8. Syn
8
SYN
This room is gorgeous. Crisp white bedcovers, a white carpet, huge windows that overlook the gardens. A fireplace, en-suite bathroom, 60-inch TV, the works. It makes me wonder how often Tarquin has done this. Not that it is any of my business, but the green-eyed devil of envy rears its head, and I can’t seem to shove it away.
A knock at the door pulls me from my thoughts, and I climb off the enormous bed where I was curled up, waiting for something to happen.
I don’t catch the scent of apple spice when I approach the door, so I open it with caution. It’s a middle-aged, beta woman holding a large white box.
“Ms Fuller. Sir Tarquin sent me up with this and to see if you needed anything.”
“What is it?” I ask curiously, taking it from her.
She smiles to tell me she has no idea. “Would you like some tea?” she says instead.
“That would be lovely, thank you.”
“I’ll be right back.”
I nod and close the door before carrying the box to the bed. I set it down gently and lift the lid. Narrowing my eyes at the expensive lingerie, I pull it out and hold it up. I relax a little. It’s nothing wild, if anything, it’s quite reserved. A beautiful white silk negligée, with thin straps. It falls to the floor and is very virginal in its appearance. “Really?” I murmur, Tarquin’s earlier comment now making more sense. “Got a thing for the innocent, do we, Sir?”
I lay the negligée on the bed, running my fingers over the cool silk. There’s something almost predatory about his choice, almost as if he’s setting a stage for whatever game he has planned.
Another knock at the door announces the housekeeper’s return. She carries a silver tray with tea and some small sandwiches.
“Thank you,” I say as she places the tray on a small table by the window. “I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name.”
“Mrs Winters.” Her eyes flick briefly to the negligée on the bed before returning to my face, her expression perfectly neutral.
I wonder what she’s seen in this room countless times, how many omegas have passed through. I push the thought away, having no right to those feelings. “It’s nice to meet you, Mrs Winters.”
She nods and leaves me alone again.
After she closes the door, I pour myself tea and bite into a cucumber sandwich, trying to calm my nerves.
I explore the room, finding the wardrobe empty, so I unpack and place what little I brought with me inside. The bathroom is again bare, save for whatever I’ve brought with me. Somehow, that makes me feel a bit better.
I finish up the small lunch and tea and put the negligée on, wanting to be ready for whenever Tarquin calls on me. That is, after all, why I’m here. I crawl onto the bed and close my eyes. Sleep drags me under after my restless night, and when I wake, the sun is lower, and the clock tells me it’s late afternoon.
And I’m still alone.
I shiver and rub my hands over my arms, climbing off the bed to freshen up quickly.
Just as I am walking back into the bedroom, the door opens, and I freeze.
Tarquin stands in the doorway. His white shirt is open at the collar, and his navy pants are exquisitely tailored and somehow crease-free.
“Don’t you knock?” I ask.
“This is my house.”
“True, but this is my room.”
“You have no privacy here, Ms Fuller.” The challenge is laid bare. I can see it in his eyes. He wants me to be offended, to whine and make a fuss about my personal space.
Well, he can want.
He is paying me too much money to fuck this up. He could ask me to dance naked under the full moon in a hailstorm with a tinfoil hat on my head, and I would do it.
“Fair enough,” I say, keeping my steady gaze on his eyes as he moves further into the room and closes the door.
His eyes narrow slightly, showing me I’ve thrown him off guard.
Good. The higher I can keep my score, the better this will be for me.
“You aren’t going to berate me?” he asks, almost annoyed.
I purse my lips. Did I get this wrong? Does he want me to be a brat? It’s not my style, and no one has ever asked me to be that way. How do I play this? Think, Syn. It’s clearly a test.
Sauntering up to him, I lower my gaze and bite my bottom lip. “Do you like being berated, Sir?”
He hisses softly. “No. I abhor it.”
I smile inwardly and raise my gaze to meet his again. “I’m not an immature brat who wants things her way,” I murmur, moving just into his personal space. He doesn’t move. He glares down at me. “I am here for you to conduct as you will.”
“Conduct,” he repeats in a rough tone that has my nipples peaking under the thin silk. He notices as his stare drops momentarily.
His hand moves so quickly I barely have time to register it before his fingers wrap around my throat, not squeezing, just holding me in place. My pulse hammers against his palm.
