Chapter 10
FALLON
{One month ago}
What time was it? One? Two? Four in the fucking morning?
Here, the concept of time didn’t exist.
A deprivation chamber, but not in the usual sense. This place was supposed to feed the senses. Sight. Smell. Taste. Touch.
But the cold world outside was deprived the warm pleasure of it all.
Rows of half-moon fixtures spilled hazy maroon light across the soundproof walls. Low, bass-heavy music threaded through ceiling-mounted speakers. The carpet’s design was busy, almost dizzying.
The scent of this room—a nearly noxious cocktail of patchouli, amber, musk and fake Omega pheromones—stung my nostrils. Maybe the club thought the artifice would entice Alphas enough they’d forget the sex workers were Beta.
I couldn’t care less if the person tied up was male, female, Alpha, Omega, Beta or a damn alien.
All I cared about was feeling something.
My body kept betraying me. It kept doing nothing when it should be doing everything.
I needed the feel of my dick hardening, wanted to throb painfully when I couldn’t release the pressure fast enough.
If riding my bike was oxygen, then sex was water.
Without one, I’d die instantly. Without the other, I might make it three or four days.
Somehow, I’d made it months. Unless I was dead and didn’t know it.
Fallon, a fucking zombie.
I’d given up on private dances, given up on the illusion of seduction. Hell, I’d given up on my normal club. It was fucking embarrassing to gain a reputation for walking out without touching, without finishing, without feeling one goddamn thing.
Two weeks ago, I’d almost gotten a hard-on in this very room.
I dared my dick to fail me today. It had to start working.
Tour logistics and run-throughs were already gearing up.
Jesus, I still hadn’t worked out the details of the big stunt.
The one that would push us further than ever.
Fuck, we could do it the way it was already laid out.
Might be our last ride, out in a blaze of glory.
The Beta woman stood in the center, arms stretched above her head, wrists bound by padded cuffs that hung from a chain in the ceiling. Her breathing had already quickened, though I hadn't yet touched her.
I liked to watch for a while.
I liked to study each curve.
I liked to plan my attack.
And she was beautiful prey, deserving of a focused predator.
Moving slowly, I circled her once, maintaining distance.
Her back was stunning, tattooed flowers trailing down her spine in rich hues.
Long limbs. Elegant neck. Wide eyes framed by thick lashes.
Seductive, permanently pouting lips. Flawless tanned skin that took on a rosy hue thanks to the lighting.
She was everything desirable. Everything warm.
Everything I usually wanted. Yet I wasn’t myself tonight.
I couldn’t decide where to start. It felt like I was solving a problem, like what speed did the rider need to reach to get enough air and distance to make it to the second ramp.
I was still analytical Fallon; I wanted to get out of my head and give myself over to carnal desires.
"Don’t you want me, baby?” She tried to sound confident, but I heard the tremor in her voice. This woman was weak and undesirable. But she was also here, accessible, and paid for.
"Patience," I replied, the word barely above a whisper. The acoustics were exception in this room—designed to amplify every breath, every rustle of fabric, every moan of pleasure. I wanted her sounds of ecstasy, but not her words. Her words meant nothing to me.
She writhed and let out a frustrated huff. I smiled softly, finally feeling that familiar urge to satisfy myself. It fluttered like a dying, desperate bird. If I didn’t force it to fly soon, the wings would go still once again.
Unbuttoning my jacket, I shrugged it off then slung it over my right shoulder, holding it there with one crooked finger.
Slowly, I moved with purposeful steps towards the wall display mounted near the room’s pitch-dark exit.
Rows of titillating choices—their purposes ranging from torture to intense pleasure.
I debated the nipple clamps attached to a ball gag.
It could be adjusted so that every movement of her head tugged the clamps.
Then there was the vibrator with the ribbed tongue attachment.
Something simpler though…something to initiate this session.
Eventually, I exchanged my tailored, double-breasted blazer for a whip—leather, supple, with soft tassels that would tease rather than hurt.
