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The tent was dim, lit by a single guttering candle that cast long, dancing shadows against the canvas walls. The air was heavy with the mingled scents of trampled grass, old sweat, leather, and the sharp metallic tang of blood.
Aerion knelt on a folded rough wool blanket, his wrists bound before him with a length of soft, sturdy rope. The binds were not cruel, but they were unyielding, a tangible reminder of his defeat.
He still wore his torn tourney finery, the once-pristine silk stained with grass and dust, the silver embroidery dulled and frayed. His unruly silver locks framed a face twisted with incandescent fury. Violet eyes burned with hatred, his lips curled in a sneer.
The ancient claim-right had been invoked by Lord Ashford himself in the presence of royal decree—a tradition as old as the Seven Kingdoms, an unbreakable law of victory and submission. The victor might claim the defeated, but only if the defeated spoke the words that allowed the claim to stand.
The Trial of Seven had been fought, and Dunk, the humble hedge knight, had emerged victorious. By the rites of the tournament, the defeated champion, Aerion Targaryen, believed by all to be a beta, could now be his permanent property—a bonded mate and thrall, sealed by knot, bite, and oath.
Aerion, the dragon who had mocked his low birth, would now kneel to a hedge knight.
Dunk loomed over him, a mountain of a man silhouetted by the low flame. He had shed his armor, his broad shoulders filling the tent, his sun-browned skin glowing in the candlelight.
The faint alpha charge in his scent—earthy, sun-baked, impossibly sure of itself—pressed close in the cramped tent. He wore only a loose linen shirt and breeches, and his expression was one of weary resolve. Not gloating, not cruel—simply dutiful. The ancient right had been invoked. Aerion was his.
“You can take me but you will never claim me,” Aerion hissed, his voice dripping with venom. “I am a dragon of House Targaryen. My blood is fire. You are dirt. A hedge knight. A sworn sword to a boy.”
His words were sharp, cutting, but Dunk remained unshaken. The prince spat the last word, his spittle falling short, landing on the blanket between his knees.
Dunk knelt with surprising grace for a man of his size, his calm brown eyes holding Aerion’s defiant gaze. He reached out slowly, deliberately, his calloused thumb brushing against the prince’s full, soft lips.
“The right was invoked,” Dunk said, his voice low and steady. “You lost. You are mine. Now open.”
Aerion twisted his head away, his body a taut line of rebellion. Dunk cupped the back of his head gently but firmly, his thumb pressing insistently against the seam of Aerion’s lips. “Open,” he repeated, his tone leaving no room for disobedience.
For a moment, Aerion resisted, his jaw clenched tight. Then, with a sound of pure contempt, he parted his lips a fraction. Dunk slid his thumb inside.
The heat and wetness were immediate. Aerion’s tongue darted forward, not to suck, but to push, to resist. Dunk ignored it, pushing his thumb deeper, past the sharp points of teeth.
Aerion’s eyes widened, then narrowed with vicious intent. His jaw clamped down hard, teeth biting into the thick pad of Dunk’s thumb.
Pain shot through Dunk’s hand, sharp and sudden, but he did not pull away. He felt the skin break, the warm welling of his own blood against Aerion’s tongue. He held still, watching the prince’s triumphant sneer. Aerion’s lips curled in victory, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction.
Dunk let him have that small triumph. Then, with controlled strength, he pushed his thumb deeper, into the soft heat at the back of Aerion’s mouth.
Aerion gagged, his body convulsing, the bite loosening. Dunk withdrew his thumb, now slick with blood and saliva, and immediately replaced it with two thick fingers.
Aerion choked, his protests muffled by the digits filling his mouth. Dunk began to move them slowly, firmly, a deliberate in-and-out rhythm. It was a violation, utterly demeaning, and Aerion thrashed, his bound hands coming up uselessly. But Dunk held his head steady, his big hand a gentle, unyielding cage.
In and out. Deeper. Dunk’s fingers were long, work-roughened, sliding over Aerion’s tongue, rubbing against the roof of his mouth, tapping the back of his throat. Aerion gagged again, tears of reflex springing to his eyes. Spit gathered, spilled from the corners of his stretched lips. He was making wet, choked, ugly sounds, the proud dragon brought low. Dunk watched it all, his arousal a heavy, thickening heat in his breeches, but his face remained calm, observing.
