Page 3 of Filthy Beginnings

“Damien, I—” She could barely think. Her body was so close to the edge. Ready to soar. Ready to—

“Uh-uh.”

The vibrations slowed to a faint, teasing pulse.He’d stopped her from coming.

A growl of fury sprang unbidden from her chest.

Damien chuckled. “There’s that spirit, wild thing.”

Pride swept through her. He liked her uncensored. He liked her real. With him, submission didn’t mean doll-like docility.

“You want to come? It won’t be from a fucking toy.” The possession and jealousy in his tone made her heart take flight. “That’s just a primer. It will be on my tongue, my fingers, andmycock. It will be when you tell me I am yours and you’re mine.” He didn’t hesitate. “Meet me after I win my matches. Our special place. We’ll celebrate the fact that we’re one step closer to you being mine.”

He was gone before she could protest. Or wish him luck.

She pressed her legs together and tried to stay annoyed. But she couldn’t. Though she kept her lips in a firm line, her expression serene on the outside, a slow smile formed inside her.

She liked their games.

She enjoyed the anticipation and the delayed pleasure, the certainty that he was hard and wanting—and that he wouldn’t do anything about it until they were together.

Damien was disciplined and loyal. He never once looked at the omega prostitutes or prizes-in-training forced to prance around the ring in the same kind of flimsy outfits she was required to wear.

His focus never wavered from her.

And she loved the strength of his desire. He’d use whatever it took to push her over the edge and bring her to him.

She released a slow exhale, loosening her hold on the edge of the stool, surrendering to the heat rushing through her veins each time the toy pulsed.

She knew it wasn’t the only surrender she’d make this rotation.

She would meet Damien Skolov at their special place and, despite her fears, she would tell him exactly what he wanted to hear.

Not because she was desperate to come—though there was that too—but because she was desperate to be his. No matter the cost.

With a quick glance, she ensured Egan Avitus and the rest of his consortium partners were still focused on the fighters. Then she lifted her gaze from the stage floor and surveyed the throng of fighters below.

All hopeful. All determined.

All fodder for the real winners of the tournament: the consortium itself. The company earned more from tournament ticket sales, sponsorships, and bets placed than any one fighter ever could. And all the consortium had to do for such profits was steal the lives of so many, including her own.

But thanks to Damien, for the first time in forever, she had hope she might get her life back and be more than a commodity. More than a pretty pet commanded to perform. More than a shiny prize to be won.

The wild thrumming in her veins and between her legs surged as Damien’s beautiful red skin, curling black horns, and wide shoulders appeared in the crowd below.

Some might have noticed his absence, but they’d never suspect where he’d been. A few careful bribes to the right guards—money was everything in this town—had bought their silences and made it possible for Damien to use the crumbling underground passageways of the old city to evade the watchful eyes of the consortium and her guards.

Just in time, too.

“Prize, rise!” Egan snapped his finger, his purple cape billowing behind him as his leer burned into her exposed skin.

2

Though every part of Scarlett rebelled at following Egan’s command, she did.

She’d long ago learned the cost of outright resistance. But that didn’t mean she was playing solely by the consortium’s rules anymore.

Damien was here now, and soon everything would be different.

---