My gaze lingered on the door’s obsidian knob—it’s roundness nearly lost against the void of black, glossy paint—and part of me debated wrapping my fingers around the sleek surface, turning it, and leaving the room.
But no. I wasn’t going to tuck tail and run again. I wouldn’t get a reputation at this shitty whore house for being a limp dick loser who can’t get it up.
I unfastened four of my shirt buttons with one hand, putting my chiseled chest on display.
Then I turned from that midnight exit and I moved my body.
I took fluid, mesmerizing steps, watching as the woman’s eyes roved over the length of me.
Her gaze was hungry, achingly needful. Fuck, when had that look grown tiresome to me?
Even as she batted her lashes and licked her lips, I couldn’t chase away a feeling I could only compare to utter boredom.
When I stood half a foot away, she instinctively strained against the cuffs. The metal links of the chain clinked softly above her head. I felt my gaze darken, even as the apathy invaded my bones. I’d find a way to enjoy this, even if I had to push myself and this woman to the very brink.
Inch by inch, I glided the tassels of the leather whip up her left calf.
Her skin pebbled in the wake of the slow stroking and she moaned when my movements stayed, the whip lingering at the hollow behind her knee.
I stepped closer, narrowing the gap between us.
So close that her breasts hovered mere centimeters from me.
She glanced down, noting our nearness, and she leaned as far as the restraints would allow.
The very tips of her hard nipples grazed the bare skin of my chest. Her eyes came to life, bright and shining with anticipation.
“You’re so damn warm,” she breathed out, disrupting my state of mind. I should have told her to stay quiet the minute I secured the handcuffs. It was an easy misstep to correct.
“Don’t talk,” I commanded.
“Make me. You’re man enough, aren’t you?” she challenged. The minute she talked back and tested my authority, my dick twitched.
I didn’t like her voice. High, simpering. Trained to please. She was a lump of clay, molded easily by any man’s hands. Enjoyable on occasion, and that was the width and breadth of her value. But… the way she’d just talked back to me shot through my core and down to my cock.
I moved the whip upwards, traveling between her inner thighs and flicking the tassels sharply against her shaved pussy.
The sheer babydoll was split down the front and short enough that with arms lifted, her body from hips to feet was fully exposed.
I snaked the tassels beneath the fabric’s hem, tracing up her stomach, around her bellybutton, and terminating below her tits.
I brought the whip lower again, circling her body and letting the tassels whisper against her delicate skin.
Once I stood behind her, I trailed the tassels down the crack of her ass and dipped the whip’s tip between her thighs.
She parted her legs, offering easier access, letting me tease her folds with gentle brushes and slaps.
She vibrated with longing as torturous whimpers escaped her mouth. She said nothing, yet her body language screamed for me to do my worst. But I was losing my desire for her already. It had been a flash bomb, hot but short-lived.
No. I can do this. I can want her.
I dropped the whip to the floor, then shifted forward to press my bare chest into her naked back.
But I wasn’t completely hard; my still mostly flaccid dick against her rounded bottom didn’t have the desired effect.
I pushed my face into her thick, soft hair and let my lips brush the back of her ear.
My nose wrinkled as the room’s air freshener intensified.
It seemed to blow directly down on our position.
The artificial Omega seemed heavier than the other scent notes now.
Instead of forcing me into the illusion that this woman wasn’t Beta, it only highlighted the stark difference.
This woman could never be the match to an Alpha.
But not all Alphas are lucky enough to find the right one.
Fuck, we’d paid millions for a guaranteed match. Millions, and we remained Alphas teetering on the brink of ruin with no curative on the horizon. Maybe we should pay that back in kind. Maybe I should light a fire under Asher. Another company that needed punishing.
“Snap out of it, baby. I’m right here. I’m all yours.” Her voice pushed into my thoughts, just as she pushed her ass back harder against me, trying to grind against the cock that had little interest in her machinations.
Get your head in the game, asshole!
