Page 53 of Warlord’s Prize

With one final, powerful thrust, he forces the knot past my entrance. The stretch burns exquisitely, pain and pleasure so intertwined I can't separate them anymore. My body yields to him, accepting the impossible intrusion as the knot expands to full size inside me, locking us together completely.

The pressure against my inner walls combined with the relentless vibration against my clit triggers a fourth orgasm so intense I nearly black out. Stars explode behind my eyes as pleasure crashes through me in merciless waves, tears streaming down my face as I sob his name.

His release follows immediately, cock pulsing as he floods me with burning seed. The quantity is overwhelming—oni produce far more than human males—filling me so completely that my lower belly visibly distends with it. The knot keeps everything sealed inside, exactly where it needs to be to take root.

"Mine," he roars, the sound primal and possessive. His hand splays over my distended abdomen, feeling the evidence of his claim. His seed burns hotter than human-normal, a warmth I can feel spreading through my core. "Filled with my seed. Going to grow round with my child."

We remain locked together by biology, his knot ensuring his seed stays exactly where he's placed it. With careful movements, he adjusts our position so we're lying on our sides, my back to his chest, his massive body curled protectively around mine. His warmth envelops me, chasing away the chill I've carried for weeks.

His hand never leaves my belly, stroking possessively over the slight bulge where his seed fills me completely.

"So perfect," he murmurs against my neck, pressing gentle kisses along my pulse. The tenderness contrasts sharply with the brutality of moments before. His breath is hot against my skin, sending pleasant shivers down my spine. "My beautiful omega."

I should feel used, should feel violated by the claiming. But as the knot pulses inside me, keeping us joined, all I feel is a strange sense of rightness. My hand covers his on my belly, our fingers intertwining.

"If it happens again," he says quietly, his voice a gentle rumble against my back, "if we create new life..."

"Then it will be our choice," I finish for him, understanding flowing between us. "Not just conquest. Not just biology. Something we decided together."

His arms tighten around me, pulling me more firmly against his massive chest. The knot will keep us joined for at least an hour, biology ensuring the best chance for conception. But unlike that first brutal claiming months ago, this connection carries meaning beyond mere possession.

* * *

Dawn light filters through the high windows, painting the chamber in soft gold. I've lost count of how many times Kazuul has claimed me through the night as my heat and his rut drove us beyond exhaustion. My body aches deliciously, marked with evidence of his possession—finger-shaped bruises on my hips, bite marks along my shoulders and breasts, my thighs sticky with the combined evidence of our pleasure.

He stands by the window now, his massive form silhouetted against the morning light. The tribal markings across his crimson skin seem to glow in the dawn, recording victories and bloodlines in patterns I'm slowly learning to read. The scales that emerged during the height of his rut have receded, leaving his skin smooth once more.

I should feel embarrassed by my behavior through the night—the begging, the submission, the shameless way I yielded to him again and again. But heat has burned away pretense, leaving only raw truth behind. Within these walls, away from politics and position, we've found something unexpected.

"Come here," he says, turning from the window. His golden eyes still glow faintly, his rut not yet fully satisfied despite claiming me repeatedly through the night.

I rise from the bed on shaky legs, my body both exhausted and somehow still hungry for more. He watches my approach with predatory focus, nostrils flaring as he scents the evidence of our mating clinging to my skin. His seed marks me inside and out, a claiming more thorough than any collar or brand.

When I reach him, he lifts me easily, turning to press my back against the cold glass of the window. The contrast between the icy window and his burning skin makes me gasp, nipples tightening to painful points as they brush against his chest.

"One more time," he growls, positioning himself at my entrance. "Let the sun see what belongs to me."

He enters me in a single thrust, the way eased by so many previous claimings. I'm stretched and sore, yet my body welcomes him eagerly, inner walls clinging to his massive length as he establishes a rhythm more measured than the frenzy of night.

"You were made for this," he murmurs, one hand supporting my weight while the other cups my face with surprising tenderness. His thumb traces my lower lip, and I find myself turning to kiss it instinctively. "Made to take me. Made to carry my young. But more than that—made to stand beside me."

The admission stops my breath. This is new—acknowledgment of something beyond biological function, beyond the roles assigned by conquest and claiming. A partnership I never expected when I first entered his fortress.

"Yes," I agree, arms wrapping around his neck as he claims me against the window. Anyone looking up from the courtyard would see us silhouetted against the glass, would witness the warlord claiming his omega in the light of day.

The thought should humiliate me, but instead, it drives my arousal higher. Let them see. Let them all know that I've chosen this, that what began as forced claiming has evolved into something neither of us expected.

His pace increases, each thrust lifting me slightly against the window. The vibrating nodule finds my clit with unerring accuracy, sending familiar pleasure spiraling through my core. My claiming mark pulses with each thrust, the scar tissue hypersensitive under the morning light.

"Going to fill you again," he promises, voice rough with need. One hand grips my thigh, supporting my weight effortlessly. "Going to make sure my seed takes root this time."

One final, powerful thrust seats him completely inside me as his release begins, flooding me with heat. The knot swells, locking us together, keeping everything sealed inside where it belongs. The pressure triggers my own climax, gentler than the explosive peaks of night but no less satisfying.

We remain joined, my legs wrapped around his waist, his forehead pressed against mine as we breathe each other's air. The intimacy of the moment strikes me more powerfully than any claiming—this shared breath, this willing connection.

"If it happens again," he whispers against my lips, echoing his words from the night before. "If we create new life..."

"Then it will be ours," I finish, the word encompassing everything. "Our child. Our choice. Our future."

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