Page 28 of The Omega Trials: Part One

I’ve barely eaten one bite. I’m too distracted by the way Bishop brushes the corner of his mouth gently with his thumb. While he wipes the escaped drop of sauce, his eyes meet mine across the table, hooded and flickering with gold.

Or the way Ecker’s white teeth snap a crisp french fry in half and my skin tingles imagining his teeth sinking into me.

Even the way Titus drinks his water slowly, his heated stare burning into me over the rim of his cup. I watch, tantalized, as condensation drips down the cup at the same time as a bead of sweat slides down my spine.

“Not hungry?” I jump as Ecker’s breath flutters on my neck.

I scoot away from him leaning toward me and tug on the neckline of the hoodie. I don’t trust myself to coherently string together a sentence right now, so instead of answering, I shoot him a dirty glare.

“I’ve heard that right after manifesting, omegas can be incredibly sensitive to sensory input, like sight . . .” I follow Ecker’s gaze as he tilts his chin toward Bishop across the table from him. My stomach swoops as Bishop’s tongue slowly wets his full lips then pulls his bottom lip through his teeth with a deep sigh.

“Or taste . . . ,” he murmurs low and sensually, and Titus reaches across the table, his strong arms flexing as he props himself up. I’m desperately frozen as his thumb brushes a crumb from my mouth. The lightest touch sends shockwaves through my body.

The tip of his thumb nudges my slightly parted lips, and I want so badly to pull away. I am only embarrassing myself.

But I can’t. My breathing stutters as he pushes his thumb past my lips, through my teeth until I feel the rough pad of his fingertip on my tongue.

Mindlessly, I flick my tongue over it and the salty taste sends me right back to the night before and the way he smelled like ocean breeze as he manipulated my body to points of pleasure I’d never experienced before. My cheeks heat at the memory, and a swallowed growl rumbles in his chest.

“Or touch.” Ecker’s low whisper is raw and strained. Titus withdraws his thumb, and I turn to face Ecker.

He flattens his palm on the cushion between us, his forearms flexing. My gaze feels heavy as I drag it up his arm to his neck. It bobs on a swallow and my mouth goes dry.

Finally, I meet Ecker’s eyes. Again, I feel like a stranger in my own body. I see his face and remember how it looked all twisted and hot when he thoughtlessly came on my ass like I was nothing but a dirty sock.

And yet, I can barely hear him over the desperate pounding in my ears. “Come here.”

I’m doing everything I can to fight my omega nature from ruining me. Somehow, I manage to shake my head in small, shy movements.

Impatience flashes on his face and this time, he alpha growls. “Come here.”

As if pulled by an invisible magnet, I slide across the bench until our thighs kiss. I look down at my lap, as it feels harder and harder to get an adequate breath.

“Put your leg over mine,” he commands, and in a way, I’m grateful he’s forcing me. It makes it easier to accept—though with no less shame—when I lift my leg and drape it over his. My thigh now between his spread knees, he places a hot palm over my skirt and chuckles. “Now that’s a good omega.”

I can’t deny that his praise strokes something in me. Maybe it’s not the praise so much as a reminder that it’s notmereacting in this lascivious way, but the omega inside me.

“Remember how Bishop was hurting last night?” Ecker’s voice is like cool silk against my cheek. “You’re hurting right now, aren’t you, Omega?” His tone leaves me questioning whether he’s seducing or threatening me.

His hand slips under the hem of my skirt, and I find my voice to say, “Don’t.Not here.”

I’m itching to swat his hand away, but I’m terrified to move, like I’m teetering on the edge of a cliff and one wrong breath could send me plummeting over.

“A good omega gives herself freely to her alphas.” His fingertips graze the crease at my hip, and I suck in a sharp breath. “A good omega keeps her legs spread so her alpha . . .” His voice drops to what is now a clear threat. “. . . canfinger fuckher wherever he pleases.”

I hear screeching plastic and look up to see Bishop’s hand digging into the back of the booth, knuckles whitening. His nostrils pulse, and his eyes are almost fully gold.

Ecker teases the band of my panties. “Just be glad I’m not bending you over this table and staking my claim right here.” I grimace at the bomb of heat his words drop in my stomach.

In a way, I wish he would. It would be so much easier if he roughly took his pleasure from me rather than this unbearably gentle attention all on me. I pinch my brows together and try to imagine I’m anywhere else.

His fingers glide under my panties to trace my slit. I’m too mortified to look behind me and see who might be watching. Even though Titus has stretched his legs out so his ankles are crossed on the seat next to me, I feel utterly exposed. Like these men shed me of every last ounce of dignity.

And despite all that, my eyes still burn, and I know if I looked in a mirror, they’d be streaked with gold.

His long fingers part me, and he glides my own slick over my clit, making me gasp. I clap my hand over my mouth in humiliation.

“Shove over.” Bishop grunts, pushing Titus, who slides over and out of the booth. Bishop follows and says gruffly, breaths choppy, “I-I can’t be here.”

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