The defiance began to leak away, replaced by a dazed, overwhelmed submission to the physical sensation. Aerion’s jaw ached. His throat burned. He couldn’t breathe properly through his nose with the fingers thrusting deep. He was drooling copiously, a silver strand of spit connecting his chin to Dunk’s wrist.
His struggles became weaker, more pathetic twitches. Finally, his body went slack in Dunk’s hold, his head lolling slightly, supported by Dunk’s hand. The fight had left him, burned out by sheer, humiliating helplessness.
Dunk slowly pulled his slick fingers free. They came out with a soft, wet pop. Aerion gasped, sucking in air, a line of spit and blood trailing from his swollen lips. His eyes were half-lidded, glassy.
“Good,” Dunk murmured, his voice a puff of warm air against Aerion’s flushed face.
He brought his wet fingers to his own mouth, licking them clean of the mixed spit and blood, never breaking eye contact. The taste was metallic, salty, and as unmistakable as dragonseed. He then unbuckled his breeches, freeing his cock.
It was thick, heavy, and fully erect, the head flushed a dark, ruddy color against his sun-brown skin. It curved slightly upward, veins prominent, precome beading at the tip.
Aerion stared at it, his breath catching. His fury seemed momentarily frozen, replaced by a kind of horrified fascination.
“You will make it wet. For your own sake,” Dunk said, his voice still that low, commanding rumble. He guided Aerion’s bound hands aside and placed a broad hand on the back of his head again. “Take it in your mouth.”
“I don’t… I’ve never…” Aerion’s voice was a ragged, spit-thickened whisper, the admission torn from him.
“I know,” Dunk said, and there was a surprising gentleness in it. “I will show you.”
Aerion blinked in confusion, but Dunk had already brought the thick shaft close enough that Aerion could feel the heat radiating off it. Dunk’s scent hit him like a physical force—thick, dominant, all-consuming—rolling through his body.
“Lick,” Dunk ordered softly. “Start at the head. Slow. I want to feel every inch of your tongue.”
Beneath the rage, beneath the humiliation burning Aerion’s cheeks, something else pulsed inside him. A need. A molten ache he had spent years burying under arrogance and cruelty.
Even as shame burned through Aerion’s face, he leaned in. His tongue flicked out hesitantly, tracing a shaky line across the swollen tip. The salty smear of precome hit his taste buds and he flinched—but Dunk’s grip at his nape held him steady.
“Again,” Dunk murmured, firmer. “Flatten your tongue. Drag it down the underside.”
Aerion obeyed, this time giving a long, trembling stroke from the crown to the thick vein below. Dunk hissed between his teeth.
“Good.” His hand tightened in Aerion’s hair. “Now wrap those lips around the tip. Just the head. Make it soft and wet.”
Aerion leaned forward, pressing his lips to the flushed crown, letting his tongue swirl nervously around it. Dunk groaned low in his chest.
“Pretty little mouth,” he rumbled. “You’re going to take all of me soon, but first…”
He rubbed the heavy length across Aerion’s mouth, smearing it with precome and spit.
Aerion’s lips parted on instinct, and Dunk eased the broad head inside, past those perfect, bruised lips.
It was a tight, hot sheath. Aerion immediately gagged, his body seizing up. Dunk held him still. “Breathe,” he coached, voice dropping to something almost tender. “Through your nose. Just breathe. Relax your jaw. Let it go slack.”
Aerion’s panicked violet eyes locked onto Dunk’s. He tried. A shaky breath huffed out his nostrils. His jaw loosened a fraction.
“Good. Now, taste me,” Dunk instructed, pulling back slightly, then pushing forward again, a shallow thrust.
Slowly, reluctantly, Aerion’s tongue moved. It was a flat, awkward swipe, the first touch of a man utterly inexperienced. His teeth scraped lightly, and he buckled inward.
“It’s alright,” Dunk soothed, his fingers threading into the silver strands at Aerion’s nape. The hair was as soft as it looked. He didn’t pull, just held, a point of connection. “Less teeth. More lips. Wrap them around me.”
Aerion tried again, his movements halting and inexperienced. He was terrible at it—the rhythm was off, his suction inconsistent, his gag reflex triggering every time Dunk tried to go deeper.
