Page 51 of Sins of His Wrath

"I’m not finished," he said, his voice rough, edged with need.

Naya’s hands came up instinctively to push against his chest, but the moment her palms met the solid wall of muscle, she made her decision. Exhaling, she let them drift back to the bed.

She would let him have his Omega. And let her inner Omega have him.

There was no point in fighting it—not now. Resisting was exhausting, and she needed to save her strength for the Solution and getting back home.

She’d play his game and be his whore, for now.

And she would bide her time.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

The hours blurred into a feverish cycle of pleasure and exhaustion.

Akoro took her again on his bed, then dragged her down to the floor to fuck her, then pinned her against the wall and claimed her again. Naya howled and wailed, her cries echoing through his chamber as he bent her, folded her, twisted her to suit his needs. His touch was unrelenting, his hands positioning her as though she were his—a possession, a prize, a thing meant to take whatever he gave.

Even when he carried her to the bathing pool, lowering her into the warm water, he gave no reprieve. Among the fragrant oils and the rising mist, he took her again. Slow, deep, thorough. Her back pressed to the smooth stone edge, her legs wrapped around his waist, his thrusts measured but merciless.

Eventually, she realized there was an undercurrent to it, something dark and smoldering, laced beneath the brutal pace of his claiming. At first, she thought it was anger that she’d dared to escape him. Or worry that she’d been hurt. But as time stretched on, those seemed unlikely.

His fingers lingered too long on her skin, his mouth dragging over the curve of her throat, teeth grazing but never biting. His grip was fierce—possessive—but not cruel. It seemed he wasn’t just claiming her—he was consuming her, as if losing himself in her was the only way to anchor her to him, to leave no doubt where she belonged—right here, beneath him, bound to him.

And her inner Omega rejoiced.

When she finally reached the breaking point of exhaustion, he pulled her against his chest and let her sleep.

Later, servants entered—silent shadows, placing food and drink beside the bed before vanishing without so much as a glance. Akoro watched her closely as she ate, making sure she drank deeply from goblets of cool water. By the time night fell, draping the chamber in velvet darkness, they lay tangled in the sheets, her body deliciously sore, his arms a heavy weight across her waist.

But he was not sated.

The next day, and the next, he took her again.

For days, they did not leave his chambers.

Servants brought fresh clothing she rarely wore and meals for them to share.

They rarely talked, and while there was pleasure in his touch and presence, Naya did no more than was required of her. She accepted him into her body, encouraged his need to claim, and reveled in him, but in quiet moments when his scent clung to her skin and his seed seeped out of her, while her inner Omega was quiet and sated, she turned over the memories of home—of conversations she’d had, and theories she needed to explore when she got the chance.

At times Akoro lifted her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze, as though checking to see if she was still present, and she always stared back at him, making it clear that she was willing. This wasn’t like last time—not her Haze or her withdrawal. Their interaction wasn’t the same. She was maintaining a detachment and he could sense it.

One afternoon he was driving into her with merciless force, his fingers digging into her hips as she lay sprawled on her stomach at the edge of the bed. Arms stretched out, she fisted the sheets, humming with the satisfaction. Her legs dangling, toes barely grazing the floor. Each thrust sent a delicious jolt rippling through her, her body tightening, tumbling toward the inevitable. Pleasure clawed up her core, cresting higher, throbbing hotter. She moaned into the bed, her fingers pulling the sheets, the addictive, primal bliss surging through her.

Suddenly, Akoro pulled out, and, seizing her by the waist, tossed her further up to the head of the bed.

Disoriented, Naya gasped. She sat up, blinking at him as the jagged peak of her pleasure ebbed, leaving her aching. He stood at the edge of the bed, as naked as she was, his slick-coated cock rigid and weighted.

Her body throbbed in protest, desperate for the release he had ripped away. But something in his posture made her pause—the tight coil of tension in his muscles, the rigid set of his shoulders, the way his chest heaved.

"You think this is enough?" he said, frustration in his booming voice.

She inhaled slowly, gathering her scattered thoughts. After so many days in an orgasmic bliss, she couldn’t pull together her thoughts quick enough to address his sudden anger. “What?”

He gestured between them. "You think I’ll be satisfied with this?"

Naya stared at him. "Isn’t this what you wanted?"

“No,” he growled. “I want you to stop this foolishness.”

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