9. Syn
9
SYN
“Eep!”
I let out this noise as Declan drags me over to his en-suite and flicks the light on. It’s muted, which I’m grateful for, but I don’t get much of a chance to take in much of the ambience as I’m thrust into the large shower with multiple shower heads and then drenched with cold water when Declan flicks the taps on.
“Fuck!” I shriek as my silk nightdress clings to me with icy water. My hair is plastered to my head and getting in my eyes as I splutter.
“Quiet,” Declan murmurs when he leans into the shower and strips the negligée away from my body, peeling it off and dumping it in the sink. He returns and grabs the soap and sponge, his muscular forearms flexing as he lathers up. I catch sight of the gash on the inside of his arm and wince. That looks like it hurt.
Struggling to breathe in the cold water, I grit my teeth against the shiver that runs through me to my soul.
Declan kneels in front of me, getting drenched himself. His tee clings to him like a second skin, and I pant a little at how incredibly good-looking this alpha is. His colouring is similar to Tarquin’s, but whereas Tarquin is cold and distant, I can see the flecks of passion bubbling under the surface. This Declan has a darkness that seeps deep into his essence. It takes everything I have not to reach out and brush his wet hair off his forehead.
He starts with my feet, washing them methodically, silently, running the sponge over my skin gently but firmly. He moves up to my shins and then my inner thighs. He breathes in deeply and lets out a low growl as he moves higher and higher until he is running the sponge over my pussy. My still sensitive clit twitches and I stifle the moan as the pressure from his cleansing sparks my arousal back to life.
He glances up at me with narrowed eyes and increases the pressure as he rises. I bite my bottom lip and shudder quietly as a weak orgasm hits me. Declan moves in closer as he sees my response to his actions. His scent is dulled by the water, but the sharp forest scent hits me as he breathes deeper, slower. He is as aroused as I am, despite his cruel attitude.
“You’re easy to please,” he murmurs, running the sponge over my breasts.
I clench my teeth, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a response. My bones ache with the cold, but I don’t back down. Declan’s touch with the sponge is methodical but intimate in a way that feels like an invasion. I’ve never had a man wash me before. It’s a new experience and one that I’m not eager to repeat.
Eventually, he seems to be satisfied that I no longer stink, and he switches the shower off. I shiver forcefully but stand there while he stares at me, blocking my exit. Slowly, he reaches down to the hem of his tee and pulls it over his head with one hand in a smooth move that makes my mouth water a little bit. His rock-hard abs are right in front of me, begging me to reach out and run my hand over his pale skin.
Declan’s body is a tapestry of defined muscle and pale scars, telling stories I’m not sure I want to know. He tosses his wet shirt to the floor with casual disregard, then reaches for a large black towel hanging nearby.
Instead of handing it to me, he wraps it around my body himself, using it to pull me closer. His hands move over me through the thick fabric, ostensibly drying me but clearly taking the opportunity to explore every curve.
He steps back suddenly, and I trip forward but steady myself on the cold, tiled wall. Declan takes off his soaked joggers, and I suppress a mewl of desire when he reveals his cock. Firm, lengthy, broad, and visibly eager. He makes no attempt to cover himself as he reaches for another towel to dry his hair, his eyes never leaving mine. There’s something predatory in his gaze, a challenge that makes my heart race despite my best efforts to remain impassive.
He dries off as he watches me with those cold eyes while I just stand there shivering, trying to get my blood to heat up again after the arctic dousing.
He ditches the towel and grabs my hand, leading me back into the bedroom. The hardwood floor is slippery under my wet feet, and I cling to him to keep my balance. I glance quickly around the darkened room, and to my relief, I see that Tarquin has left. I have never been watched before. I’ve never been with more than one alpha before.
Declan stops by a big, black leather armchair that can accommodate at least two people, and he sits down. He pulls the towel from me and then drags me onto his lap, facing outwards and then my breath hitches.
