4. Marco
MARCO
M arco waits until evening to exact the punishment. He wants Dante thoroughly terrified, thoroughly expecting, thoroughly desperate by the time he takes him.
All day, he's watched his young omega jump at shadows, watched him struggle to focus on the tasks Marco's assigned him, watched him touch the collar constantly as if reassuring himself of the reality of his position.
Perfect .
At seven o'clock, Marco summons Dante to his study.
The omega arrives wearing the clothes Marco selected—nothing underneath, easily accessible, clearly designed for submission.
His scent is a chaos of emotions: fear, arousal, shame, anticipation.
The paranormal bond is singing between them, begging Marco to claim, to mark, to complete the fated mating.
"You violated my trust," Marco says, settling into his leather chair. "You entered my private space. You touched my things. You lied when confronted."
"Yes," Dante whispers. "I'm sorry."
"Sorry doesn't fix the problem," Marco says.
"The problem is that you need to learn the difference between what belongs to you and what belongs to me.
Let me be clear: nothing belongs to you anymore.
Your body is mine. Your time is mine. Your obedience is mine.
Every part of you exists for my use and my satisfaction. "
He stands and moves toward Dante, watching the omega's breath come faster. The fear is real, but so is the arousal. His omega instincts know exactly what's coming, and they want it desperately.
"Remove your clothes," Marco commands.
Dante obeys without hesitation, letting the shirt and pants fall to the floor.
He stands before Marco completely nude except for the collar, and Marco takes a moment to appreciate the view.
His omega is beautiful—slender but not fragile, all long lines and pale skin that will mark beautifully under his hands.
Marco moves to his desk and opens a drawer, retrieving the paddle he keeps there for situations exactly like this.
It's leather-backed with a small amount of flex, designed to leave marks but not cause serious injury.
Designed, in other words, to make Dante feel the punishment without giving Marco a reason to feel guilty.
"Over the desk," Marco commands.
Dante's eyes widen slightly, but he complies, bending over the mahogany surface, his ass exposed and vulnerable.
Marco can smell the shift in his omega's pheromones—fear and arousal are becoming indistinguishable.
His cock is already half-hard between his legs, betraying what his mouth would never admit: he wants this.
"First punishment: five strokes," Marco says.
"For entering my study without permission.
Second punishment: five strokes for touching my things.
Third punishment: five strokes for lying to me.
After that, if you take it well, if you don't fight me, if you show proper submission, we'll discuss what comes next. "
Marco raises the paddle and strikes Dante's right buttock with controlled force. Not as hard as he could—he's not trying to seriously injure the omega, just make a point. The impact is loud, sharp, and Dante gasps, his body flinching forward.
"Stay still," Marco commands. "This is your punishment. You will accept every stroke without running from it."
The second stroke lands on the left cheek, matching the first. Dante's breathing is ragged now, and Marco can see the red marks blooming across pale skin. Beautiful. Absolutely fucking beautiful.
By the fifth stroke, Dante is trembling, tears streaming down his face, but he hasn't moved.
By the tenth stroke, his whimpers have taken on a desperate quality that suggests pain and pleasure are blurring together.
By the fifteenth stroke, his cock is fully hard, leaked pre-come smearing on Marco's desk.
"The last one," Marco says, lining up the final strike across both cheeks simultaneously. The force is slightly more than the others, enough to make Dante scream, enough to leave a clear stripe across his marked skin.
When it's done, Marco tosses the paddle aside and moves closer, running his hands over the marked flesh. Dante is sobbing, but his hips are pressing up against Marco's touch, seeking contact, seeking relief.
"You took that beautifully," Marco says, his voice rough with his own arousal. "You showed proper submission. And now, amore , now you get your reward."
He unbuckles his pants and frees his cock—thick, already leaking pre-come, fully hard from the dominance and control.
Dante stares at it with wide eyes, and Marco watches his omega's throat work as he swallows, as he processes what's coming.
"Mouth," Marco commands, and Dante doesn't hesitate. He slides off the desk and drops to his knees, positioning himself to take Marco's cock. His hands reach up instinctively, but Marco stops him with a sharp command. "No hands. Just your mouth. Show me how much you want this."
Dante leans forward and takes the head of Marco's cock between his lips, and the sensation is electric.
Heat and wetness and the paranormal feedback of his fated mate's mouth on him drives Marco wild.
He allows Dante to set the pace for approximately thirty seconds before he takes control, gripping the back of the omega's head and beginning to fuck his throat in deep, controlled strokes.
Dante gags immediately, tears streaming down his face, but he doesn't pull away. His instincts keep him still, keep him taking it, keep him desperate for the alpha's claiming.
" Deeper ," Marco commands, and he pushes further, until Dante's nose is pressed against his pubic bone, until the omega is taking him completely down his throat.
He holds Dante there for a moment, enjoying the desperate struggle for breath, the way his omega's entire body is trembling with submission and need.
He pulls back and thrusts again, setting a brutal pace that's designed to utterly demolish any remaining resistance Dante has.
The omega's mouth is perfect—warm and wet and made for taking Marco's cock—and the fated bond is singing between them, paranormal energy feeding Marco's arousal, making him harder than he's ever been, making him need to mark and claim and completely possess this beautiful omega.
"That's right," Marco groans, his hands gripping Dante's head, controlling every motion. "Take it. Take all of me. Show me that you belong to me, that your mouth exists for my pleasure, that you're mine to use however I want."
Dante's hands are clenched into fists against his thighs, and he's making desperate sounds around Marco's cock—sounds that might be protests or might be pleas for more.
Marco doesn't care which. He just keeps fucking his throat, keeps pushing deeper, keeps feeding his omega the alpha claiming he clearly needs.
When Marco comes, it's with a roar that echoes through the study.
He doesn't pull out—instead, he holds Dante in place, making sure his omega swallows every drop of his seed, making sure Dante ingests the mark of Marco's possession.
Their bond is screaming now, demanding the next step, demanding that Marco take Dante completely, that he fuck the omega into submission and mark him with his knot.
But Marco forces himself to step back, to pull his cock from Dante's mouth and tuck himself back into his pants. Control. His empire was built on control, and he won't lose it now just because his fated mate is on his knees before him, mouth slick with come, tears streaming down his beautiful face.
"Go clean yourself up," Marco commands, his voice rough. "We're not finished, amore. We're only just beginning."