Aerion’s throat convulsed around Dunk’s cock, tears sparking at the corners of his eyes. But there was something endearing in the clumsy effort, in the way his brow furrowed in concentration, in the soft, frustrated sounds he made in his throat. Dunk let him set a slow, awkward pace, his hand a steady guide.
“Hollow your cheeks,” Dunk said, his own breath starting to come faster as pleasure built. “Suck in as you pull back. Yes. Just like that. Now look at me.”
Aerion’s tear-damp eyes flickered up. The sight was devastatingly erotic: the beautiful, haughty prince on his knees, lips stretched obscenely around Dunk’s thick cock, looking up through pale lashes with a mix of humiliation and a dawning, unwilling arousal.
Dunk’s cock was now thoroughly slick, glistening with Aerion’s saliva. A string of it connected the head to Aerion’s bottom lip every time he pulled off to gasp for air.
“You’re learning so fast,” Dunk praised, his voice low and genuine. “Taking me so well. A mouth like yours was made for this.”
The praise seemed to burn Aerion as much as the physical act. A faint, confused blush stained his pale cheeks. His movements became slightly less clumsy, more rhythmic, his tongue learning the shape, his lips sealing tighter.
When Dunk was slick and throbbing, he gently pulled Aerion off. The prince collapsed back on his heels, panting, his lips red and swollen and gleaming. He looked utterly debauched.
Without a word, Dunk moved. He pulled Aerion to his feet, his big hands making quick work of the lacings on the ruined silk doublet, then the fine linen shirt beneath.
Aerion was too dazed to fight, his earlier fury muted into a sullen, shocked passivity. The clothes pooled on the blanket, leaving his chest bare—pale, smooth, his nipples tightening into small, flushed points, those soft buds betraying how reactive his body was beneath all that princely venom.
Then Dunk’s hands went to his breeches, untying them, pushing them down over slim hips.
Aerion came alive then, a last spark of panic. “No! Don’t—!”
But it was too late. The breeches and smallclothes fell. And there, revealed in the flickering candlelight, was the truth Aerion Targaryen had hidden his entire life.
Between his slender, pale thighs was not the cock of an alpha or beta male, but the soft, vulnerable folds of an omega.
The labia were swollen, a flushed, deep rose, glistening with a copious slick that had soaked his inner thighs. The small, erect clit peeked from its hood, visibly throbbing. As the cool night air hit him, a fresh wave of that slick leaked out, dripping down his thigh. The scent blockers—the perfumes and oils—had been stripped away with his clothes.
And his scent bloomed.
It hit Dunk like a physical blow, driving the air from his lungs. It was sweet, achingly so, like honey and summer peaches, but underneath it was a crackling, spicy edge, the scent of wildfire and ozone, of dragon and storm. It was the most potent, intoxicating omega scent Dunk had ever encountered. It screamed need, heat, breeding ground.
Dunk staggered back a half-step, his eyes wide. “Gods be good,” he breathed.
Aerion made a broken sound, part sob, part snarl. He desperately tried to cover himself, but his wrists were still bound. He could only sit there, exposed and trembling, his secret laid bare in the most humiliating way possible. The fury returned, white-hot and desperate. “Look away! Look away, you brute! You have no right!”
“I have every right,” Dunk said, his voice thick with awe and a sudden, overwhelming possessiveness. “You are mine.”
The word seemed to break something in Aerion. With a scream of pure rage, he launched himself at Dunk, a wild, feral thing.
Dunk caught him easily, turning the momentum, bearing him down onto the piled furs and blankets that served as his bedroll. Aerion bucked and writhed, his slender body no match for Dunk’s strength, but his defiance was undimmed. He kicked, he cursed in High Valyrian, he twisted like an eel.
Dunk didn’t struggle with him. Instead, he reached for the lengths of tent rope and a spare leather belt. His movements were methodical, efficient. He rolled Aerion onto his stomach, ignoring the hissed insults. He pulled Aerion’s bound wrists down and back, then took his ankles, bending his knees. With firm, secure knots, he bound Aerion’s wrists to his ankles behind his back.
It left Aerion face-down, his ass lifted high in the air, his slick cunt completely exposed and presented. The position was profoundly vulnerable, utterly submissive. Aerion’s struggles only served to highlight the lewd display, making his hips jerk, his whole rear trembling.
