Page 17 of Stolen By the Submarine

I don’t want to.

I peek out of the bundle but keep my nose and mouth covered. My muffled growl holds so much feminine fury my hackles rise, triggering a deeper layer of instincts hidden within me.

With the promise of retaliation in every move, The Submarine rubs the blanket over his chest and shoulders, never taking his eyes from mine.

Chills and heat alternate down my spine. My abused insides throb in remembered pain, but I can’t back down from the challenge. I need the tension between myself and this giant alpha.

Every moment he caters to my will is another moment I dig my claws deeper into his heart. Maybe, with enough intensity, I can break through his defenses and become indispensable, not only in body, but also in spirit.

He’s already stolen my heart.

I need him. I want him.

He’s mine.

My alpha. My Submarine. My Port.

Mine.

Forever.

Chapter 8

Port

I toss the blanket at her and snatch another off the nearest pile.

She breaks eye contact to bury her face in the new fabric, but after a few sniffs, she lifts her head again.

“More,” she snarls.

My cock pulses, and wetness seeps from my tip. I fist my shaft through the blanket and groan as her eyes flare. Need reddens her cheeks. She kneads the mound in her arms.

“Not until you start nesting, little angel,” I say, shifting the fabric to mark a different section and to prevent myself from giving it to her.

She glares at me for half a second before another cramp distracts her. Before the pain ebbs, her body moves, her estrous in full force and leading her movements.

With lithe grace, she spreads the freshly scented blanket over the mattress before layering the sheet over the top. Kneeling in the center, she sticks the pillow between her legs and grinds her leaking pussy against it.

Envious beyond belief, I throw the newly marked blanket at her and snatch a pillow off the stack behind me.

As I smear precum over both sides, she fluffs the slick-covered pillow into place near the head of the bed and scrunches the third blanket near the foot.

Her constant low rumble pleases me to no end. She sinks deeper into instincts, letting out little sounds of delight as I drop item after item onto her head. After clearing two stacks—one of folded linen and the other pillows—curiosity gets the better of me and I grab the basket of odds and ends near the ladder.

I rub my scent over a doll with no face, three stuffed animals—each missing at least one limb, if not all four—a rug, and an oddly shaped cushion.

When she runs out of new things to stack, she growls and looks up from her creation.

Confusion wrinkles her brow until mirth lights her face. She bites her bottom lip before crawling to the edge of the mattress.

“More?” she asks.

Her eyes flit from my face to the objects in my arms.

“Say please,” I growl.

She licks her lips. My cock jerks.

---