Page 1 of Filthy Beginnings

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“You getting those panties filthy wet for me, wild thing?” Damien’s whispered rasp sent gooseflesh rippling across Scarlett’s skin. “I want that lucky little toy to prime that pussy. To make you a slick, creamy mess between those gorgeous thighs. The kind I can’t wait to lick clean.”

His words were as potent as the flat, clear rod vibrating between her clit and the puckered rosebud of her bottom, its slight pulses pure ecstasy—and pure torment.

Damien’s gift to her, held in place by gentle suctions that only intensified her pleasure, was a top-of-the-line sex toy from his home planet, and her new favorite transgression.

She stifled a moan.

The consortium positioned her display case high on the raised stage at one end of the oval-shaped stadium, a golden stool beneath her and a glittering golden curtain at her back. While the shimmering curtain hid the sterile wall behind it and a functional doorway, the other three clear walls and the transparent ceiling fit with the message her handlers wanted to convey: she was the ultimate prize, a trophy just out of reach, there to motivate the fighters and fuel their aggression while discouraging them from coming near.

And no one usually dared.

Except for Damien.

He stood in the concealed doorway, hidden from the others by the curtain. Her perfect, filthy secret. Her risk and her rebellion. Her everything.

“Such a good fucking girl.” He slipped a single finger through the curtain and trailed it down the nape of her neck.

She shivered with need, fingers curling around the edge of her stool.

Reckless. So damned reckless.

If caught, there would be hells to pay.

But Goddess help her, she lived for his touch.

Buzz.The toy’s pulses intensified.

Another flutter of the curtain. Another low rasp. “Press those pretty thighs together and try not to squirm, sweet Scarlett.”

A purr escaped. Most called herthe prize. Or simply referred to her as consortium property. Every time Damien said her name, a lost part of her found its way back.

“That’s right, beautiful. So good. Soon, I’m going to reward you.”

She wanted that reward. Needed more of his sweet, filthy praise.

The urge to shift from her position was overwhelming.

But that would be an absolute disaster, and not just for her.

Her gaze flicked below to her primary handler, consortium personnel Egan Avitus. He held court on the training arena floor, his back to her, his silver hair as shiny as the coins he loved so much. Pit boss, showman, tournament organizer, and director of prizes and fighters, Egan Avitus’s power was extensive. Over her, it was absolute.

Her brother Luc stood next to Egan. His recent promotion to high trainer had earned him a coveted spot up close to the action, but it also meant proximity to monsters like Egan. Both their spines were ramrod straight as they surveyed the rows of eager warriors from across the galaxy sparring on the floor mats.

The training facility was as well-built and extravagant as all consortium ventures, a soaring, open space with three visible levels that narrowed toward the top. Encircling the edges of the oval space, the lowest, widest ring was filled with training mats, equipment and observation areas. The second ring burst out of the center of the ground level. A raised fighting platform only slightly above the bottom floor, it split into sections to accommodate least fifty fighting matches at once. The third ring, her current level, was the smallest, filled with viewing platforms and private seating rooms for special clients.

Most of the action at the moment was on the ground level where the fighters had gathered, all stretching or sparring as they waited for the next round of matches to begin. There were Alphas with horns, wings, plates, spikes, tusks, and tails. Their skin, scales, and exoskeletons in colors as varied as the stars in the Anarcheim galaxy. The one commonality: all were huge, fierce, and determined to win the tournament.

A slew of equally diverse-looking security, trainers, investors, lower-level consortium members, and omega groupies crowded behind the fighters, huddling as close to the action as possible, their excitement palpable.

The final major group in the facility were several Brotherhood Alphas, cordoned off in the exclusive ground floor VIP area. Their membership in the most powerful, ruthless crime organization in the galaxy ensured them a prime viewing spot. Most were here to cheer on the fighters they’d sponsored or get an early peek at who to bet on in the final rounds of the tournament.

Thank the Goddess, all Alphas who entered the arena were required to wear scent masks. Otherwise, they’d all know what a mess Damien was making of her panties.

“Fighters, to the second level.” Egan Avitus’s voice rang out, making her sit up straighter. “You might have survived to round four of the tournament, but if you want to make it to the main event, don’t shame yourself by being eliminated here.”

Fear whispered through her. “Damien—”

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