He didn't answer her immediately, but when he'd finished his meal, he pushed his chair back. "Come here."

Her immediate thought was to be stubborn and refuse, which he saw clearly in her face, rising to call her over to where he was patting the bed, instead. "Well, that was quick. Come. Back on the bed."

"No, please, Sir," she protested prettily, almost stomping her foot, but obeying him and coming to stand before him, in the interesting position of looking down at him. Not that it gave her any sense of power over him at all. "What do I have to do? Please tell me!"

Ciaran looked up at her, gathering her down onto his thigh, his hands automatically beginning to wander, even though he'd had her not ten minutes before. "You must stop resisting me, Ebby. It's very naughty of you."

"In what way?" she asked, wanting specifics and hating that he was using terminology with her that he'd use with a child.

His eyebrow rose. "In every way."

She swallowed a derisive snort and met his eyes. "I-I will try to do that," she vowed, barely able to believe what she was agreeing to.

"I am supposed to take your word for it?" he asked incredulously.

"My word that I will try, yes!" She sounded highly insulted. "Do you think I have no honor?"

He frowned. "I don't believe I've ever met a woman of honor."

She frowned back at him. "Well, I have met a lot of them, and now you've met one, too."

Ciaran looked dubious, and Ebby sighed.

"Even if you don't think I'll do my best to keep my word, you can still punish me if I don't."

No sooner were the words out of her mouth than she found herself over his lap.

"No, but I haven't done anything!" she protested, struggling to get up.

His laugh was the purest of evils. "I'll finish that sentence for you, little girl—yet. Besides, you don't have to have done anything. You are mine, and I am your Alpha—your Lord and Master. I don't need a reason to punish you, although I would point out to you that promising that you would submit to me and then trying to get away from me five seconds later is neither adhering to your vow, nor proving to me that you are a woman of honor."

Hating the fact that he was right, Ebby immediately relaxed over his lap, heartily wishing she'd kept her mouth shut, but doing her best to assume the role, even if she only intended to do so long enough to escape him. She wasn't sure where she was going to go, but she was going to get herself as far away from him as she could, although she knew she was going to have to make damned sure that she got the timing right—she did not want him finding her once she'd gone.

She particularly regretted opening her mouth once he began spanking her; however, this time, it was slightly different from before. Although he gave her a long round of swats that left her very close to tears, she felt him adjust her a bit when he paused, and soon his hand had worked its way between folds that never seemed to be anything but puffy and where it found her clit throbbing and swollen as always around him.

His first pass of three fingers firmly over her made her groan in a manner that he knew was the most natural in the world—but she cut it off in the middle, even though it was terribly hard to do.

His free hand landed viciously, right in the middle of her cheeks. "No! That, too, is resistance, little omega. You are not allowed to suppress any signs of your discomfort—or your pleasure—as they add considerably to my own."

She opened her mouth to complain, but then thought better of it. "I'm sorry, Sir."

Ciaran loved the sound of that, and knowing that she had to work against herself—against her own interests—to say it made it even more delicious to him. "Good girl. If you can maintain that submissive attitude while I am breeding you this time, then I will allow you to remain unbound tomorrow morning, until lunch."

She knew this had all been her idea, but what he was requiring of her wasn't going to be at all easy for her to accomplish. Ebby firmly set her mind to it, though. She had to be able to get off that bed while he wasn't there in order to find her way out of this frightening, untenable situation. She could feel how much more muddled her mind was getting—which was another reason why she had taken to exercising it when she could—each time he mated with her. She was very concerned that, eventually, the submission that she was going to play act now would become real!

"Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir," she managed to say with no prompting.

"Don't thank me yet, Ebby. Considering how completely you resist me every time, I have serious doubts about your ability to earn that reward."

But she had to—she had to! Her sanity—her very life—depended on it! Tears flooded her eyes, and when she might have dashed them away, preferring that he not know she was weeping as she saw it as a sign of weakness, she instead allowed him to hear them in her voice. "I'm s-sorry, Sir."

He said nothing more but continued where he'd left off.

And he was right about just how hard it was for her not to put up any kind of a fight, but allowing herself to vocalize more about what he was doing to her seemed to help—some. This time, she didn't bother to stifle her cries of distress as the spanking went on, every loud, crisp slap singeing her bottom anew. But—because of the hand he'd put right back where it had been between her legs—she was sometimes caught between moaning because he was concentrating the swats on the sensitive tops of her thighs, or because he'd inserted his big thumb up inside her as he continued to brush his fingers determinedly over that all too eager button. Often, her wail started as one thing but ended as the other, switching over midstream, based on what he was doing to her.

