Page 7 of A Murderous Omega

One foot in front of the other, I stumbled away from the alphas, shaking my head to try to clear it. When strong arms saved me from smashing my face into the pavement, I couldn’t make myself care.

Bliss streaked through me, from my nipples to my clit to my soul, sharp pinches of agony followed by hot, wet pleasure that pulled animalistic noises out of me, low and tortured. Rough hands stroked over my skin—plush lips, sharp teeth—this was the sexiest dream I’d ever had, and I didn’t want it to stop.

A tongue lapped at my clit, firm, flat strokes followed by soft, gentle circles that drove me wild. Fresh ocean breeze combined with peppermint and chocolate, delicious scents that had me begging for more.

“Et voilà. La petite se reveille,” a voice murmured. The little one is waking up.

I couldn’t move. My wrists were bound above my head and my feet bound wide enough apart that standing was uncomfortable, bearing my center for anyone to see. A blindfold blocked my vision, and all I could do was moan as my captor fucked me roughly with his fingers.

It felt so fucking good. I twitched my hips, seeking his touch, seeking the friction that would send me over the edge. I wanted more, needed more, needed them to surround me with their scents and—wait. No. Scents?

“Stop!” I cried, as I swam fully back to consciousness, utterly helpless, and unable to resist the siren call of the alphas who’d drugged and kidnapped me.

“No,” a second voice said against my ear, followed by the wet stroke of a tongue down my neck, sending shivers of aching need through me.

Pain sizzled across my skin as an alpha bit my nipple, turning to agonizing pleasure as he laved it with his tongue.

Fingers pinched my chin, turning my head to the side so the other alpha could kiss me, his tongue licking into my mouth like he owned it. I surrendered to him, inviting him to take my mouth until our teeth clashed, and I whined with the need for more.

“She’s soaked, even with the extra dose of suppressant we gave her,” one of them said, wonder in his voice.

I tried to open my eyes but found only the blackness of the blindfold.

“I told you, she’s made for us—a scent match.”

“Gorgeous omega, sweet omega, who’s a slut just for us,” the second voice said.

“No,” I whined, even as I arched my back, desperate for their touch. I wasn’t a slut for anyone. What did they mean, extra dose? The thought slid out of my head as fingers teased at my clit, circling, tapping, driving me wild, but never giving me the friction I needed to drive myself over the sweet edge of oblivion.

“Beg us for our cocks,” one of the alphas said, “and we’ll give them to you.”

“Who the fuck are you?” I snarled, desperately grasping at the rage that floated just beyond reach, blocked by the intense pleasure these alphas evoked in me. “What do you want with me?”

The alphas didn’t answer. Instead, they left me hanging in the cool room, a breeze blowing across my sensitive nipples, unable to tell if they’d simply taken a step back or left me entirely.

A sob wrenched out of me, desolate and full of despair, that the two alphas had abandoned me, that they didn’t want me. No, I hated this. Hated the pain. Hated losing control. Hated them. I had to get free before they dug even deeper into my head.

“You’re our omega now,” one of the voices murmured against my skin. “And you’re going to beg us to fuck you.”

I’d fought too hard for my freedom to give in now, just because talented fingers explored my pussy. I wouldn’t beg them. Ever.

“Putain, you’re so pretty tied up like that, needy and whining for your alphas.”

“A perfect fucking omega, made just for us.”

“Why are you doing this?” I asked, my voice coming out as a moan as lips locked around my clit and sucked.

Their scents intensified, purrs rumbling through their chests, but to my surprise, I didn’t surrender to my instincts, didn’t lose my train of thought to anything but the intense pleasure coursing through me.

“What did you do to me, you assholes?” I hated how breathy my voice was, how I clenched around the fingers that explored me, how much I wanted them to continue, to fill me, to fuck me within an inch of my life.

“Knocked you out and gave you a suppressant, chérie,” one of them said with a soft laugh. Why would they give me a suppressant and block my instincts to submit to them? It didn’t make any sense.

Oblivious to my confusion, one of them took my nipple in his mouth. He caressed it with the flat of his tongue before biting down hard. I screamed at the pain, then moaned, wild, guttural, as the agony turned into fire running through my veins.

“Tu aimes ça,” he marveled softly. You like that. “Fucking hell, Conor, our little killer gets wet when it hurts. She’s perfect.”

Every time they called me perfect, the pressure in my chest grew, like a warm blanket wrapping around me. I wasn’t perfect. I was shattered glass held together by rage and suppressants. Ruined by my first pack. A criminal scrabbling on the outskirts of society. I was nothing.