In the far corner of the room, darker and hidden from my previous view by an enormous, cubed bookcase that is practically empty of objects, I see Tarquin sitting in a chair, staring directly at us.
My pulse hammers in my throat as Declan spreads my legs wide, exposing me completely to Tarquin’s cold, unblinking gaze. I struggle instinctively, but Declan’s arm bands around my waist like iron.
“You’re going to give me what I want,” he murmurs in my ear.
I wet my lips. “And what is that?”
“If you thought the cold shower was bad, that is just the beginning.”
“Beginning of what?”
“Your punishment.”
My heart slams against my chest. “Punishment?”
“Mm, you’re a bad little omega.” His hand covers my pussy before he slides a finger inside me. “Dirty and used.”
“So you’re the one with the virginal fantasy?” I croak, keeping my eyes on Tarquin in case he approaches.
Tarquin lets out a sound of amusement before he glares at me, trying to maintain that cold front. But I see him. I see those glimpses he doesn’t want me to see.
“Hate to break it to you, but I’m not a virgin. Haven’t been for a long time.”
Declan’s laugh is low and dangerous against my ear. “I don’t want a virgin. I want an omega who knows when to submit. To accept her punishment.” His other hand clamps around my throat, drawing me closer to him as he invades my body with another finger.
“What are you going to do to me?” I choke out.
“Make you bleed, princess.” He removes his hand from my pussy and reaches into the side of the chair cushion. He pulls something out and flashes it in front of my eyes. A thin, wickedly sharp blade that makes my heart pound faster. My mouth goes dry as his hand tightens.
“Don’t damage her,” Tarquin says quietly. “She’s worth a lot of money.”
I clench my jaw in indignation.
“Damage?” Declan scoffs darkly. “I will make her into a work of art.”
I stare at the knife, fear sending my scent darting around the room.
“You’re going to sit very still for me,” Declan whispers in my ear. “One wrong move, and this could get messy.”
My body tenses as he brings the blade to my collarbone, the cold metal making me gasp. He traces it lightly across my skin, not cutting, just letting me feel the sharp edge and the threat it represents.
“Are you afraid?” he asks, his voice almost gentle.
I swallow hard. “Yes.”
“Good girl.” His approval sends an unexpected thrill through me. “Fear sharpens the senses.”
From his shadowed corner, Tarquin watches us with those cold, calculating eyes. I can’t read his expression, and it scares me. Will he stop Declan if he tries to murder me?
Declan slides the flat of the blade down between my breasts, the metal warming against my skin before he turns it around and grips the blade lightly. He traces the handle over my pussy before he inserts it inside me, and I yelp.
“Shh,” Declan murmurs as he thrusts it in and out, fucking me with the handle.
I bite my lip to stifle my moans as Declan works the knife handle inside me. The sensation is foreign—hard and unyielding, unlike flesh—but the danger of it, the sheer wrongness, has me arching against him. My slick coats the handle obscenely as he continues his assault.
“Look at you,” he whispers against my ear. “Wet for a weapon. What does that say about you, Synthia?”
I can’t answer, can barely breathe as he angles the handle to hit a spot inside me that makes stars burst behind my eyelids.
“You like it,” Declan whispers. “The little omega likes being used like this.”
I should be humiliated, but something dark and primal inside me responds to their game. I’m caught between them—Declan’s physical dominance and Tarquin’s watchful control—and my body betrays me with each thrust of the handle.
Declan increases the pace until I’m trembling on the edge. His other hand tightens on my throat, applying just enough pressure to remind me of my vulnerability.
Before I can explode with an orgasm that promised to rock my world, Declan removes the knife and brings the handle up to his lips. His tongue darts out, and he licks it clean, growling low, a deep rumble that vibrates through me.
“Fuck, you taste delicious. I wonder if your blood is just as sweet?”
I gulp back my terror as he flashes the blade under my chin, grazing my neck with the sharp edge as I go lightheaded with fear.