“You think you’re clever,” he says softly, his thumb tracing my jawline. “Playing the perfect submissive. I wonder how long that will last.”
I keep my expression neutral despite the fire igniting in my core. “For as long as you’re paying me to be, Sir.”
Something dark flashes in his eyes. “So transactional.” His grip tightens fractionally. “Tell me, Synthia, have you ever actually surrendered to an alpha? Not pretended, not performed, but truly given yourself over?”
The question catches me off guard. It’s too personal, too close to truths I keep buried. “I’m not sure that’s relevant to our arrangement.”
His lips curve into that cold half-smile. “Everything about you is relevant to our arrangement.”
His fingers slip from my throat to trace my collarbone, following the delicate line to my shoulder. “You’re wearing what I sent you.”
“I assumed that was what you wanted,” I reply, fighting the urge to lean into his touch. This alpha is doing things to me that no other male ever has.
“And that’s what you do, isn’t it? Give alphas what they want.” His voice is deceptively soft. “But I wonder what Synthia Fuller wants.”
I swallow hard, unsure how to navigate this unexpected line of questioning. “Right now, I want to fulfil our agreement.”
Tarquin steps closer, until the expensive fabric of his shirt brushes against the silk covering my breasts. “That’s not an answer.”
“It’s the only one I’m offering.” I hold his gaze, refusing to look away despite the intensity burning in those cold blue eyes.
His hand slides down my arm, leaving goosebumps in its wake. “Your body betrays you, Synthia. It wants something your mind won’t admit.”
“My body responds to alphas. It’s biology, not desire.” The lie feels hollow even as I say it.
Tarquin laughs, a sound with no warmth. “Is that what you tell yourself?” His fingers find the thin strap of the negligée, playing with it idly. “When you’re alone at night, touching yourself, what do you think about? What makes you wet?”
Heat floods my face. “I don’t see how that’s?—”
“Answer me.”
The command in his voice sends a shiver down my spine that’s impossible to hide. There’s something about Tarquin that strips away my carefully constructed defences, layer by layer.
“Power,” I admit softly, the word escaping before I can stop it. “I think about being overwhelmed by someone who knows exactly what they want.”
His eyes darken, pupils dilating slightly. “And yet you fight it.”
“Survival instinct,” I whisper. “Omegas who surrender too easily get destroyed.”
Something shifts in his expression—a flash of what might be understanding before the cold mask returns. His fingers slide down from the strap of my negligée to trace the outline of my breast through the silk.
“Turn around,” he orders, his voice low and controlled.
I obey, turning my back to him, my breath catching as I feel the heat of his body close behind me. His scent envelops me. Apple spice, with an undercurrent of something primal that makes slick gather between my thighs.
“Do you know why I chose white for you, Synthia?” His breath is warm against my ear as his hands settle on my hips, his fingers pressing into the silk.
“Because you have a virgin fantasy?” I suggest, unable to keep a hint of sarcasm from my voice.
His chuckle is dark as one hand slides up my side to cup my breast. “No. Because I want to see it stained.” His thumb brushes over my nipple through the silk before he pinches it gently. “With your slick, with my cum, with your tears of surrender.”
A shudder runs through me at his words. My body responds traitorously to the dark promise they hold. His other hand moves from my hip to my stomach, pressing me back against him so I can feel the hard length of his arousal against my lower back.
“I’m going to ruin you, Synthia,” he murmurs, his lips brushing my ear. “Not just this pretty white silk, but every pretence you’ve built around yourself. By the end of this week, you’ll be begging me to keep you.”
“You’re very sure of yourself,” I manage to say, though my voice sounds breathless even to my own ears.
“I know what omegas like you need.” His hand slides lower, over my stomach, fingers splaying just above where I’m already aching for him. “What they crave, even as they deny it.”
Omegas like me. It’s a slap in the face and the cold water of reality. I stifle my hiss, but it reminds me that I am not his. I’m an escort he is paying for sex. He doesn’t think of me in any other capacity as someone he can use and control. “And what’s that?” I ask, my voice harsh, which makes him tighten his grip on me.
His hand moves suddenly, cupping me between my legs, finding my pussy already damp with my arousal. “This,” he says simply. “To be owned completely.”
I can’t stop the soft gasp that escapes me as his fingers press against my clit through the silk. My hips buck involuntarily, seeking more pressure, more friction.
“See?” Tarquin whispers, his tone triumphant as he rubs slow, deliberate circles. “Your body knows what you need, even if your pride won’t let you admit it.”
