Page 91 of Fallen Omega

“Maybe. Maybe not. I wasn’t there to see.”

“You're an asshole,” she breathes.

I deserve the insult. I know I went too far and not far enough. But I let it slide. Instead, I take a sip of my whiskey and lean in, using my free hand to brush her hair from her throat, letting my fingers skim the mark.

She shivers and bites her lip, like she’s trying to squash a moan.

“These men are animals, Lizette,” I say. “They only want female staff. I need you to earn your fucking keep by dressing in the outfit that’s going to be sent to your room, and then get your ass back here.”

“What—” She frowns. “I’m not going to do anything until you tell me what I have to do.”

“You will.”

I hand her my drink and get my phone, sending Darcy a text. Right now, she can wait tables, work her way up to the stage. She’ll make a fortune, too.

But not naked.

Knight and Reaper told me she can sing, so… If I lay down rules, make her do that… Fuck, even if she can barely hold a note, she’s money in the fucking bank.

Not to mention that setting down some hardline rules with her is a hotness all on its own.

She wants to know what I’ll make her do to earn her keep, but I’m not telling her it’s only going to be serving and maybe singing. Not yet. The not knowing’s driving her mad, and I like that.

Lizette licks her lips. “Tell me?—”

A flick of my eyes stops her words dead in their tracks. I come back at her, take my drink, and set it down, then I move, deliberate, slow, not stopping until Lizette’s got no choice but to back off into the door.

She tries to hold ground but she doesn’t. Her pupils are dilated, lips slightly parted, and her tits rise and fall unevenly.

Some might mistake this as fear. It isn’t. It’s pure, unadulterated lust. She’s drowning in it. Her scent blooms, giving her away, taunting my senses.

That’s the problem with her. Games are dangerous. A double-edged sword.

Lucky for me, unlucky for her, I like those games. I’m a master of control and denial. I can have her so fucking hot, she’ll come without me touching her.

Unless, of course, I deny her. Order her not to.

And, I think, I’m going to do just that.

“Baseline rules, Liz. One, you’ll be on the floor waiting tables, and then you’ll perform, sing, who knows? Two, you obey us without question. And three, you don’t fuck near your heat. With anyone. Even your knight in shining armor.”

“Not even with you.”

I grit my teeth. “Never speak back to me. I’m your boss now.”

“You don’t want me.”

Oh fuck. Despite my warning, her pushing back is hot.

“Maybe I just like the control. Maybe I want to make sureyou keep your fucking scent and baby fatale ways in your fucking panties.” I lean in, lips almost brushing her ear. “Maybe I don’t want anyone else to touch you.”

A small moan, so soft it’s like a sigh, breaks free and washes against me, making my cock hard.

“I will not be your slave,” she whispers.

“Oh?”

“N-No.” She struggles for air. “I came here looking for help. What are the other rules?”

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