As always, the combination of the two distinct feelings was incredibly potent to her.

It ended somewhat abruptly, though, when he lifted the both of them up to the top of the bed, stretching himself out next to her as she was lying gingerly on her back, not quite sure where she should put her hands as she didn't often have use of them with him.

To her great surprise, he cupped his hand around the back of her neck and drew her face nearer to his. "I'm going to kiss you, Ebby. I suggest you remember your goal and keep your teeth to yourself."

She supposed she couldn't blame him for the warning. If she was willing to stab him with a knife, attempting to bite him when he tried to kiss her must've seemed inevitable. She didn't even have time to say, "Yes, Sir," before his lips covered hers.

It was the first time she'd ever been kissed, and it was incredible. No doubt because it was with him, although she was loathe to admit it. And it was surprisingly tender, too, almost tentative at first as he nipped gently at her lips before pressing his to hers. Her hands found his chest automatically, palms slipping over the light covering of hair as he pulled back from her slightly.

"Open your mouth for me."

Her puzzled expression told him everything he needed to know about her level of experience with such things. "Open my mouth?" she repeated automatically, then grew worried that he would think she wasn't submitting. "I'm not—I just didn't know."

His voice was the softest it had ever been with her. "I understand, little girl. All of this is new to you."

She blushed, looking down. "Yes, it is."

"Which is a terrible pity."

Her eyes flicked back to his in surprise.

"Relax and let me lead you. You know that's really what you want to do, anyway. It's what you were born to do, even though you fight against it."

When he kissed her again, she remembered to leave her mouth open a bit, emitting a slight yelp of surprise when his tongue—which had already known her very intimately—explored boldly past her lips. She might have pulled away at that, but his hand held her still, and he deepened the kiss, although it remained dangerously close to tender, regardless.

After ending it on a gentle, if passionate note, Ciaran leaned away from her a bit. "What did you think of your first real kiss?"

"I liked it!" she replied, and it was no lie.

He took his time with her for once, arousing her carefully, using the knowledge he had been cataloging about her since he'd acquired her—which somehow seemed to be becoming a much easier task over time. He suckled hard at her nipples, his tongue strumming frequently over tips he held between his sharp teeth. They were just slightly sore after he'd made her gasp and writhe as he'd pinched them cruelly seconds before, returning to her lips to kiss her frequently as he touched her everywhere—again. Those long arms of his could reach anywhere on her small, delicate person with no effort whatsoever. His touch reinforced his ownership of her, yes, but she also seemed to quiet a bit whenever he did that, finally settling himself for the second time to feast between her legs as he lifted them over his broad shoulders.

He was determined to test the boundaries of her tantalizing vow by drawing this out as much as he could—relishing his slow possession of her. But seeing her lying there, her body flushed and already highly aroused, breathing in the fevered aroma of her desire, seeing their juices leaking sluggishly out of her, there was nothing he wanted to do more at this moment than to mount and fuck her furiously—submissive or not. And in some ways, he found himself favoring not.

But he took ahold of himself with both hands and forced himself to back down a bit.

Again, she looked as if she had no idea where she should put her hands, even after her fingers knotted themselves into his sheets. He had certainly enjoyed the soft, tentative feel of them on his chest a few minutes ago, but he wasn't at all sure just how much of that he could handle.

"Put your hands above your head and leave them there," he commanded calmly.

Her eyes flew to his and she gave him an almost frightened look, although she was already moving to obey him. "Are you…are you going to—"

"No," he interrupted. "This time, I won't allow you to fall back on the crutch of being restrained. You shall have to rely solely on your own will to honor your vow—that you will conform yourself to my will, as by rights you should, being my omega."

Ebby didn't know why, but that concept—put that way by him—made her begin to pant anxiously, as if she wasn't at all sure she could do it.

But then his mouth found her unerringly as a hand reached up to claim each breast, plucking at those tight buds while his tongue washed over her exposed clit unrelentingly.

It was horrible and awful and incredible and amazing for her, all at the same time. Instead of fighting it off, she had to simply let the intensity of what he was doing to her flood through every bit of her, taking over her body, of course, but also commandeering her mind more fully than she had ever allowed. It was frightening and wonderful—making her terribly, acutely aware of herself and him and how they were now permanently entwined on too many basic levels. She was swept along in a torrent of passion that threatened to obliterate her—and she adored every second of it.

