Corrupted (Alpha's Claim Book 5), Addison Cain [top 20 books to read TXT] 📗

When the phantom touch came again, she didn’t scream.

She slept.

She woke, she dressed, she looked through the information the Queen of Greth Dome had organized for her. The final note was from Jules, informing her where she might find a space set up for her work.

Upon preparing for her day, her heel found a single missed shard of crystal. It burrowed in, cutting her foot as she padded dazed across the floor to the room she had discovered the day before. Tiny droplets of blood were left behind to soak into the wood.

She would not think of Jacques. She would think only of gears and what might be done with them.

Under the fresco, bathed in great light, simple supplies had been prepared for her. A drafting desk, paper, pencils, the tools of the trade for the life she had once lived.

Hours later, Jules pulled the shard from her heel, Brenya ignoring him as her pencil flew over a tilted desk.

Standing over her shoulder, near enough she could feel the heat of him, already saturated in the subtle scent of him, Brenya explained what he had not asked. How this clock would work.

She talked for ages, flipping through the pages she had drafted, her hair wild, her voice alive.

Everything was wonderful, until she felt his lips brush her hair.

The unnamable wave that had followed confused her.

Unsure if she even felt what she thought she had felt, the tickle on her scalp no different than any breeze, Brenya dropped her pencil. The sound it made as it rolled from her tilted desk to the floor was deafening.

“You were saying?”

“This part...” Had she really just called it a part? An integral piece of machinery was so much more than so rudimentary a title.

Male arms braced against the desk as he leaned forward to look. The heat of Jules' body seeped into her as if they actually touched. “Yes?”

“I read the letter from Greth’s Queen. She sent me pictures of things I’ll need you to explain to me if you want me to understand the context enough to reply.”

She refused to lift her eyes from her draft but could swear the Beta was smiling. “Such as?”

“Jules… I am—” Brenya swallowed, working to keep her breath even. “—not sure this clock will be an equivalent to her painting.”

The man’s right hand lifted from the table, the edge of his fingertips running along her throat until they lightly traced the bite mark on her neck.

It was the growing tightness of her nipples that awakened her to the sound she had made. Snapping her head straight, she stood, her back hitting his chest, so she might circle the desk and move an appropriate distance away.

Her first thoughts were so random, so wrong, that she hated almost telling him to file a request for a mental hygiene visit. That after requisitions approved, she would have the formal paperwork stamped and he could have sex with her just as she had done with George.

Her second thoughts were of embarrassment—because, of course, she had imagined the touch. It had been nothing more than another hallucination.

And her third?

Her third was that she wished it had been real. That she wished he would order her to her knees.

“Brenya.”

Already growing limber, she leaned closer. “Yes?”

“I cannot join you for dinner tonight.”

“Oh.” She took a step away, unsure why she kept touching her hair. “Um.”

“It’s going to be a spectacular clock. Promise me you won’t stay up too late working on it.”

There was no way she was going to be able to work on it until this strange sensation had passed.

He left her.

Alone, the door barred from her side, her back to the floor and her eyes on the ceiling, Brenya looked upon the beautiful fresco of Red Consumption and let her hands stray where they would.

Left nipple pinched between her fingers, labia glistening as her hand touched a part of her that no longer hurt, she came.

The Gods had seen it all. Even the smile on her face.

On the other side of the door, a man groaned. As if he had been pressed against the wood listening to her touch herself.

As if he had shared her climax.

Gathering herself from the floor, cheeks flushed from more than just release, Brenya reached for the latch, only to shriek when a knock shook the wood before she might open the door.

An Alpha guard spoke through the wood. “Mrs. Havel. There has been an incident regarding Jacques Bernard. We are to return you to the Red Room and follow security procedure level five.”

The Red Room was less than ten meters away, but she had been rushed there as if her workspace across the hall were up in flames. When the door closed, it was barred.

It was an hour before Jules came. So much for their dinner apart. He said nothing as they ate plain fare, watching her.

She still felt strange, like he was waiting for her to acknowledge why it seemed so warm in the room. It wasn't until a gasp left her lips and legs involuntarily parted under the table that Brenya went from cautious to frightened.

A knot was blooming, dumping wretched filth.

Shooting out from her chair, staring down at her lap, she found there was nothing there.

Just a small pool of slick she had not even realized had grown between her legs.

“Jacques is awake and, at my explicit order, currently knotting Lucia,” Jules began, watching her as she groaned from another unwelcome sensation. “A pregnant Omega who has lost or has been separated from her mate requires tending, or her child will abort. He cannot have you. Lucia has no one. It is the solution that benefits all parties… to a point… and will keep the Alpha distracted until he learns control.”

Jacques was coming again, Brenya catching her weight on the back of her chair, eyes rolling into her skull.

Whining as if the shrill noise might bring her relief, Brenya squeezed her thighs shut, hoping it would stop the waves of sensation