Page 181 of Fallen Omega

Liz looks exotic, older, prime material for wet dreams everywhere.

And the tension pulsates with sexual awareness.

Dante runs his fingers along her thigh, parting her thin cloak to take in her dress. It’s a dark, shimmery gold and gives the illusion of nakedness as it paints her body, but shows nothing except expanses of flesh.

I’m fucking hard, and I’m betting he is, too.

“Ready, Angel?” he asks softly.

She looks at him, leaning towards him, her body language full of emotions I don’t think she knows she’s showing, and his is speaking to her right back.

Not that I’ll tell him. He’s not just into denial, he’s activelyindenial.

She hums before she speaks and fuck it’s electric, hot. Pagan, and that wordless sound grabs me by the balls. Him too, from the power emanating from him.

She stops but the wordless song still vibrates through bones, heating blood.

“I don’t know what we’re doing. Are either of you going to tell me?” she asks.

“Playing cat and mouse.” Dante’s under her fucking spell and doesn’t see it. He traces the line of her lip with his finger. “Someone’s trying to pull our house down and you’re helping us smoke them out. Knight’s shut the club for a private event. So you’re supposedly performing.”

Her tits rise and fall in uneven, rapid breaths and I can smell that extra bloom of her sweet gardenia scent where it rolls into a more potent and sexual air, announcing her arousal.

Her hum also strengthened it.

She’s dangerous in the way she wraps rooms of men, even women, around her finger when she sings. And the thing I noted is, she doesn’t know it, either. She’s so lost in the song. Once she warms up and once she’s over the hump of self-awareness, the sweet awkwardness of her strip tease that shouldn’t work actually does. The moment her song starts, and she doesn’t have to open her mouth for it to be felt, she’s lost in it, and she flourishes.

It's like peeping in on something you shouldn’t.

A titillation you don’t expect.

Power.

And I’ve never, ever seen anything like it, like her.

Back in the day, we would go to filthy sex clubs, get our fill of the omegas, gammas, and deltas selling their wares. But the betas? Oh, shit, now that was fucking beyond. There was nothing like screwing the ones who wanted their mettle tested, who liked size and pain, and we cut our kinky teeth on those girls.

The betas were the most fun. Because the omegas there were always so beyond submissive. Even if they weren’t in life, they played it, played at that little wife bullshit some alphas get off on. Or the betas who wanted a taste of that style of pure submission.

But we discovered something as we moved through the lowest clubs to the most exclusive.

It didn’t matter how expensive they were—all those sex clubs had that layer of filth, the air of need and desire, of secrets sold and traded. We learned, tweaked the idea of submission, and of what men want.

But first? We built our trade on places like the one we’re going to.

It’s a higher class, a place where those in power go. Criminal and Council, and everyone in between. If they can afford it, they come here.

For the experience, they’d get in the lowest of brothels.

This is just done up in velvet and cash. Nothing more.

We have five on our list tonight, and this is the one I’ve got down as the hub.

I look at Dante but he just gives me a raised brow. So I explain.

“We think the raid was meant to get to you and put pressure on us. It didn’t, but someone’s fucking with our shit. Someone wants their hands on you. I’ve been putting out fires, dealing with problems, since then. So we think it’s time to go where people talk.” I look at her. “We used to go to places like this, with a woman or to pick up women. And information. It’s a sex club.”

“And you’re our party favor,” Dante says.

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