Chapter 10 #2
“You’ve had the finest education available and been with nothing but top shelf alphas, yet you’ve never been sexually satisfied?
” Quentin sat on the edge of the desk, watching Bianca’s expressions shift between embarrassment and arousal.
He tried not to smile. “What do you need that other alphas haven’t been able to give you, Countess?
How can we make sure that this time is different for you? ”
Again, the omega looked like she was thinking of running away. Quentin knew this wasn’t easy for her but if they were going to give her what she needed, she was going to have to become a better advocate for herself. He waited while she struggled internally, pleased when she didn’t back down.
“I need to have my control wrested away. I can’t enjoy myself unless I’m made to submit and I can’t submit unless I’m forced to,” she said in a rush, eyes back on her clasped hands.
“Sometimes I like to fight, but I don’t want to win.
I…I need you to take it. Don’t ask. Demand. Degrade me. Make me enjoy it.”
Quentin couldn’t fight back the growl that rumbled in his chest at her words.
It’s like the little minx knew exactly what he wanted, exactly what he could give her.
He felt the sleeping darkness within him stirring, heard whispers from that place he used to go when he’d led his platoon into enemy camps and back out with nothing but corpses in their wake.
There was a part of him that could only be satisfied when he was in control, administering pleasure or pain to a body completely at his mercy.
He could already imagine a collar around Bianca’s perfect, creamy throat. She’d be so pretty with her wrists chained above her head. She would fucking love it, the way he would bend her body to his will, the way his pack would learn a million and one depraved ways to make her come.
She could handle it. She needed it. Needed them.
She also needed to understand that this wasn’t a game. Her surrender would be total. He wouldn’t accept anything less.
Quentin crossed his arms, fixing the omega with a hard look. “I’m not one of your safe little rich boys, Countess.
“I don’t want safe,” she snapped back, cutting her pretty eyes at him.
Quentin was going to enjoy punishing that sass right out of her tight little ass.
“I’m not a fetish, so if you’re romanticizing the reformed thug trope, you can lock that shit up,” he barked, making her jump a little. “We’re not performing blue collar masculinity for you. If you want to live out your bad boy fantasy, hire actors.”
“I’ve had actors, Quentin! I want something real! I want you!” Bianca’s eyes widened, and she backed toward the door, obviously ready to finally make her escape from this conversation. “I mean, I want what you seem able to do. Bloody hell, you know what I’m trying to say.”
Quentin glanced at his packmates. Van was still grinning that goofy grin. Dante looked thoughtful, but there was a hint of a smile on his lips.
“We’ll discuss it tonight and have an answer for you tomorrow.” He stood and rounded the desk, returning to his notes on the evening’s events. “Do you need anything else right now? We should get ready for the ball.”
“Tomorrow? You’re going to get back to me tomorrow?” Bianca gaped at him. “I didn’t expect an ego trip from the likes of you, Quentin King.”
“My pack aren’t playthings or bachelorette party favors.
I’m not going to risk their well-being just so you can piss off your daddies and have a last hurrah,” Quentin snarled, flashing his canines in warning.
“I know you’re used to everyone asking how high when you say jump, but you’re not in charge here.
So, like I said, I’m going to think about it and talk with my packmates and get back to you when I’m good and goddamn ready.
Now, why don’t you go get ready for your fundraiser and let us get back to work? ”
Bianca gave him a look so venomous it made his dick ache. She was just begging to be rutted into submission. Quentin smirked at her, daring her to say another word. Instead, she spun on her heel and stormed out of the room.
“Bold move, boss,” Van said, letting out a low whistle. “You’d better sleep with one eye open.”
“He’ll be waiting for her with both eyes wide and a dick harder than woodpecker lips.” Dante grinned, eyeing Quentin in a way that made his stomach clench. “King knows exactly what he’s doing. You’ve done your part, big guy. Let Daddy close the deal.”
Quentin’s dick was well on its way to woodpecker status before Bianca left, and Dante wasn’t helping.
He ran a hand through his locs and tried to refocus.
They did need to run through the logistics for the ball again.
He checked the time against the evening’s plan, making final adjustments, and ignoring his packmates’ ongoing discussion of Bianca’s proposition.
“We’ll talk about Ms. Bonnycastle’s proposal after we ensure a safe and uneventful party tonight,” he said after a while, moving a stack of papers off his desk to uncover the map of the masquerade ball venue. “I want to give the discussion the time and attention it deserves.”
Van snorted. “I can think of a million things to do with our time and attention, and they all start with the letter B.”
“I can’t think at all,” Dante countered. “All my blood is still in my dick. ‘Don’t ask. Demand. Degrade me. Make me enjoy it.’ I thought I was going to lose my fucking mind.”
“King looked like he was going to rut her right here on the fucking floor!” Van cackled a laugh and Dante joined in.
Quentin shook his head, trying not to give in to their foolishness. “Alright, enough grab ass. Let’s get back to the plan–”
“Look at the monitor,” Dante interrupted in a choked voice.
Sighing, Quentin turned to the large screen that showed live video feeds from their cameras around the interior and exterior of the penthouse.
Everything looked normal, aside from one frame.
Bianca stood before the camera in her bedroom, staring directly down the lens as though waiting for them to notice her.
Dante tapped the keyboard, changing the settings to maximize the bedroom view.
Bianca’s room came into high-definition focus, where she stood with her lovely face still turned up to the camera.
Quentin moved closer to the screen. Her gunmetal gray eyes bore into him.
After a few long moments, Bianca slipped her robe from her shoulders.
She wore a gown beneath, but it was a slip of a thing, the wispy fabric clinging to her full breasts.