“You shouldn’t hide. Your nature isn’t shameful,” Dunk said, kneeling behind him. His large, rough hands settled on Aerion’s hips, holding him steady. “It’s beautiful.”
Aerion snarled another curse, but Dunk ignored him. Dunk’s large, rough hands settled on Aerion’s hips, one hand sliding up the inside of Aerion’s trembling leg. His thumb found the swollen bud of Aerion’s clit and began to circle it with slow, aching deliberation.
Aerion jolted, a strangled cry tearing from him as his hips tried to jerk away and toward the touch all at once.
“Wait—” he gasped, twisting helplessly.
But Dunk only pressed a little firmer, rubbing lazy circles that made Aerion’s whole body shudder. His brow knit, his lips quivered, and shame-coated pleasure bloomed hot across his skin.
“As an omega, your body knows exactly what it wants,” Dunk murmured against his thigh, his voice a low, rough heat. “Even if your pride doesn’t.”
He leaned down.
The first touch of his tongue was a soft, broad swipe, starting at the damp, plush lips of Aerion’s cunt and gliding upward in one long stroke until it closed warmly around the rigid little bud of his clit. He sucked Aerion’s clit into his mouth, flicking it with soft, devastating strokes that made Aerion cry out, back arching sharply. He circled the tight, twitching entrance with the very tip of his tongue, dipping in just barely, making Aerion’s whole body shudder.
Aerion’s protests died in his throat, turning into stifled, ragged sounds. A whimper. A moan that was bitten off too late. His hips, which had been trying to pull away, gave a tiny, involuntary jerk towards Dunk’s mouth. Dunk rewarded him with a deeper, firmer suck on his clit, and a low, approving hum that vibrated through Aerion’s core.
“Nngh… slow down… please…” Aerion begged, but it was weak, contradictory. His body was betraying him utterly. Every lick, every suck, every soft probe of Dunk’s tongue sent waves of pleasure crashing through him, a sensation so foreign and intense it felt like being unmade. His slick gushed in response, coating Dunk’s chin.
The sweet, needy scent thickened, filling the tent. The bratty resistance was being melted away by a relentless, gentle arousal.
Dunk used his thumbs to gently spread him wider, exposing the flushed, glistening pink interior. He licked into him like a man dying of thirst, tasting the mixture of saliva and delicate omega sweetness.
Aerion’s breathing became helpless moans. His bound body trembled uncontrollably. The pleasure was a coil, winding tighter and tighter in his belly, an ache building that was desperate for something more, something inside.
“Please…” Aerion let out again, and this time it was not a plea to stop.
Dunk gave one last fierce, hungry suck to Aerion’s clit, lips closing around it with devastating gentleness—
—and Aerion came in a single, violent shudder. His body arched off the blankets, ropes going taut around his wrists and ankles, a sharp cry torn from him before he could smother it. His cunt clenched and fluttered in frantic, pulsing waves, slick rushing out in a hot spill over Dunk’s mouth and chin.
Dunk looked at the wrecked prince, his cunt swollen and weeping, his body pliant in its bonds. “Please what?” he asked, his voice gravelly with his own need.
Aerion didn’t want to say it, but the ache twisting low in his belly wouldn’t let him stay silent. Shame warred with the desperate, physical craving. He buried his face in the blanket.
“…inside,” he whispered into the furs. “I want you inside me.”
When Dunk rose to his knees again, his cock stood heavy and slick, flushed dark with need. He guided the broad head to Aerion’s entrance, dragging it slowly up and down the soaked seam. Aerion held his breath, hips jerking at the teasing contact.
And Dunk pushed in. Just the tip. A shallow, teasing inch.
A sharp cry was torn from Aerion. It was too much and not enough. The stretch was immense, unbelievable. He was so tight as only a virgin could be, clenched with a lifetime of tension, but his body yielded, his slick easing the way.
“Too—too big—” he choked.
“You can take me,” Dunk assured. He kept pushing, spreading Aerion open inch by inch, parting the glistening folds with unhurried insistence.
The tightness was breathtaking—Dunk groaned aloud as Aerion’s inner muscles clamped around him like a velvet fist, resisting and yielding at once.
Aerion could only whimper as Dunk’s cock disappeared into his gripping heat. He writhed, shaking, the tied arch of his body forcing him to feel every fraction of that intrusion.