My head falls back against his shoulder as pleasure ripples through me. He applies just enough pressure to drive me wild without giving me release. My breathing comes faster as he continues his assault on my senses.
“Look at you,” he murmurs, his voice a dark caress. “Already desperate for me, and I’ve barely touched you.”
I want to deny it, to prove him wrong, but my body betrays me as more slick soaks through the silk beneath his fingers. He makes a sound of approval, low in his throat.
“Spread your legs wider,” he whispers, sliding the silk higher up my thighs so I can obey. I do it without even thinking.
His fingers slide lower, pushing the damp silk against my entrance. “So wet already. I wonder if you’ve been thinking about this all day, lying in that bed, imagining what I would do to you.”
I don’t answer him. Instead, I press back against him, feeling his cock hard and insistent against my back.
“Do you want this inside you?” he asks. “My cock stretching you open, filling you up until you can’t remember your own name?”
“Yes,” I breathe, unable to deny it when his scent is making me dizzy with need.
“Yes, what?” His fingers pause their movement, hovering just where I need them most.
“Yes, Sir,” I whisper, the words falling from my lips without thought.
“Good girl.”
The praise sends an unexpected thrill through me. He pulls my hair gently to the side to expose my neck fully. His lips trace a path from my shoulder to just below my ear.
In one swift movement, he spins me around to face him. His eyes are dark with desire but still calculating, watching my every reaction. He backs me towards the bed until my legs hit the edge.
“Take it off,” he commands.
My fingers find the thin straps of the negligée, sliding them down my shoulders with deliberate slowness. I let the silk pool at my feet, standing before him completely naked while he remains fully dressed.
His gaze travels over my body with an intensity that makes me feel both vulnerable and powerful. I resist the urge to cover myself, instead straightening my spine and meeting his eyes.
“Beautiful,” he says simply. “On the bed. On your back.”
I comply, sliding onto the crisp white sheets and lying back against the pillows. Tarquin stands at the foot of the bed, watching me with those penetrating blue eyes. He doesn’t move to join me, doesn’t undress. He simply observes me like I’m an experiment he’s conducting.
“Spread your legs.” His voice drops lower. “Show me what I’ve paid for.”
Heat floods my face even as I obey, parting my thighs to expose myself completely to his gaze. His nostrils flare slightly, taking in the scent of my arousal.
“Touch yourself,” he says. “Show me how you pleasure yourself when you’re alone.”
I hesitate, not because I’m unwilling, but because this feels more intimate somehow than if he’d simply fucked me. This is revealing something private, something I don’t share with clients.
“Do it, Ms Fuller.”
Slowly, I slide my hand down my body, over my breast, across my stomach, until my fingers find my wet pussy. I circle my clit with two fingers, the way I always do when I’m alone. My breath catches as pleasure ripples through me.
“Slower. I want to see everything.”
I comply, slowing my movements to an agonising pace. My hips lift slightly off the bed, seeking more pressure against my fingers.
“That’s it,” he murmurs, finally moving closer to the bed. “Show me what makes you come when there’s no one paying you to do it.”
My fingers slip lower, coated in slick before returning to my clit. The small sounds of pleasure I make are impossible to contain as I touch myself under his watchful gaze.
“Slide two fingers inside,” he orders, his voice rough. “Fuck yourself with them while I watch.”
I dip two fingers into my wet heat, a moan escaping me at the sensation. It’s not enough—not nearly enough—but the way he’s watching me makes it more intense than it should be.
“Does that feel good?” he asks. “Having me watch you pleasure yourself?”
“Yes, Sir,” I breathe, my fingers moving in and out as my thumb circles my clit.
“Are you going to come for me, Synthia?” He’s at the edge of the bed now, his scent overwhelming me.
“If you want me to,” I gasp, my body taut with need.
He chuckles darkly. “Not yet. Turn around, on your knees.”
I hesitate for a second but then do as he asks. My clit is twitching with need.
Tarquin grabs my hips and drags me closer to him, so my knees are on the edge of the bed.
He undoes his zip, the sound the only noise in the quiet room. He presses the head of his hard cock to my pussy, teasing me briefly before he slides it inside. I gasp as his wide girth stretches me as he promised.
