Page 68 of His Runaway Mate

“You feel so fucking good,” he hisses in my ear. “You feel tight and hot. And rebellious. Always so fucking rebellious.”

“You just said I was being submissive,” I whimper.

“I didn’t say that. You may have thought it, because you are being my good little submissive mate right now, but what did it take for us to get here, hmm?” He strokes in and out of me with languid thrusts while he poses that question.

“I don’t know,” I murmur. I do not feel very rebellious in this moment, but I know he is right. Even after he found me again, before the punishment started, I was full of attitude, and I no doubt will be again. But for now there is none of that in me. There is nothing but the soft sensation of having given up, of having been completely taken over and of having let him have his way.

He fucks me to a slow and comfortable climax, knotting deep inside my ass while I lie beneath him with my eyes half-closed, drifting on a sea of endorphins and sex chemicals. Every part of my being feels like it belongs to him. I am relieved of the burden of having to be on my own as he makes my ass his.

* * *

Rex

Has she had enough for now? Probably. I stand over her cum-slaked body, admiring her soft beauty as she lies still for me. She is exhausted. I have taken her to the limits of what she can sustain, and now she will sleep while my seed makes life inside her.

I shower while she rests, I dress myself in a suit, and I step back into the world that feels less real now that I have spent days in the company of my mate. Everything I control seems to have less weight.

I know there are contracts to review. I know there are meetings to take. Someone is going to want to touch base about something. I am not terribly interested in any of it.

“Hello, sir,” Fescue says. “Would you like to be briefed on pack matters, business affairs, or the prisoners?”

“I will deal with the whelps first,” I say. “Double the guard on Nicky.”

He lifts a brow. “You think she is still a flight risk?”

“I think she is until proven otherwise.”

“Hard to prove that if she never has the chance to prove it, sir.”

I give him a long look. “Triple the guard on her.”

* * *

I go down to the cell block. When we were first planning this place, I was hesitant to put one of these in. Wolves do not follow human systems of justice. But I was talked around into it, and now I am more glad than ever that we have somewhere to hold wolves who cannot behave according to the laws of our pack.

It is a cinderblock building. The exterior has a wood paneling finish to make it less of an egregious eyesore, but the interior is unadorned. It smells faintly of bleach and exposed toilets. It is not a pleasant place to be.

At the very far end, our most illustrious prisoner is making feral sounds, throwing himself against the metal bars of his cell over and over.

“How long has he been doing that?” I ask the guard.

“Hours,” he says.

My jaw tightens. We are going to need someone with prison experience to run this facility if I intend on keeping on dealing with problems this way. This is already devolving into a madhouse.

“Get the doc to sedate him,” I order the guard. “I don’t want him hurting himself.”

I walk down the row of normal cells that are really more based on kennels. Each of them contains one of Nicky’s male companions. Their expressions contain everything from regret, to contempt, to anger, to fear. They are bristling with energy they can barely contain and cannot express.

These boys have been in our cells for days now. They are being kept separately because I do not want them seeking solace or finding comfort in one another. They do not deserve to be comfortable. They deserve to understand that their world has changed forever.

“Get them out,” I order my guards. “Cuff them, and line them up out the back of the building.”

“Is this a fucking firing squad?” one of the boys asks another.

“If it is, I think they would give us blindfolds,” the other replies.

“Not always,” a third chimes in. “Sometimes they want you to watch.”