Soon Dunk’s hips met the soft curve of Aerion’s ass.
He was fully inside.
Dunk paused there, buried to the hilt, letting the sensation wash over him. He leaned forward, grinding slowly, deliberately, enjoying the impossibly tight clutch of Aerion’s body around his cock. Aerion cried beneath him, trembling so hard the ropes creaked.
Then Dunk moved.
One massive hand slid under Aerion’s hips, the other under his thigh. With effortless strength, he flipped Aerion over, rolling him from his face-down sprawl to his back as though he weighed nothing at all. The tip dragged across him as it slipped free, a fleeting stroke that made Aerion’s breath catch before Dunk hovered over him again.
Dunk kissed him—just once—hot breath mixing with Aerion’s shuddering moan.
The ropes slipped, loosened by struggle and sweat—easy enough to escape now.
Aerion didn’t even try. He didn’t want to. All he could think about was being filled, exactly the way he’d always secretly craved.
Aerion gave a startled cry as Dunk pressed his legs almost to his shoulders. The position forced him open—knees to chest, spreading him obscenely, his slick little cunt laid bare—red, vulnerable, exposed.
Dunk’s thick cock dragged slowly down between Aerion’s spread folds, parting the slick heat until the flushed head came to rest against his entrance, heavy, deliberate, claiming, but not pushing in. Just sitting there, throbbing at the threshold.
Aerion whimpered and instinct, raw and uncontrollable, made him tilt his hips upward, trying to catch the blunt head and draw it inside him.
“Such a good little omega,” Dunk said, his thumb brushing Aerion’s trembling thigh. “So eager. So ready. Opening yourself for my cock without me even asking.”
Aerion’s lips curled, breath sharpening as he tried to muster a snarl, a curse, anything to pull himself back from the edge of submission.
Dunk thrust in with a sudden, sharp snap of his hips.
Aerion screamed—high, raw—but the shock melted quickly into a guttural grunt as Dunk began to fuck him in earnest. The pace built swiftly, powerful thrusts driving deep, rocking Aerion’s small frame as though he weighed nothing at all.
Aerion felt tiny beneath him. Dunk dwarfed Aerion completely, his massive body covering him, his hips hammering steadily into that slick, fragile heat.
Each deep plunge made Aerion’s abdomen lift, and he could see—gods, he could see—the faint swell beneath his navel when Dunk bottomed out, the shape of his cock pressing from the inside with every forceful thrust.
Dunk’s breath warmed Aerion’s neck, voice low and fervent. “My beautiful prince. Perfect omega. Taking it so well. I’ll pump your belly full with dragon pups, mark you inside and out.”
“D-don’t you dare get cocky,” Aerion rasped, clawing for the last scraps of dignity. “Only a true claim could do that, and you will never win it from me.”
The notion of being bred hit Aerion like a jolt of fire, striking something deep in him. Fear flared, yet a hot, humiliating shiver rolled through him at the same time, his cunt tightening around Dunk with a desperate, involuntary squeeze.
Groaning low at the clench, Dunk’s hips stuttered before thrusting hard and deep—brutal strokes slamming against every sensitive spot inside. Aerion shook violently, moans breaking into high, desperate gasps, cunt fluttering wildly on the edge of climax.
Dunk’s fingers slid down between their bodies. Two thick pads found Aerion’s clit and tapped it lightly, teasingly. The small nub jolted at every stroke, a sharp spark of pleasure shooting up his spine.
“Dunk—” Aerion’s voice cracked, shaking violently, clit throbbing from Dunk’s taps. “I can’t—I’m going to—gods, I’m going to come—”
“Then come for me.”
And with that, his fingers closed around Aerion’s clit in a cruel, decisive pinch—sharp enough to steal the breath from Aerion’s lungs, precise enough to send pleasure knifing through him without warning, slick splattering between his thighs.
Aerion’s body went rigid beneath Dunk’s weight, a broken moan muffled against his shoulder. His cunt clamped around Dunk in a tight, pulsing grip, each pulse drawing him deeper, holding him fast. Dunk did not slow; he kept his rhythm deep and steady, fucking Aerion through the soft, shaking pulses of his climax.
“Look at me, my prince,” Dunk said.
Aerion shook his head, tears streaking.
