Page 19 of Alpha Hunger

“Because you came to me. It is a sign.” I stroke the small of her back and lower, squeezing her ass cheek. A pinch of fabric between my fingertips, I lift the little dress, then run a finger between the globes of her ass, lower yet, and past the little pucker hole I’m gonna fill with the plug. I touch the slit of her wet Omega pussy.

I pet her pussy, nice and slow, with measured strokes, while I purr like the boss I am. “See how personal we can get? It’s not so bad, is it?”

Anna rolls her eyes to the back of her head. “What are you doing to me?”

“Petting your pussy. It’s weeping. How many fingers should I fuck it with?”

Anna swallows, then mumbles something I can’t understand.

“It’s okay,” I tell her. “I wasn’t really asking.” I shove two fingers inside her slick opening and flick them fast. Anna gasps, and I press my mouth over hers, shoving my tongue inside where it meets her chunky red one that’s eager to dance.

The taste of her makes me want to bend her over my desk, and as I devour her mouth, I contemplate whether it would be the best thing to do at this moment. For one, she came into my life only this morning, and I’ve already rocked all the job delusions she might have had when she applied. For two, we’re running late for dinner with some of the most powerful humans in the country. For three, I haven’t tested her against my venom.

Anna’s moans fill the office, and I purr louder. The moment I feel her fine pussy contract around my fingers and that special Omega lubricant gush all over my fingers, I withdraw my fingers. Anna protests, a meek whimpering sound. In a swift move, I bend her over my desk and throw up her skirt so her fine ass is on display.

I run my hand down one globe. “Count.” I raise my hand and slap her ass, gripping it hard, digging my claws into it, not to break her fragile skin but to remind her she’s supposed to count. I wait, leaning over, and hear Anna blissfully moan. My purr sent her into a mindset where the world disappeared for her. Not every Omega can reach this state of mind, but this is one Omega who can. It makes me both violent and more self-aware. Just because I can do anything I want with her, it doesn’t mean I should.Power over people is a responsibility,my father drilled into me from a young age.In more ways than I care to admit, I am my father.

“One,” I say, and lay another slap on her ass.

“Two,” she whispers.

There we go. She’s back with me, not completely gone in her headspace. I lay three, four, five, and six rapidly on the left cheek, same place, same intensity. The sting makes her rise from the table, turn her head, and blink her pretty brown eyes. I like the eyelashes. Longer now than before because of the black paint women and Christy paint those hairs with.

Palms firmly gripping her ass, I spread the globes. Liquid heat she’s been holding back trickles down her thigh.

“There you are,” I say. “I don’t understand why you’re so hard on yourself. Why you’re having a hard time accepting your dynamic. Not to worry. I will train you, Omega.”

I crouch, stick out my forked tongue, and lick the trail of pussy juice from her thigh all the way to the blessed source where I make sure I stroke the very important clitoris. I flick it, stick two fingers into her pussy, and pump fast, clamping the twin forks of my tongue.

Anna throws her head back and pushes her pussy against my face. The secret to great power lies in service to the people, especially those weaker than myself. I aim to serve this Omega with all my might.I reach for the plug, coat it in an abundance of her pussy’s natural lubricant, and slide it into her ass. Anna screams as she comes, her body shuddering, her pussy gushing more liquid, the poor vacant hole gaping, begging for the knot at the base of my dick. I lean in closer and kiss the pussy. “Soon,” I promise it.

I slap Anna’s ass and turn her around. “Seven. Dinner?”

Anna is flushed and can’t even look me in the eye. This just makes me more violent, and I intend to take out my innate aggression on the man who I believe gave her the Betaren. I’m gonna enjoy myself tonight.

Chapter 7

Anna

I don’t know why I thought we’d take a skycab or even a ground vehicle—maybe a limousine—to the dinner this evening. Regular people did those things. There’s nothing regular about the prince of Regha. Not his dominant presence, aggressive attitude, not even his tongue. On TV, he smiles and waves, appearing welcoming and approachable. When one approaches, however, he consumes them.

The scent of him, the rock-hard body against my back, the thick cock that pokes my behind, overwhelm my good reason, and I don’t awake from the haze of his Alpha presence until we arrive at a three-story mansion in district eight. In princely glory and on Junior’s back, we stride past the gates, the cars I can afford to buy with my new salary, and the beautiful women in expensive gowns. I’m fairly certain the priciest gown in the courtyard is half the price of my skimpy dress.

Heads turn. Cameras flash. The press goes wild and runs toward us. I fight the urge to flee.

Junior climbs the steps of the host’s mansion, passing the press lined up on both sides of the long stairway. They snap pictures of us while shouting for Hunger to give them my name.

Everyone at the office calls him the boss.

Everyone in the world calls him Hunger.

He consumed me so fast, I forgot about his nickname.

As if there’s nobody around, the prince purrs against my back. The forearm pressed against my belly subdues my nerves. I’m not into crowds. In college, during parties, I was the girl who huddled in the corner and drank beers solo, thank you very much. I enjoy people-watching, not being watched, and certainly not being the center of attention.

Hunger is always the center of attention. I think he and Junior make a fine match seeing as how Junior is climbing the stairs, heading for the wide-open double doors where a man and a woman await. The woman looks familiar. A tall brunette with intelligent brown eyes wearing a white suit. She color-coded the outfit. White is Hunger’s mark. People love kissing his ass. I don’t blame them. It’s better than the alternative.

I keep staring at the woman. Why yes, I think it’s the mayor, and this must be her home. Her husband, a bald man with big blue eyes, smiles kindly at me. The mayor doesn’t. Instead, she moves out of our way.

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