Her peaked nipples were on full display, dark against the pale silk.
Quentin’s mouth watered. His packmates pressed close on either side of him, their eyes locked on the screen.
After a few minutes, when she seemed sure they were watching, Bianca walked slowly to her bed. She bent over, the gown riding up her thighs as she pulled something from the bottom drawer of her nightstand. Van made a strangled sound.
The omega climbed onto her bed, propping herself up on pillows so that her spread legs faced the camera. Even when she opened her knees wide, the gown draped just enough to conceal what they were dying to see.
Bianca smiled cruelly, her eyes glinting, gloating. She knew exactly what she was doing. Giving them a taste. Punishing them for making her beg.
Oh, they were going to have so much fun with her.
If she wanted to play this game, Quentin would gladly show her how it was done. She wanted to be scared, to be powerless against her body’s needs, to be at their mercy. She was asking for it. Demanding it. And he was going to give her exactly what she deserved.
Quentin’s nerve endings buzzed with electricity.
The pack bond thrummed. They watched in silence as Bianca shoved the dildo beneath her gown, plunging it roughly into her pussy, the glistening length of it appearing and disappearing beneath the fabric, the shine revealing just how wet she was for them.
She never looked away from the camera, even as her head fell back against the wall, hips rolling as she fucked herself in hard, angry thrusts.
Pack King growled as one when Bianca slid the straps of her gown down her shoulders, letting the top fall to reveal her incredible tits.
She brought one hand up to pinch and tug at her nipples, the other steadily stabbing the dildo in and out of her pussy.
The thing was so fucking wet it was dripping down her fingers.
Quentin thought there was a very real chance he might come in his fucking pants.
Bianca’s body seized, her mouth open, her lips moving silently.
They’d disable audio from her bedroom feed out of respect for her privacy, but he wished they hadn’t.
Quentin would’ve loved to hear her screams, even though he could tell exactly what she was saying. He had no trouble reading her lips.
King. Oh, fuck, King. King. King. KING!
When she slumped against the pillows and tossed the glistening toy aside, Quentin felt a little lightheaded. He exhaled heavily, realizing he’d been holding his breath. Van and Dante echoed him, blinking dazedly.
“Well, I guess that’s settled then,” Van declared.
“Yep,” Dante said.
“She’s ours,” Quentin agreed. “Whatever it takes. Starting tonight.”
When they arrived at the ball, Quentin let the assistants step out then slid into the back seat, taking their spot across from Bianca.
She gasped when he shut the car door firmly behind him, leaving the two of them alone in the small space.
They watched each other for a long moment, the air growing thicker as they sized one another up.
Staring into her eyes, Quentin couldn’t help but remember the way she’d stared into the camera while she got herself off, her expression defiant even as her body bucked with her orgasm.
Quentin resisted the urge to adjust himself as he leaned forward and placed his elbows on his knees, closing the space between them slowly, giving her the opportunity to retreat and reestablish the professional distance between them.
Bianca’s nostrils flared and a blush spread across her high cheekbones.
The air in the small space had become noticeably warmer than the spring evening beyond the confines of the car, and it was full of their pheromones, mixing in that way Quentin had already grown to crave.
Bianca could obviously smell his arousal, and he could damn sure smell hers. It smelled like apples and temptation.
Instead of withdrawing behind her mask of cold indifference, Bianca Bonnycastle drew in a deep breath.
Lips parted slightly, she leaned toward him.
Then she tilted her head ever so subtly to bare more of her throat to him and Quentin knew there wasn’t an army on earth that could keep him away from her now.
“You’ll do what we say when we say it,” he stated flatly, keeping his voice level despite the sudden adrenaline coursing through his veins.
“There are medical records waiting in your inbox showing we’ve been recently tested and deemed clear of STIs, and we’re on birth control.
Unless it’s a dealbreaker for you, that means no condoms. We’ll have you however we want you, whenever we want you.
You can resist, but there will be consequences.
We will punish you however and whenever we see fit.
Think on your safe words. Yellow and red work fine if you don’t have anything fancier in mind.
Text them to us once you’ve decided. But only when and if you’re absolutely sure.
And I mean about all of it. Because the moment you send that message, you’re ours. ”
Bianca shivered, the scent of apples and oleander rising, so thick now that Quentin could almost taste it on his tongue.
His mouth watered at the thought of licking directly from the source of that forbidden fruit.
His dick throbbed enthusiastically, imagining the way she’d come apart on his tongue and how she’d clench around him when he thrusted inside her, fucking her so much harder than she’d been able to manage with her toy.
Somehow, the space between them had gradually narrowed, leaving them close enough to share breath.
Quentin couldn’t resist a glance at her mouth.
Her pretty pink lips were still parted invitingly, and he could already imagine how they’d feel against his, how they’d open to him, how she would open to him.
Bianca Bonnycastle was going to give herself to him, and he was going to show her just how good it could feel to submit.
He hoped she’d send that text, and he hoped she’d do it soon.
Tonight would be the perfect opportunity to show her just what she was getting herself into.
Quentin grinned wickedly, pulling on the mask he’d selected for the evening’s event.
Bianca’s eyes widened, her pulse fluttering and scent rising in a way that gave him filthy ideas.
“Stay put until Dante tells you we’re clear,” he said, sitting back and sliding toward the door.
The omega let out a frustrated little growl that made his blood sing.
He flashed his gold canines, enjoying how she couldn’t tear her eyes away from his mouth even though she pretended not to like his grillz.
“You decide what happens next. We’ll respect your decision if you change your mind, and forget we ever had this conversation.
But if you text me your safe words, you’re no longer in control.
After that, you’re at our mercy. Choose wisely, Countess. ”