Her surrender—which was, he could tell, very nearly complete—was incredible to behold. She softened beneath him, her body opening to him in a different way, actually pulling him to her, inviting him in, rather than trying to force him away or keep him out all the time.

It was completely and utterly intoxicating.

Still, he held himself rigidly in check, continuing to tease and touch her, his eyes and ears sharply attuned to her every response, amazed to realize just how much she had been suppressing. As she had been—rightly—afraid of losing herself to the ever-present craving she had to feel him deep inside her, so he had been becoming more and more sensitive to what she needed from him, wanting to fulfill her as thoroughly as was possible in the act that was designed to bind her to him more fully than any conscious desire.

The only time she disobeyed him was when he did something that she never expected that surprised and alarmed her a bit.

With his tongue still worrying a clit that she kept trying to press further into his mouth, to his great delight, he pressed two long, thick fingers into her sopping tightness. Ebby's groan nearly made him abandon his plan, but he held on, pressing them up against the very place where he usually sunk his formidable prong into her and rubbing in firm circles.

If he hadn't had ahold of her, she would have ended up on the ceiling. She yelped loudly, and he lifted his head from between her legs as she was just beginning to bring her arms down without thinking—he knew—to try to remove his fingers.

He said but one word to her, quite sternly, "Submit."

Her eyes flew to his as she gasped in indignation, her hands remaining lower than she knew they should be for a few long seconds before she forced them—inch by inch—back above her head, whimpering the entire time and giving him a look as if she couldn't believe he actually expected her to do this.

When Ebby had complied with his order, he said it again, even more strictly, "Submit."

The breath puffed out of her almost angrily. He could see the glint of rebellion in her eyes, but he could also see the tears leaking out of their sides, too.

This was, indeed, an excellent test of her determination to stop fighting the inevitable.

He wasn't a very patient man, but he could see and feel that she was trying to relax back into the more accepting, more yielding state she'd been in before, and she got most of the way back there pretty quickly. But he didn't wait for her to complete the journey before he began to move his fingers again, sometimes pressing hard and swirling against that very tender spot, sometimes thrusting into her and thus naturally butting hard up into it or over it.

Ebby didn't know what to do. It wasn't quite as bad as him poking that sharp thing into her, but then again, it was a different kind of touch that was almost irritatingly rapturous against a much-abused place on her person that was already inclined to ache and throb in starkly bad and good ways, and he was expertly conjuring both at the moment.

Ciaran played her beautifully—rough and demanding the majority of the time, sprinkled occasionally with tender and gentle, although much less of that. He already knew her most shameful secret—that he shouldn't feel at all guilty about not going easy on her. She responded best to being bred hard and fast and often, the same way she needed to be disciplined.

And that was how he took her, once he'd gotten her perilously close to the edge, turning her over and gathering her hands at the small of her back as he hunched over her, pistoning his cock into her even while he possessed her in every way that it was possible for him to do so, including applying his fingertips to that wanton swelling between her legs and not removing them the entire time.

He had to give it to her—she'd screamed when he'd pierced her, and he had rumbled a few times, deep in his chest, to calm her, and keened wildly when his swelling had caused her to have to make painful accommodations. He had again purred a bit to her, although not a lot, just enough to quiet her. But she hadn't fought him—not once the entire time. Screams and moans and yelps and anguished cries he expected. Writhing and heaving and even crying were fine.

But he would have her submission, one way or the other.

In the end, she screamed again as he felt her clamp fiercely around him fit to rip his dick off while neither his fingers nor his cock ever let up on her, driving her mercilessly, taking everything she was giving to him then moving the goal until he could feel her utter and uncompromising surrender—and beyond.

Even after his knot had died down, he was still pulsing strongly into her and she was still spasming around him, her soft moans increasing in volume when she did, although he could tell that she was very close to passing out. He might have left her alone at that point, but he simply could not. By the time his climax died out completely—although hers was still going—the rest of her was completely limp in his arms.

When he detached himself, Ciaran watched a flood of spunk sluice down her thighs to pool on the sheets. He let go of her arms, then pulled her away from the wet spot to curl himself around her, humming and purring to her, and even bestowing the occasional kiss on the top of her head or her neck as he stroked her—as always, never getting enough of her.

Still, despite the heights he knew they had both achieved, he knew she was weeping silently.

He whispered hoarsely, "I'll leave you unbound tomorrow morning when I head out, but I'll warn you right now. You had better behave and not give the guards any trouble when they bind you again after lunch."

She nodded almost imperceptibly, her, "Yes, Sir," barely reaching his ears before she succumbed.