Page 22 of A Murderous Omega

I pressed the advantage, got inside his guard, and when I threw him, we both went down in a tangle of limbs.

We grappled on the mat, sweat-slicked and feral. He was stronger but I was more flexible. And meaner. I bit his shoulder, hard enough to bruise.

Emile stilled. “Putain,” he breathed. His voice was wrecked. “Do that again.” His hands tightened on me, no longer controlled. Almost desperate. “Lark, please!”

The composed, stoic alpha was begging.

Power surged through me, heady and intoxicating. I leaned down and sank my teeth into his other shoulder, deeper this time, feeling him shudder underneath me, his cock hard against my thigh through our clothes.

“Fuck.” He flipped us, pinning me beneath him, but there was nothing restrained about him now. His pupils were blown, his breathing ragged. “You magnificent, vicious creature. You have no idea what you do to me.”

“Tell me.” I arched up against him, grinding my clit into his pelvis, giving into my instincts. I’d brought this alpha low, and I couldn’t wait to pay the price.

“I’ve spent two years watching you kill.” His hands were everywhere now, desperate and rough. “Two years studying you, imagining us, you⁠—”

He broke off when I slid my hand between us, palming his cock through his pants.

“You like it when I hurt you,” I said, wonder and heat mixing in my voice.

“I love it when you hurt me.” He caught my wrist, pressed my hand harder against him. “I love your violence. Your rage. Everything about you.”

I wrapped my legs around his waist and used the leverage to flip him, straddling him, my hands planted on his chest.

“Yield?” I demanded.

“Never.” He surged up, trying to reverse us again.

We grappled, rolling across the mats, a tangle of roughness and need. I drew blood from his lip. He left marks on my hips. Neither of us surrendered—neither of us wanted to.

Finally, I got the upper hand, pinning his wrists above his head, my full weight on him.

“One,” I counted.

He bucked beneath me. I ground down harder, feeling his cock throb.

“Two.”

He was panting now, staring up at me like I was his damnation. Or maybe—my breath caught—or maybe his salvation. He could flip me, shove me off—Emile was twice my size. But he didn’t.

“Three.”

“Lark—”

“Four.”

He rolled his hips under me and I moaned.

“Five.” I leaned down until my lips brushed his ear. “I win.”

Then I bit his earlobe, hard enough to make him groan.

His control shattered completely.

“Oui,” he gasped. “Oui, you win. That’s what you need to understand. With us, even when you lose, you win. Please⁠—”

I’d never seen him anything but composed, and now he was coming apart beneath me, desperate and needy and mine.

The power of it went straight to my head.