Dunk’s hand remained at Aerion’s clit, thumb brushing lightly over the tender nub in slow, soothing strokes that made Aerion quiver.
He shifted his angle, and his movements changed—his thrusts shortened, becoming slow, rolling grinds that stirred something unbearably sensitive inside Aerion. Each circular push made the fat head of his cock drag over a tender, swollen ridge deep in his pussy, plowing along the engorged inner furrow with agonizing slowness.
A ragged moan escaped Aerion, his head turning aside as though he could hide from the sound.
Aerion’s climax had only just faded, the aftershocks still soft in his trembling muscles, and yet a heat curled low and sharp, rising again far too quickly. His omega body, neglected for so long, seized hungrily on every careful grind, every stroke, tightening around Dunk’s cock with helpless intent.
Dunk reached forward, his big hand sliding under Aerion’s jaw, fingers curling firmly. He forced Aerion’s head up and back, so their eyes could meet. Aerion’s violet eyes were wide, dazed, drowning in confusion and sensation.
“Do not shy away. Look at me,” Dunk repeated, holding his gaze captive. “If you want to be claimed, you’ll watch me take what’s mine.”
Aerion jerked as though struck, fury flickering frantic beneath the shame and pleasure. “I refuse to be claimed like some brood-soft creature—”
His denial broke off with a shuddering gasp as Dunk fucked him in short, controlled motions, just deep enough for Aerion to feel the warmth of the swelling knot beginning to form at the root of him.
“Your body is begging for it,” Dunk said, his voice low, steady. “Just feel it. Feel me.”
Dunk pushed into him again, just a shallow slide, barely breaching him. Aerion’s slick heat clutched at the intrusion in a frantic, fluttering squeeze, wetness welling out in shameless surges. The moment Dunk’s cock pressed inside, Aerion’s hips jerked upward out of instinct, desperate, uncontrollable.
“I am Targaryen. I’ll never beg you for anything,” Aerion snarled, pride flaring desperately. “Least of all some filthy—filthy—”
Dunk withdrew at that exact moment, letting Aerion’s rise meet only empty air. Aerion collapsed back into the furs with a strangled, broken sound, his slick folds clenching at nothing pathetically, as if begging the cock that refused to fill him.
The sight of him—spreading slick in greedy, eager pulses, trembling like some pretty, dripping thing bred to be mounted—stirred a deep, primal ache in Dunk’s gut.
Dunk guided his cock lower, letting the slick-coated length drag through Aerion’s soaked folds. Aerion shuddered, breath catching—but Dunk wasn’t giving him friction. He lifted his hips slightly… and brought the heavy length down in a firm, deliberate slap against Aerion’s dripping cunt.
A sharp, wet sound filled the tent—followed by Aerion’s broken cry.
His whole body jerked, the frustrated pleasure shooting straight through him, tightening every trembling muscle. Fresh slick spilled out in a helpless pulse, coating Dunk’s shaft.
“What a glorious sight,” Dunk mused, dragging the weight of his cock slowly back up through the mess he’d made, tapping that swollen clit with the thick head. “Shaking, leaking, begging for anything I give you.”
Aerion’s breath broke into ragged gasps, hips tipping up despite himself—as if offering, as if pleading.
“Don’t,” Aerion tried weakly, voice cracking. “Don’t do that— it— it makes— gods—”
“It makes you want a knot to lock you open until you fall apart on it,” Dunk finished, lowering the heavy length once more and letting it fall against Aerion’s flushed lips with another sharp, humiliating slap.
Aerion cried out, high and broken, thighs trembling violently. Dunk didn’t let the cry fade before he was driving into him again, pushing Aerion right back to the trembling brink of orgasm.
“You feel so good,” Dunk purred, his face close to Aerion’s, their breath mingling. “So tight and hot and sweet for me. Made for this. Made to take my cock.”
“I’m… not…” Aerion gasped, trying to look away, but Dunk’s grip held him firm.
“You are. Your cunt says you are. Your scent says you are.” Dunk thrust in a little deeper, making Aerion’s eyes roll back before he caught himself, forced to meet Dunk’s intense, kind gaze. “You’re so beautiful like this. Yielding for me. Letting me see you.”
