach, and purr in delight as she gives herself to my care. Every hair follicle receives the utmost attention as I draw designs over her head, enjoying the growing suds and slippery glide of my fingers through her locks.

When white froth runs down her brow, I lean forward and support her head in one hand while slicking the water away from her face as the shower rinses her hair.

Pure white from the roots, her hair nearly blinds me in the bright lights.

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