10. Declan
10
DECLAN
The omega trembles in my lap, her body caught between fear and arousal. The scent of her—that perfect combination of terror and desire—makes my cock throb against her. I press the blade just firmly enough against her throat to leave a pale line without breaking skin.
“Beautiful,” I murmur, watching her pulse flutter beneath the knife.
Ignoring Tarquin completely, I lower the knife, trailing it between her breasts, down her stomach, watching goosebumps rise in its wake. She’s trying so hard to control her breathing, to appear unmoved, but her body can’t lie to me.
“Do you know why you’re being punished, Synthia?” I ask, my lips brushing her ear.
She swallows hard. “Because you’re a sadistic bastard?”
I chuckle at her defiance. Even now, she fights. “That may be true, but no. You’re being punished because you need to understand your place in our arrangement.”
With deliberate slowness, I press the tip of the blade into the soft flesh just above her hip—not enough to draw blood, just enough to dimple her skin. She gasps, her entire body tensing.
“And what is my place?”
I draw the knife away from her skin, watching her exhale in relief. The tension in her body is exquisite—every muscle taut, waiting for my next move. I can feel Tarquin’s eyes on us, his cold assessment adding another layer to this game.
“Your place,” I say, tracing the flat of the blade across her trembling stomach, “is wherever we decide to put you.”
I shift her slightly on my lap, my cock pressing insistently against her. The omega tries to maintain her composure, but her scent betrays her—fear mingled with arousal, a heady combination that makes my alpha instincts course through me.
With my free hand, I grip her chin, forcing her to look at Tarquin in his shadowed corner. “He might see you as an investment, but I see you as a canvas.”
I turn the blade carefully, letting the sharp edge rest against the curve where her neck meets her shoulder. Not pressing, just resting. A promise.
“The question is,” I murmur, “what kind of art shall I make of you?”
Synthia’s breathing quickens, her chest rising and falling rapidly. “You’re insane,” she whispers.
“Probably.” I press my lips to the back of her neck, and then I flick my tongue out to taste her skin. “Don’t move a muscle as I fuck you. No movement, no noises, no coming. You are my little sex doll, and I want you to remain motionless as I thrust my cock deep inside you. Can you do that, Synthia?”
“Yes,” she breathes.
“Good little omega.”
I guide my cock into her slippery pussy and stifle my groan. She is full of sweet slick that tastes so good and feels so perfect soaking my cock. I lower the knife to the side of me, resting on the chair, the threat still very much there. But I know she won’t let me down. Her body is tight when I grip her hips and lift her slightly so I can ram my cock deep inside her.
She remains still, like a porcelain doll, as I thrust up into her. She stiffens, fighting against the instinct to cry out. I can feel her inner walls clenching around me, her body betraying her even as she maintains the rigid position I’ve demanded. Her control is admirable—and will make breaking it all the sweeter.
I establish a brutal rhythm, driving into her with deliberate, powerful thrusts that force her to engage every muscle to remain still. Sweat beads form along her spine, and I lean forward to lick a droplet, savouring the salt of her exertion.
“Perfect. Like a beautiful statue.” My hands grip her hips tighter, fingers digging into her flesh hard enough to leave marks. My signature on her skin.
I slow my pace deliberately, dragging out each thrust to torture us both. Synthia’s breathing becomes shallow, her entire body trembling with the effort of remaining still. I can feel her approaching the edge, fighting against her own pleasure.
“You’re close, aren’t you?” I murmur, sliding one hand up to cup her breast, thumb brushing over her hardened nipple. “Fighting so hard not to come.”
She doesn’t answer me, but her pussy clenches around my cock, the telltale sign of her struggle.
I increase my pace again, driving up into her with renewed force. The wet sounds of our joining fill the room, obscene and primal. Synthia’s body is rigid, a masterpiece of control, but I can feel the fine tremors running through her.
Still, I ignore Tarquin. I don’t even look at him. I remain silent as I take my pleasure with this perfect little obedient omega. No words are needed. I don’t want them. They will ruin this scene. Silence. All I need is silence and her compliance.
I feel her resistance weakening with each thrust, her cunt fluttering around my cock. She’s fighting her own body, struggling to maintain the perfect stillness I’ve demanded. Her scent shifts subtly—the sweet notes of her arousal becoming sharper, more desperate.
To her credit, she doesn’t move. Not a sound escapes her lips, even as I feel her approaching her climax. I’m impressed despite myself. Most omegas would be begging by now, either for release or for mercy.
I slide my hand down, feeling the slickness of her arousal. My fingers find her clit, and I circle it slowly, deliberately. This is where her resolve will truly be tested.
Her entire body tenses further, impossibly tight around my cock.
I can feel her fighting it, battling against her body’s natural response as I continue my relentless assault on her senses. The wet heat of her cunt grips me like a vice as I drive deeper, harder, my rhythm never faltering despite the exquisite pressure building at the base of my cock, ready to knot her.
She is close to the edge, so I let go and with a low growl, I explode inside her, dumping my cum as my knot expands slightly outside of the rut, but enough to make her sweat.
Her back is rigid. Her spine is straight as she sits on my knot, completely still, completely silent.
“Good little sex doll. Perfect. You did well. Next time I want to look you in the eyes as I fuck you and you just lie there like you are dead.”
Tarquin’s hiss amuses me. But I know him better than anyone. It tells me that this omega isn’t just a whore here to pleasure us, even if he won’t admit it. Which he won’t. He would rather gouge his own eyes out with a blunt spoon than admit there is something here except lust.
Chuckling to myself, I lift Synthia off my cock as my half-knot deflates and place her on her feet. She is wobbly, but she stands straight.
“It’s okay, my sex doll. You can move now.” I slap her arse hard, and she squeaks. “Go and clean yourself up. You’re dirty.”
Her reaction to my words is precisely how I want it. She is furious, indignant and insulted.
I should know.
Synthia walks stiffly to the bedroom door and opens it. She slips through, walking the hall naked, used, and no doubt desperate to come. I wonder if she will take care of that herself. More than that, I wonder if she will run into Tristan.
“Nicely done,” Tarquin says as he stands up. “You got a pass here to show her that this isn’t a game. Threaten her again with that knife, and I will make sure it is you who gets hurt. Are we clear?”
Smiling sinisterly at the very real promise from my prime alpha, I relax into the chair with my cock still covered in Synthia’s slick. “I will taste her blood, see it splattered on my canvas before this week is out.”
“Only if she consents to it,” he counters rapidly, already knowing he needed a comeback.
“Consents.” I roll it off my tongue with a vicious smirk. “You spoil my fun.”
Tarquin’s eyes narrow as he approaches, each step measured and controlled like everything else about him. “Do what you want with her sexually, but if you mark her in any way, if she is returned to her life with scars or worse, you will suffer the consequences.”
He strides out, leaving the door wide open just to piss me off. I shake my head and rest it on the back of the chair. “She’s not going anywhere. Deny it all you like, but she is ours now.”