Chapter 10
Oberon fucked his precious omega senseless, until Fenrir was little more than a blubbering mess sheathing his cock.
He didn’t know where all the pent-up aggression came from, but the moment he’d walked into the room and noticed Fenrir missing, something had come over O.
It didn’t matter that the omega had clearly been in the bathroom.
Even once he’d been back in sight, the insufferable scratching sensation hadn’t abated.
At first, he’d thought for sure it was because the omega was trying to get away before fully satisfying him, but as Oberon drilled into him for the fifth time that night, he had the sinking realization that it was possible no amount of orgasms pulled from the omega’s body could soothe this frustration.
Fenrir’s heat was still in full swing, brought on by the drug Oberon had gone to retrieve earlier.
He’d tossed the pill given to him from the Wardrobe immediately, not trusting the dosage.
Good thing too, because hours into fucking, he didn’t see himself losing steam anytime soon.
The longer the omega’s heat lasted, the better.
“How do you feel?” he asked, slowing his hips as he settled more firmly over Fenrir. Oberon brushed strands of sweat-drenched hair off Fenrir’s forehead while he waited for a response, knowing the other man would need a moment to catch his breath.
And that was if he was capable of replying at all. This deep into his heat, it was possible his brain was all mush.
“Should we keep going?” Oberon tested the waters, opting to try an easier question. When the omega shook his head roughly against the pillow, he grunted. “So I shouldn’t give you my knot?”
“Wait.” Fenrir’s hole twitched around him, a poor attempt to cling to his member as Oberon slowly pulled free. He whimpered. “Wait.”
“I bet you’re going to hate yourself in the morning,” he noted, grinning when he thrust back into him and the omega gasped blissfully. “Actually, maybe not. The dose I gave you was strong. You’ll probably be in heat for the rest of the weekend.”
“King.”
He couldn’t tell if Fenrir hated that idea or loved it. Probably a bit of both. The rational, prideful part of the once-alpha would reject the notion of being a slave to another man’s cock. But the omega version he was now?
“Tell me you want my knot, precious,” Oberon coaxed. “Tell me this is the best fucking you’ve ever had.”
His earlier talk with Levi was little more than a vague memory in the back of his mind. The warning, the order, and his dismissal of the Dominus’ concerns had faded into the background, as unimportant as most things had become to Oberon in the past few years.
Who cared where Fenrir had come from or who wrongfully believed they held his leash? Who cared whose orders he used to take, or where his fealty used to reside?
They weren’t here.
They weren’t balls deep in Fenrir Snow, listening to him beg for more.
“How many people could take you apart like this?” Oberon asked. “How many have dared try?” Even if he was technically an omega now, having learned his history, it was obvious that lesser alphas would feel intimidated around Fenrir.
Had Michelle really kept them away? Or were the alphas in her pack simply cowards?
There wasn’t much known about the Wolf. Even the occasional defector of the Wardrobe that they caught either didn’t know anything or refused to speak on the matter.
Oberon had overheard Baal commenting that there’d been apparent fear in the eyes of an ex-pack member once when the Wolf had been brought up, but O hadn’t seen it for himself.
“Only,” Fenrir finally replied, pausing to inhale sharply when that earned him another powerful pump of Oberon’s hips. It was clear he was out of it, a fact made only more apparent when he ignored the questions and addressed O’s first statement instead. “Only fucking.”
“What’s that?” Ah, he’d told him to say this was his best.
“Only you,” Fenrir stated, peeling his eyes open to blink up at him. At first, his gaze was unfocused, tears sticking to his lashes, but then his eyes locked onto Oberon’s and held, and there was something almost vulnerable there. “Only alpha.”
That’s what Oberon had paid for. A virgin omega. An untouched hole. A product from one of the most esteemed underground companies in the galaxy.
The Wardrobe dealt in dirty dealings and petty crimes.
They tricked people into slave contracts, following the old ways where family and the occasional friend with enough influence could sell another’s freedom for coin or a favor.
They’d gone relatively untouched by the Imperial family, though there were rumors the next in line had plans to clean the streets and create new infrastructure.
Michelle and those like her knew they were on borrowed time.
As soon as Imperial Prince Altair took the crown, sex crimes would be granted the severest punishment.