Tarquin doesn’t make a sound. He grips my hips tightly and thrusts deep inside me. He sets a pace that is relentless, each thrust pushing me further up the bed until he yanks me back roughly. All without uttering a single sound. No words. No grunts of satisfaction. Nothing. Cold. Clinical. Calculated. There’s nothing gentle about the way he takes me, nothing romantic. This is pure possession, his body claiming mine with an intensity that leaves me breathless.
I grip the sheets as he pounds into me, harder, faster, deeper. I coat him in slick, but he still says nothing. My body responds eagerly to his ruthless pace, pleasure building with each thrust despite his clinical detachment. It’s as if he’s determined to prove he can make me come without giving anything of himself away.
His hand slides up my back, then tangles in my hair, pulling my head back before he murmurs, “Let me hear that purr.”
The command sends a shiver through me. The purr—that involuntary sound omegas make when they’re completely satisfied, utterly claimed. It can’t be faked. Many have tried, but alphas always know the difference. Ranier got me off. He knows what he is doing, and I want to give that to him. He never asked for it. This is an order, and I’m frozen.
“I can’t?—”
He cuts me off with a particularly deep thrust that makes my vision blur.
“Do it or you will face my wrath.”
This is all about the purr, and suddenly, my defiance surges up. I don’t want to give it to him. Not yet. I want to make him work for it. I’m being stupid and reckless, but it is the only slice of power I have here. “It isn’t something I can give you. Not like this.”
He growls, and I tremble inside and out. He is furious with me. He slams into me so hard, my knees buckle, and I end up sprawled on the bed. He looms over me. He grips the base of his cock. The feel of his fingers pushing against me as he hammers into me is a clear sign of his intentions. He comes hard, but he still doesn’t make a single sound. His cock jerks inside me as he unloads but he doesn’t knot me. With admirable constraint which tells me a lot about him, he has left his knot outside my pussy on purpose to torture me. He pulls out and zips himself up. He grabs my upper arm and hauls me to my feet. He lets me go, to bend down to scoop up the negligée. He throws it at me. “Put that back on and come with me.”
“Where are we going?” I ask, trying not to show my fear that this change in attitude has sent coursing through me.
“Does it matter?” he clips out.
I shake my head and slip back into the white silk nightgown. He grabs my arm again firmly and leads me to the bedroom door. He opens it and drags me out into the hallway. His strides are long and angry, and I struggle to keep up or be dragged along in his wake. He stops at a door further down the hallway and shoves it open.
My eyes go wide as I come face-to-face with an excruciatingly good-looking alpha with eyes so blue they seem clear and short dark hair that is sticking up as if he has run his hand through it. He is dressed in black joggers and a tight black tee.
“Declan,” Tarquin growls. “Do your worst.” He shoves me at Declan, who catches me, his nostrils flaring as he catches the multitude of scents covering my body.
“Well, this was unexpected so soon. Synthia, I assume?” he says, his tone dark, low, frightening.
“Yes,” I whisper.
“You’ve been a very bad girl. You stink of sex.”
I glare at him, not having any comeback for that. I’m a bit floored, truth be told. I’ve gone from a sexy encounter to something terrifying, and I’m not sure where I stand.
“And you are?” I ask stiffly, trying to hide my fear, but my scent has deepened, and both alphas know it.
“Declan. Tarquin’s pack mate. It looks like he has brought you to me to tame you. Am I right?” He asks Tarquin.
“While I watch,” Tarquin replies, and my blood runs cooler.
Tame? Watch? “This wasn’t part of the deal,” I say, struggling in Declan’s strong grip.
“The deal was you do everything I tell you to do. You refused and while that is grounds for throwing you out on your arse, I kind of want to see what Declan will do to you first to get you in line.”
“I don’t understand?—”
Declan’s hand clamps over my mouth, and he gives me a wicked smile. “First things first, bad girl. Let’s get you cleaned up, so you don’t reek of sweat, sex and cum.”
I clench my jaw and my fists, so I don’t go for his eyes. Those pretty, pretty eyes that are devoid of any emotion and that make me regret coming here. But then Amélie’s face swims into my mind’s eye, and my determination to see this through rises again. I lift my chin, and the flash of danger in his eyes, while brief, ignites something deep inside me that thrills me. I wasn’t expecting to be passed back and forth when I got here, but I can make this situation work for me. Tarquin wants to hear me purr… well, he just picked the wrong omega to fuck with. He will hear me purr all right… while I’m coming on someone else’s dick.