Elara's eyes, once so sharp and calculating, had dulled into something glassy and feral, the stare of a predator that no longer remembered language.
I begged, my voice splintering in the thick, humid air, but she answered only with a low, guttural curse that vibrated against my trembling thighs.
The cleaning was a lie. The pretense of removing her seed had vanished, replaced by a raw, rhythmic obsession.
Without warning, she forced a fourth finger into me.
I shrieked, my back arching so violently that my shoulder blades dug into the mattress.
My body was never meant to be stretched like this, yet my new Omega biology seemed to liquefy under her touch, expanding even as it screamed in protest. My hips tensed, involuntarily lifting toward her as if my body were a separate entity from my mind, a traitor seeking its own destruction.