The praise, so sincere, so at odds with the degrading position, did something to Aerion’s mind. The insults died on his tongue. The fight bled out of him, replaced by a dizzying need to hear more, to be good for this lowborn alpha knight who looked at him as if he were a treasure.
“Say it,” Dunk murmured. “Say you want the claim.”
Aerion’s pride faltered, crumbling beneath the weight of instinct and need. He could feel the promise of the knot— the breadth, the heat, the power of claim. With every thrust, the warm rise of the knot brushed him, a slow swelling pressure that made his breath stutter.
Dunk nudged his cock further in, letting a fraction of his burgeoning knot, heavy and warm, threaten the first real stretch.
Aerion’s fingers curled, his whole body tightening in frantic, pulsing need. His climax lingered just within reach, broken and incomplete, hovering on the edge of a pleasure he couldn’t reach without fullness.
He needed to come.
He needed the knot to come.
He needed to be filled, stretched, held open, claimed—
And Dunk knew it.
He pulled out again.
The loss hit Aerion like a blow, leaving him gaping and empty. He keened—a thin, devastated sound as his near orgasm collapsed inward, sharp as hunger.
“Please,” Aerion begged, the word a broken thing. “Please, Alpha. Please.”
“Please what, little dragon?” Dunk murmured, his thumb stroking Aerion’s cheekbone as he held his face.
“I need… I need you to… to claim me.” The admission was a whimper, a final surrender. “Please. Knot me. Fill me. I can’t… I ache…”
“You want me to breed this pretty cunt?” Dunk asked, his voice dropping to a filthy, possessive whisper. “To lock my seed inside you? To mark you so everyone knows who you belong to?”
“Yes!” Aerion wailed, his body trembling violently. “Yes, please, breed me, claim me, please!”
That was all Dunk needed. He shifted his hips, lined up, and with one powerful, steady thrust, he sheathed himself to the hilt. Aerion screamed, a sound of pure, shattered pleasure. And then Dunk pushed further.
The knot, thick and unyielding, pressed against his virginal little cunt. It stretched him, burned him, a feeling of being split wider than he thought possible. All that existed was the overwhelming, full-to-bursting sensation.
Dunk rocked, pressing insistently, and with a final, wet, pop, the knot slid home.
Aerion came instantly.
His pussy clamped down in rhythmic, milking pulses around the thick intrusion, his climax tearing through him with a violence that left him blind and deaf. Slick gushed, soaking them both.
Dunk groaned, a deep, guttural sound of triumph, and bit down.
His teeth sank into the scent gland at the junction of Aerion’s neck and shoulder. It was not a gentle love bite; it was a claiming. Blood, hot and coppery, mixed with the taste of Aerion’s skin and sweat.
At the same moment, Dunk’s release began—hot, thick pulses of seed flooding deep into Aerion’s womb, spurting with each contraction of his own orgasm. The knot swelled further inside him, locking them together, ensuring every last drop was kept inside.
A bond, sudden and profound, snapped into place between them. It was a rush of pheromones, of knowing, a dizzying cocktail of possession, satisfaction, and a deep, shocking tenderness. Dunk held the bite, laving the wound with his tongue as he rocked gently through the tie, his come still pumping, breeding Aerion as promised.
Aerion’s hands moved before thought could catch up, sliding weakly around Dunk’s neck, pulling him in. Dunk met the plea instinctively, crushing their mouths together in a deep, consuming kiss.
“Mine,” Dunk breathed against Aerion’s helpless, open-mouthed moans. “My beautiful omega. My prize. My mate. You took it so well. You’re perfect.”
Aerion, in his euphoric submission, didn’t try to pull away. His body, spent and trembling, went limp, held up only by Dunk’s strong arms around his chest and the knot still buried deep within him. He turned his face, nuzzling weakly, almost instinctively, against the calloused hand that cupped his jaw. A soft, broken sound escaped him—not a curse, not a protest, but a sigh of utter, defeated completion.
Dawn crept over the horizon in a pale wash of gold when Aerion stirred, surfacing from sleep to the unmistakable deep, slow thrust of Dunk inside him. The overwhelming snap of the bond had etched a rut into Dunk’s bones, igniting his instinct to take, to fill, to keep.
The bond thrummed warm and heavy through Aerion’s chest with every deliberate movement, unraveling the last thin threads of pride he’d held onto.
He was claimed.
And gods help him, it felt right.