Page 12 of Warlord’s Prize

"Ready?" he asks, though it's not really a question.

Before I can respond, he begins to move, establishing a rhythm more measured than last night's claiming but no less possessive. Each thrust shifts my entire body on the silk sheets, his size and strength making resistance futile. The initial discomfort fades faster than I'd like to admit, replaced by sparks of unwanted pleasure as ridges along his shaft drag against sensitive spots inside me.

Then the nodule at the base of his cock makes contact with my clit, and everything changes. It begins to vibrate with that same impossible intensity I experienced during the claiming ceremony, sending jolts of pleasure so acute they border on pain radiating through my core.

"No," I gasp, even as my hips buck upward involuntarily. "Too much?—"

"Your body disagrees," Kazuul observes, adjusting his angle slightly to maintain perfect contact between the vibrating nodule and my most sensitive spot. "It knows what it needs."

He's right, and that knowledge burns worse than any physical discomfort. Within moments, the vibration dissolves my resistance, transforming me into a creature of pure sensation. My nails dig into his arms, leaving marks that would tear human skin but barely indent his tougher hide. My legs wrap around his waist without conscious instruction, pulling him deeper.

The first orgasm takes me by surprise, crashing through me with an intensity that tears a cry from my throat. My inner muscles clamp down around his invading length, trying to hold him deep as pleasure courses through me in unstoppable waves.

Kazuul growls with satisfaction, his pace increasing as my body convulses around him. "That's it," he rumbles, golden eyes watching my face as I come apart beneath him. "Take your pleasure from your alpha."

The possessive terminology should repulse me, but in this moment of biological surrender, it only triggers another wave of shameful heat. The vibrating nodule doesn't stop—if anything, it intensifies, sending aftershocks of pleasure through me that build impossibly toward a second peak.

"I can't," I whimper, overwhelmed by sensation. "Not again so soon?—"

"You can," he insists, his massive hand sliding beneath my hips to tilt them upward, changing the angle to drive him even deeper. "And you will."

The new position makes his cockhead press directly against a spot deep inside that sends white-hot sparks of pleasure racing through me. Combined with the relentless vibration against my clit, it's too much. The second orgasm hits harder than the first, stealing my breath and vision momentarily as my body surrenders completely to the claiming.

Only then does Kazuul allow himself release, his rhythm becoming more forceful, more primal. When his knot begins to swell, locking us together, I feel the hot rush of his seed flooding me, the quantity still shocking as it fills me completely. The sensation of being knotted, of being claimed so thoroughly, triggers a third, smaller orgasm that leaves me trembling and weak beneath him.

We remain locked together, his massive body still braced above mine to avoid crushing me with his weight. The knot will take nearly an hour to subside enough for separation, and he uses this time to reinforce his dominance in other ways—his hands mapping my body possessively, his mouth marking my neck and breasts with small claiming bites that won't scar but will leave visible evidence of ownership.

"Mine," he murmurs against my skin, the word both threat and promise.

And in this moment, with his seed locked inside me and pleasure still coursing through my veins, I can't muster the will to deny it.

* * *

The administrative meeting is already underway when Kazuul enters with me at his side. The chamber falls silent as a dozen oni officials rise in respect for their warlord, then settle back into their discussions with practiced ease. Their golden eyes flick toward me with mild interest—a new omega is noteworthy, but public claiming is common enough in oni society that it warrants only passing attention.

I'm dressed in what Kazuul selected—a silk robe in deep crimson that matches his skin, embroidered with black patterns that echo his tribal markings. The fabric is so fine it feels like water against my skin, providing the illusion of coverage while actually concealing nothing from oni senses. Their nostrils flare subtly as we enter, taking in the scent of recent claiming that must cling to me despite my attempts to wash it away.

"Any updates on the eastern border?" Kazuul asks as he takes his seat at the head of the massive stone table.

Instead of directing me to a separate chair as I'd hoped, he pats his thigh in clear command. My face burns as I understand what's expected. Not just attending the meeting—being displayed during it.

"Not today," I whisper, stepping back instead of forward. "Please, not in front of?—"

His hand snakes out with predatory speed, gripping my wrist hard enough to remind me of his strength without leaving bruises. "Come here," he says, his voice deceptively conversational while his eyes promise consequences for continued defiance.

The officials continue their discussions, barely acknowledging my resistance. This is clearly routine—alpha warlords establishing dominance over newly claimed omegas is simply business as usual in the Crimson Fortress.

I pull against his grip, a last desperate attempt at preserving some dignity. "I can sit beside you," I offer, voice low and urgent. "I'll be quiet, I promise."

Kazuul simply smiles, the expression all teeth and no warmth. With one effortless tug, he pulls me off balance, sending me tumbling forward. Before I can catch myself, I land exactly where he intended—across his lap.

"Now then," he says, turning his attention back to the meeting as though nothing unusual has occurred. "The harvest reports?"

An official with orange skin and multiple horn fragments—battle trophies, I realize—begins detailing crop yields while Kazuul's massive hand presses against my lower back, keeping me positioned exactly as he wants. I feel something shift beneath me—a growing hardness pressing against my thigh through his formal wrap.

"The southern quadrant shows a seven percent increase," the official reports, his voice steady and professional despite the display unfolding before him.

"Good," Kazuul responds, his attention apparently on the meeting while his hand slides beneath my silk robe. "Those drainage modifications are working then."

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