“Omega…” he said. “How’s that for small words?”
“You can’t be fucking serious.” I put my hands on his chest, ready to shove myself away, but got nowhere. He was like the damn side of a mountain—I could push at him all day long, and he’d just look down at the place where my body touched his with all that alien interest. “Oh…”
I sucked in a breath, then let it out, just focussing on the movement, the effort of it, for a few long minutes until I could get them to slow down a little.
“That’s what this is about.” In some ways, this realisation stung just like the stupid dickhead’s response to me down at Darling Harbour. Both responses did so to a thing, a classification. Dickhead’s was to the fact I was fat, Lucien’s fascinated response, his desperation for me to become an employee because he thought I was…
An omega.
The idea was so totally and utterly ridiculous, I couldn’t help but jerk back and away from him. I paced across the floor, my bare toes sinking into the thick carpet, swallowing any sound I might make.
“That’s why you offered me that ridiculous amount of money.”
“No—”
“Yes.”
I turned to look at him, then considered the work computer and my bag. I snatched up my phone, looking to see if my flight booking had been emailed to me, just in case it could be rescheduled. No such luck. I sighed and clicked on the local budget airline, looking to see what cheap flights were available.
“A little pet omega flitting from the office of one alpha to the next.” My mouth twisted into a vicious smile. “That’d probably be worth that kind of money.”
My eyes flicked up, able to meet his gaze head-on with no omega-like shyness. I stared him down, not blinking for a second as I delivered my suspicions.
“So what would I do? Sit on your desk while I tookdick-tation?” I emphasised the first park of the word. “Or would you push me down into the space below, undo your zipper, and—”
“For fuck’s sake, don’t describe another fucking scenario,” he snapped. “Part of me is disgusted that you’d think me capable of that shit.”
“And the other?”
My eyes slid down that big muscular body, remembering how hungry he’d been for my taste when we went on that date. Sure enough, the sizeable bulge in his jeans had grown swollen, something his hand strayed towards, the heel of his palm pressing down.
“And the other wants to make you do every single one of those debauched things, but not until you’re mine, wearing my and my brothers’ bites on your neck.” His hand was jerked away, then shoved into his pocket. “You neglected to describe the most likely scenario though, didn’t you?”
That fucking shit-eating grin was back, twice as bright, twice as cocky.
“It’d be me on my knees by my desk and you perched on the edge, one of those cute little skirts up around your waist as I gorge myself on your pussy. I’d reach up, press my fingers between your lips to stop you from crying out and letting every fucker in the building know an alpha was seeing to his mate, then pull them free, commanding you to be quiet as I pushed them into a pussy that gushed slick all over my hand.”
Silence, as thick and dense as a wall, rose between us, smothering any responses, but I could feel mine. My heart raced, thudding faster and faster, even after I’d gotten free of one brother, only to stumble into the other. Then there was the more visceral response—fluid, liquid, far more than usual and leaving me feeling saturated, it felt like slick poured from me, pooling in my underwear.
“Get. Out.”
He nodded slowly, then reached into his back pocket, producing a wallet and drawing a business card out before placing it on the bed.
“There’s someone you can talk to. I did. I needed to know… I had to understand what happened between us. It was either that or fucking stake out your house. Talk to Riley Taylor. She’s a geneticist.”
“What…?” I smothered the question, not wanting to give him an excuse to linger. “I’m booking a flight out of here.”
“Call me when you’re ready to do that,” he replied, walking towards the door. “I brought you out here, so I’ll get you home, Sage.”
17
Just like that, the two men had managed to strip every bit of satisfaction I’d felt, so that when I sat back down at the table and saw my computer screen and the rough map of the project, I slapped the monitor down. I couldn’t look at it, look at… My eyes slid sideways, back to the bed and that small rectangle of a card. It was a business card, for a Riley Taylor employed by Crowe Corp. They were a reputable medical institute based at home with a reputation of being on the forefront of research about alpha, omega, and beta designations.
Which begged the question, why the hell had he contacted her?
Was he trying to make me into what he wanted—an omega? Could people do that, give you some kind of medication or…? My mind began to race, seeing all the times he and his brothers had pushed drinks or food my way and considering that in a whole new light. My breath came out in a long whistle before I snatched up my phone, punching in the number. As I listened to the rings, the anxiety twisted in my guts, making me want to hang up, pack my shit, and—
“Riley Taylor speaking.”