Page 64 of Dragon's Captive

I want to scream denials, but what emerges is a broken moan as another wave of venom-laced pleasure rips through me. Each brutal thrust sends his ridged cocks dragging against internal spots that make my vision white out. The twin invasion should be agony, but the venom transforms everything to pleasure so intense it borders on torture.

I fight with everything I have—biting my lip until I taste blood, focusing on my hatred, my rage, my humiliation—but my body betrays me completely. Five years of suppressed omega biology erupts in violent surrender, accepting Nezzar's claiming with enthusiastic abandon. My inner walls clench around his invading cocks, rippling with hunger I can't suppress. My hips rock back to meet each thrust without my permission, my spine arching to present myself more fully. My scent gland throbs at my neck, swelling and pulsing in submission display I can't control, leaking omega pheromones that hang heavy in the humid air.

"Stop fighting what you need," Nezzar hisses against my ear, his forked tongue flicking against the sensitive shell in teasing counterpoint to the brutal invasion below. "Your resistance only makes this sweeter."

"I hate you," I manage between gasps, the words losing all venom as they dissolve into a moan. "I hate what you're—ah—doing to me."

"Do you?" One scaled hand slides around my throat, applying just enough pressure to make breathing a conscious effort. The constriction shouldn't excite me, but my channel floods with fresh slick at the display of dominance. "Tell me how much you hate this," he commands, punctuating the challenge with a particularly vicious thrust that spears his twin cocks against a spot so deep inside me that stars burst behind my eyes.

His other hand finds my breast, scales rasping against my sensitized skin as he captures my nipple between thumb and forefinger. The pinch is precise, perfectly calibrated between pleasure and pain, drawing a broken cry from my throat.

"That's it, little scientist. Let me hear how much you despise your pleasure."

His coils shift beneath me, muscular ripples moving in hypnotic patterns that change the angle of penetration with each thrust. The twin ridged shafts twist inside me in opposite directions, stretching and stimulating my channel in ways no human anatomy could possibly replicate. Every ridge and texture drags against nerve endings evolved specifically for this claiming, sending contradictory signals of violation and ecstasy to my overwhelmed brain.

When the first orgasm hits, it annihilates me.

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