Page 10 of A Murderous Omega

But I did want his cock.

I whined as Emile pulled out.

“Little one, are you begging for me to bruise your throat?” he asked, amused.

I stretched languorously, easing the tight muscles in my shoulders, shoving my ass backwards toward Conor, who was still buried inside of me, sensibility returning to me as the aftershocks of my orgasm ebbed. “No.”

But I meant yes.

And he knew it.

I opened my lips and took his cock between them, lapping up his musky, salty taste and moaning at the sensation of his velvet skin against my tongue.

“One more for me, little one,” Emile said. No, I couldn’t, I couldn’t possibly.

But fingers played with my clit and teased at my nipples, while Emile fucked my throat. I detonated again as he spilled his cum down my throat, praising me all the way.

When I would have dropped to the floor, the alphas picked me up, settling me onto the soft bed, delicious lassitude stealing over me like a warm blanket. They settled me in between them, stroking me with rough fingers, softly praising me, telling me how fucking perfect I was, how goddess damned well I’d taken them.

Conor’s hands mapped my body like he could possess me through touch alone—greedy and obsessive. Emile traced deliberate patterns on my hip, maddeningly slow, like he had all the time in the world and knew exactly how each touch unraveled me a little bit more.

“What was that?” I whispered, hating how their soft touches and praise soothed me.

Conor pushed closer. “Fuckin’, sweet murderer. What do you think it was?”

I couldn’t stop the huff of laughter that escaped me. “No kidding.”

I curled up inward on myself, ashamed of the different type of need spilling out of me. “Could you please—? I need⁠—”

I needed to cuddle. I couldn’t blame it on my omega instincts—somehow these men had suppressed them. No, I needed these two duplicitous, absurd men to surround me with their bodies and reassure me that I was worth more to them than just my tight omega pussy.

Fuck. My emotionally stunted serial killer ass needed aftercare from my kidnappers. If my past self could see me now, she'd be so disappointed. Then again, past me also thought she could take on two alpha serial killers, so maybe her judgment wasn't that great either.

“Yeah, little one, of course,” Emile murmured. “But if you run, we’ll catch you.”

Maybe it was the haze of my arousal, but right now, that didn’t seem quite so bad.

He and Conor ran their fingers over my body, covered with marks and bruises, as if inspecting me for lasting damage, then Conor swung out of the bed.

My mewl of consternation caught his attention, and he bent down to kiss my temple.

“I’ll be back in a moment with snacks and water, baby.”

“How did you do that?” I whispered.

“Do what, little one?” Emile hauled me against him, tucking my face into his chest and dragging my thigh to drape over his.

“Two alphas fucking an omega without driving me into a senseless haze.”

Conor sat on the bed beside me and handed me a bottle of water. “Baby, we’ve been tracking you for two years. You can’t possibly think we’d let you pretend this is just biology.”

I scooted up against the headboard and let him feed me orange slices as I came down from my post-orgasmic bliss.

“You drugged me so I … wouldn’t fuck you?”

Emile’s laughter burst out in the quiet. “Well, I wouldn’t say that. You fucked us well and good. And I’ll use your hormones against you if it’s the only option.” He dragged his index down my arm and tangled his fingers in mine. “I don’t think it is, though.”

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