Page 10 of Naga's Mate

GREENHOUSE CAPTIVITY

Time dissolvesin the greenhouse chamber. Hours melt into one another, marked only by the rhythmic cycle of bioluminescent flora and the cresting waves of my heat. I've been here a day. Perhaps two. Possibly three. The sole constant is Nezzar's presence—dominating, inescapable, overwhelming.

He keeps me in this hidden section of the facility, a space I never knew existed despite years working among these plants. The chamber feels primordial somehow, despite its post-Conquest construction. A claiming sanctuary disguised as botanical research space, where specialized specimens create the perfect atmosphere for what he's doing to me.

What I'm permitting him to do to me.

No. Not permitting. Enduring. There's a difference, I remind myself during fleeting moments of clarity, though that distinction grows fainter with each passing hour.

"Your heat is progressing exceptionally," Nezzar observes, his melodious voice carrying through the misty air as he returns with water and some nutrient-dense sustenance I barely register tasting. "The accelerated cycle is remarkable. Most human omegas require five to seven days for completion. Yours will conclude in three."

I should feel grateful for this small mercy, but all I experience is bone-deep exhaustion punctuated by desperate hunger that returns with increasing frequency. Between these episodes, brief windows of lucidity allow my scientific mind to document what's happening with detached interest that would be professional if it weren't my own body undergoing the transformation.

The chamber itself amplifies my condition. I've identified at least seven botanical species surrounding us that shouldn't exist—hybrid creations with properties I've never catalogued. The pale cerulean pollen drifting through the air doesn't trigger my allergies as it should. Instead, it produces a subtle calming effect that prevents complete panic while doing absolutely nothing to diminish the heat symptoms themselves. Calculated. So very calculated. Soothing my consciousness while leaving my body in full biological surrender.

Heat surges again before I can complete my mental assessment. My skin flushes, tingling with hypersensitivity as perspiration beads along my collarbones. Wetness forms between my thighs with mortifying readiness, my inner walls clenching around emptiness that feels increasingly intolerable with each heat wave.

Nezzar's reaction is immediate, his pupils contracting to vertical slits as his tongue flicks repeatedly, sampling my intensifying pheromones in the humid atmosphere.

"Still resisting?" he asks, scales rippling across his torso in mesmerizing patterns signaling his advancing rut. "It merely prolongs the inevitable."

His muscular length moves with predatory intent, flowing across the moss-covered floor toward me. I should run. Should struggle. Should do anything but what I actually do—which is to tilt my hips upward in unconscious presentation, my traitorous body signaling its readiness for claiming.

"I despise this," I whisper, even as my thighs part in blatant contradiction.

"Yet you display yourself for me so perfectly," he responds, his massive form encircling mine in ever-tightening loops.

When his coils finally strike, it's with precision that speaks to evolutionary perfection. Powerful bands wrap around my thighs, spreading them wider than should be comfortable. Another thick section circles my waist, lifting me effortlessly until I'm suspended in midair, completely vulnerable—able to neither escape nor brace against anything solid.

"Please," I gasp, no longer certain if I'm begging for fulfillment or reprieve. "I can't?—"

"You can," he insists, positioning me exactly as he desires—facing him, legs splayed wide, back gently arched to present my breasts to his gaze. "Your body recognizes its needs, even if your mind rebels."

The tip of his tail, more dexterous than I would have imagined, glides upward between my suspended thighs. It traces teasing circles around my entrance, gathering the moisture that flows with increasingly embarrassing abundance.

"So responsive," he observes, his forked tongue sampling the air near my most intimate parts. "Your scent grows more complex with each claiming. Soon it will carry my signature permanently."

I want to protest, to maintain some semblance of resistance, but my body betrays me completely. My hips rock toward his teasing tail tip, seeking firmer contact. A whimper escapes my throat—a sound so submissive I'd never have believed myself capable of producing it before this captivity began.

His twin organs emerge from their concealed slit, already glistening with that pearlescent venom that has rewritten my neural pathways. They're fully engorged, textured with ridges designed for internal stimulation, and my mouth waters at the sight. Another humiliating physiological response I never knew I possessed.

"Ask for what you need," he commands, holding me suspended and empty despite the obvious desire radiating from every pore.

"No," I manage, though the word carries no conviction.

His response is immediate and cruelly effective. His tail tip, which had been teasing my entrance, glides upward to circle my swollen bundle of nerves with precise pressure—enough to intensify desire but nowhere near sufficient to provide relief.

"Then I'll maintain you like this," he says, golden eyes examining my suspended form with predatory patience. "Needing. Vacant. Desperate. Until you acknowledge your requirement."

The pleasure builds to an unbearable threshold that never crests, his tail maintaining perfect rhythm against sensitive flesh while providing none of the fullness my body demands. Tears of frustration spill from my eyes, trailing down flushed cheeks as my resistance disintegrates.

"Please," I finally sob, omega submission overwhelming scientific pride. "I need you inside me. Need your—your cocks. Please, alpha."

Victory flashes in his inhuman gaze, tongue flicking out to taste my surrender. "Such beautiful supplication. Again."

"Please!" I cry, shameless now in my need. "Fill me, claim me, anything—just don't leave me empty!"

This time his response is immediate. His coils reposition me with terrifying efficiency, turning me in midair so my back presses against his scaled chest, my legs spread wide on either side of his serpentine lower body. I'm completely exposed, presented like breeding stock—which is exactly what I am in this moment, regardless of my academic credentials or intellectual capabilities.

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