Page 110 of Shadowlands Omega

“You truly came here for this?” I have to ask.

She smiles at me, taunting me, and produces a long scroll from between folds in her dress. She slips it onto the edge of my desk. Her scent hits me like a wave when she leans forward and I’m momentarily lost in the mire. Delusions and hallucinations involving chains and stocks, dripping cunts and my own body arching and pumping and stiffening and knotting cloud my mind.

I hear her lovely voice through the haze of stupid things she says. “I missed you, wanted to see you, and needed to deliver the list anyways.”

Present for me. The words are on the tip of my tongue. I drop my ear to my shoulder and roll out my neck. “You came to torture me.”

“Only a little, my Lord.”

“You have succumbed to madness then, if you truly think I will let my bonded, yet unclaimed, Omega wander recently ransacked streets where a few stray undead still roam, while also approaching her heat? I can only deduce that you are not aware of how close to your heat you are, that you are trying to get an unsuspecting Alpha killed, or that you have been sating yourself in some other way in my absence.”

Her eyes widen. She bites her bottom lip. Oh no. Oh no no no.

I rise up to stand slowly. Very slowly. I pin her down with my gaze.

“How have you been sating your urges these long, long days while we have both been suffering through the recovery of our injuries?”

“I…” She clears her throat and looks down.“I don’t think that’s an appropriate question to ask a Lady, my Lord.” Her downcast gaze flicks up to me.

“You have not come to me with a request for relief.”

“Of course not.” I growl as she speaks. “I was told we had to wait for the Red Moon Festival. I…they showed me the dress I’ll be wearing for you…the robe you had Zanele commission…” Her breath catches. Her tone becomes breathy and lustful. “That you would be…dressing me in other ways during the festival. And that the paint you bought at the Night Market is edible…”

“Do not speak of it. Tell me now. Have you gone to another Alpha with a request for assistance, then?” The knot at the nape of my neck tightens. I close my eyes and shiver with restraint.

“Don’t make me angry, Yaron. You won’t like your punishment.”

“Mypunishment?” I snarl. I cannot stop myself from rounding the desk even though it is my last barrier. “You come in here with the express intention of taunting me,baitingme, knowing the state that I’m in, and you expect to be able to punish me? Oh no. It is time, my little Lady, for your punishment.” My gaze devours her chest. Through her dress, I can see her tight brown nipples perking the fabric. I can’t help myself. I reach forward and cup her right breast simply because I’m a crude, naughty boy and want to cop a feel.

Her neck muscles work as she swallows. Her pupils are blown, but she still tries to maintain the upper hand. “You’re right, my Lord.” She gasps, wilting towards me like a flower. She’s anything but. But everything is topsy turvy between us, between her heat and my rut. “Punish me,” she breathes.

My back arches and I grab her by the neck, my palm molding to her throat just below the thin scar only visible to my beast, still etched there in memories of a moment I thought I would want to forget. I thought I would hate the sight of it, that it would bring me shame, but it does not. Her scars only further prove that she is a beautiful, violent, extraordinary thing.

I toss her face-down onto my desk, which stands so high her toes barely reach the ground. I fight the urge to throw her dress over her head, and instead, slap my palm against her ass. She bucks and moans and I almost perish on the spot. My burning wounds from the venom of the undead Berserker feel like they’re all opening back up again and bleeding for her.

“Now tell me, did you touch yourself to relieve your desire for me?” I say, arching over her body.

She says nothing, so I spank her again, hand falling even harder than it did the first time. “Yes!” she finally screams.

“When?”

No answer results in another three slaps. The scent of her…she’s releasing slick moisture that has as powerful a smell as any of her spices. A rich bergamot, a powerful cayenne, rosemary, thyme.

“Kiandah…” I growl. The globes of her ass are staring up at me, so inviting. Her soft waist, thick enough for me to fit two hands around or one massive paw. To hold her down while I fuck her into the floorboards. “Answer me.” I slap her again, a sharp pain radiating through my palm, almost as if I can feel each strike someplace else on my body through our bond.

She’s clutching the papers beneath her cheek, her eyelashes fluttering. I gently curl my claws over the back of her head, stroking them down over her skull. “I like your hair,” I whisper.

She makes a soft sound, a subtle moan. “Every day, my Lord.”

“Hm?”

“I stroke myself every day to thoughts of you.”

I grab the bottom half of her face and force her to look up at me from her position, immobilized across my desk. “You touched yourself?”

Her eyes are wide and dilated, those thick lashes blinking at me seductively. She nods.

I squeeze her face harder. “Did you forget?”

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