Contracts would still be legal, but rights would have to be willingly given away, with backing to prove it if someone ever brought it into question.
Perhaps that was why she was targeting the White Frost. The Eumia Mafia, based on another part of the planet, were too far out of her reach, but the Levithan’s organization…
Oberon wondered just how much of her plans the man beneath him had truly been made aware of. If he’d been pack, perhaps all of it, but if he was being honest and he was little more than product, the mistress would have left him in the dark.
“Pack is such a dated term,” he found himself sneering, hating the idea of Fenrir belonging to such an embarrassing thing. No one called themselves pack anymore, not even the older generation. Why someone who seemed to carry some class like Michelle did was beyond him.
When he’d placed his bid, he’d had no idea that Fenrir was Michelle’s favorite pet. No doubt, there was a target on his back now as well, and Levi wasn’t the only one who needed to be cautious.
But Fenrir wasn’t like anyone Oberon had ever encountered.
The omega met his gaze head-on when most alphas were too afraid to.
He appeared to speak bluntly, and yet there always seemed to be a wealth of hidden meaning in his words.
The drug, Rebirth, could alter his chemistry, sure, but it wouldn’t change his personal preferences.
If Fenrir hadn’t been attracted to cock before the forced change of his secondary sex, he wouldn’t magically be into it now.
And yet, he unfurled for Oberon in ways no other lover ever had before.
So sensitive and responsive. There was no act in it.
This omega wasn’t moaning for him to try and seduce him for monetary gain or social status.
The heat contract in no way demanded he play the part of an interested omega; it merely required him to part his thighs and let Oberon fuck him.
Whether he enjoyed it or not—or pretended to enjoy it—didn’t matter.
Was it because he was a virgin? The fact Fenrir had been left untouched all this time, wanting, could be a defining factor, but it was one that left Oberon unsettled and displeased.
He didn’t want the omega to crave his knot because he’d never taken one before and it was his only experience being satisfied the way an omega should be. Oberon wanted more than that.
No, he demanded more than that.
Already, Fenrir had tried to cop out. Had denied his attraction and attempted to end his heat, and therefore their time together, prematurely.
O could certainly keep him locked in the throes of heat for a while—continue to feed him pills to trap him in that state—but eventually, the omega’s body would give out from overuse.
Risking permanent damage or worse, death, wasn’t a satisfying solution to Oberon’s newfound problem.
But if he did nothing and allowed this heat to end, the contract would be completed in all legal sense. He’d have no ground to stand on, no legitimate reason to hold the omega hostage.
Hostage?
He played with the idea as he continued to pound Fenrir into the mattress, only partially noticing when the omega screamed and came for him again. He didn’t slow his thrusts, didn’t acknowledge it at all, just kept going as his mind raced to solve this issue that was driving him half mad.
It’d been a long time since something had bothered him this much.
Since anything had demanded so much of his concentration.
Levi wanted to block the Wardrobe’s schemes. Perhaps using Fenrir as a hostage could do the trick?
He discarded the notion almost as soon as the thought fully formed.
That would give the Dominus too much power over Fenrir.
Oberon didn’t want to share, not even with the Leviathan.
Maybe especially not with the Leviathan.
He couldn’t allow anyone else with power greater or close to his near his omega.
But outright kidnapping him wouldn’t work either. All it would do was cause more problems between the White Frost and the Wardrobe, and Levi would be forced to order O to return him. They may be horrible people and rulers of the underworld, but a broken contract looked bad all around.
Oberon had a reputation to uphold, and if he suddenly appeared untrustworthy…Reputation was everything in their line of work. Businessmen only understood power and the honor of a deal. He couldn’t break a contract—even a heat contract—for no good reason.
Technically, this problem didn’t need to be solved right this instant. He should enjoy the feel of his omega and worry about it later. There was the whole weekend ahead of them before the heat ended and the risk of Fenrir needing to return to the Wardrobe became reality.
With his omega virginity gone, would Michelle place him in a regular auction?
Word must have spread that the Purse of the White Frost had spent a small fortune on an unknown product.
Other alphas would be curious.
They’d want to experience a taste. Brag they’d bedded the same omega as Oberon King.
“Too deep!” Fenrir clawed at O’s shoulders, nails digging into his flesh as his eyes rolled.