Page 15 of Excess

Inika: The desires I expressed yesterday haven’t changed.

Was that too formal? Blake probably thought I was some posh robot, but I didn’t know how to be flirty in writing.

Blake: Use your words, princess.

I fought my way back out of the blankets, feeling around in the drawer next to the bed until I found my favourite toy.

I’d produced so much slick from my dreams that the fake cock slid in with no resistance, the buzz of the vibrator muffled as I clamped it between my thighs to hold it in place so I could reply.

Like a lady.

Inika: I want you to fuck me.

Before I could panic about the boldness of that message, he’d already replied.

Blake: Of course you do. But I have work to do. Ask me nicely at 3 o’clock.

That arrogant prick. That arrogant, sexy, outrageous prick.

I set the phone aside and rolled onto my front so I could fuck myself with my toy at a better angle, rocking my hips back until the fat silicone knot was wedged at my entrance. I’d never got the hang of fully taking a fake knot—which was a large part of the reason I used an agency for my heats—but I still managed several quality orgasms before I crawled out of my nest, making the sprint of shame to the en suite before I trailed slick everywhere.

By the time I emerged—in a far shorter, flirtier skirt than I usually wore to work from home—I could hear Blake hammering away in the stairwell. I was tempted to have a peek, but I suspected that if I distracted him before three o’clock, Blake might send me back to my nest with only my silicone knot for comfort.

Blake Alwis was a man of words from his head to his toes, that much was obvious about him.

“Your breakfast, Ms Dara,” Graeme said, quietly letting himself into my office with a tray of coffee, fruit, and yoghurt as I logged on to my computer.

“Thank you, Graeme.”

He hovered after he set the tray down, his usual way of letting me know that he had something he wanted to say despite how many times I’d told him that he should feel free to speak his mind.

The hovering made my eye twitch.

“Is everything okay, Graeme?”

Graeme cleared his throat. “This contractor of yours...”

“Ah.” I’d put the ventilation system on the maximum post-sex setting yesterday, which should have been enough to hide my tracks, considering all of my staff were betas and their noses weren’t so sensitive. Then again, Graeme had worked around alphas and omegas for decades and was perhaps more attuned to it. “Mr Alwis. What about him?”

He winced at my bluntness. Graeme had worked for my parents for years before coming with me to my household, and if I could make the choice again, I’d have insisted he stay with them. My mother was the kind of omega he enjoyed dealing with—quiet, soothing, obedient. She’d never been difficult a day in her life.

“You’re, er, quite certain he’s the best for the job?”

“Quite certain. He comes highly recommended. Do you have concerns about his workmanship?” I asked, tilting my head to the side in faux confusion.

“No, no. His work seems… perfectly acceptable.” I let the silence linger, encouraging him to get to the point. It was a skill that had taken some honing, and I still struggled with it. Omegas soothed and flattered. They didn’t allow any awkwardness to settle in.

Graeme seemed to debate internally with himself before settling on an explanation. “Your father might have some reservations about having an unmated alpha in the house.”

“Perhaps he would, but this is not my father’s house.” Graeme’s cheeks pinkened, and I took pity on him. “Thank you for your concern, Graeme. I appreciate that you have my best interests at heart.”

I kept my voice calm and even, but left no room for argument. Graeme nodded tersely, already excusing himself from the office. Undoubtedly, he would raise his concerns with my parents, and I would receive an anxious call from Mama later today, begging for me to stay with them.

There was some comfort in the predictability, I supposed.

It was a dull morning of emails and video calls, followed by a dull afternoon working on a report I was compiling on scent-neutralising SPF. While it wasn’t particularly interesting to write, I had high hopes for how it would be received. Sun cream aligned nicely with our brand and Om-Guard’s existing product range, while giving us room to expand into new areas.

Product research wasn’t my dream job by any stretch of the imagination, but seeing the tangible results of my work ending up on shop shelves was somewhat rewarding. And that was all I really wanted, in the end. To make an impact in some small way, to do something, rather than just floating through life, barely touching the sides.

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