"Every inch of you is mine tonight," I forced the words out, trying to mean them.
The syllables landed in her hair, upon her shoulder, and slipped down the length of her supple form.
“You have no control. No say in how I touch you. But I can promise,” I placed both hands against her waist and brushed my palms up her sides, causing the sheer material of the babydoll to gather against my forearms, until my fingertips came to rest against the heavy, curved sides of her large breasts, “you'll come for me over, and over, and over. "
Would she? Would she come when I couldn’t even get it the fuck up?
My voice lowered with each word until the last thing I uttered was barely audible. Fake it. Be dramatic. Convince her. The shiver that ran through her body was violent enough to rattle the chains above her head.
I could almost taste her anticipation on the air.
And yet, I frowned.
This should have ignited me. I should be hard as a goddamn rock.
This beautiful, willing woman, surrendered to my control.
The careful dance of dominance and submission that had always satisfied something primitive in me.
The mental chess of calculating each touch, each word, each breath for maximum impact.
Instead, I felt hollow. Like an actor who had performed the same role so many times that his lines had lost all meaning. And it was fucking frustrating, because once upon a time, the script had proved magnetic. I’d lived for the part I played. Now, even donning the costume felt like a farce.
I wanted to want this woman. To feel that surge of desire and power that had once come so easily. I didn’t act quickly enough. I didn’t foster the dying bird. Flight evaded me. Broken wings. Grounded. Too far from the sky above.
When had this happened? This disconnection? This sense that something fundamental was missing? Maybe it had seeped in slowly, a draft at the bottom of an older door, letting in winter’s chill bit-by-bit until the whole damn house froze.
The woman cleared her throat.
Bringing me back to the present, unsatisfying reality.
She didn't deserve to have her night ruined by whatever existential crisis I was experiencing.
I pushed away from her body, moving around to face her.
I used one hand to tease her womanhood, and I murmured appropriate words of praise and promise into the heated space between us.
But my mind had detached, my dick gone dead.
Perhaps it was the predictability. I knew exactly how this would unfold—her increasing desperation, the moment I’d finally grant her satisfaction, her expression as I released her bonds and pushed her to her knees.
I’d curl fingers into her hair, direct her mouth where I wanted it, groan as her painted lips worked my cock.
I could already hear her cries as she came and her muffled, wet moans as she sucked me off.
I could play the movie in my head before the previews finished rolling.
No surprises. No challenge. No risk.
Was that what I needed? Risk?
The safe, controlled environment of the club suddenly felt stifling.
The red lights that had seemed atmospheric now struck me as artificial, theatrical.
I could rip down the walls, revealing the man behind the curtain.
And that man would be me—claiming to be some all-powerful wizard, but really a talentless man with no way home.
"Is something wrong?" The Beta woman had twisted her head, trying to see me behind her. Observant. I had paused too long. And she’d talked again. Goddammit.
"One more word from you," I replied, keeping my tone smooth despite the turmoil wrecking my insides. I wrapped one hand around her pussy, giving it a rough squeeze, “and I’ll leave you chained here until morning. Alone and unsatisfied.”
Her eyes visibly widened, and her breath hitched. Was her reaction real? Was it play-acting for pay? I couldn’t judge. I was acting too.
What I craved, I realized with sudden clarity, wasn't this simulation of connection. It was something raw. Something real. Something that couldn't be predicted or so easily controlled.
The thought should have disturbed me. Control was my cornerstone, the foundation upon which I had built my life and reputation. To desire its absence was... unprecedented.
I lifted her chin with a finger. Her eyes were dilated with desire, lips parted in anticipation of my touch. Beautiful. Willing. Utterly predictable. And now… the slightest taint of fear. And that woke the broken bird, just enough to flutter its wings and hover above the ground.
"Close your eyes," I commanded softly.
She shook her head ‘no’ and that defiance sent a thrill through me.
Did I want push back?
Did I want to be denied?
I stared at her face—wide eyes crowned by clumpy black mascara—and I had no plan for what came next.