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Nice as they were, these three alphas were still here to fuck me—to play with a Mistletoe omega.
No sense in romanticizing it, no matter how hard my body responded to them.
“We aren’t likethem,” Laszlo insisted after a panicked scream ripped through the vents somewhere above. Hands on the armrests, one leg crossed, his gaze tracked my thong as Ambrose tugged it down my thighs. A sharp throat-clear made me open them further, allowing him to slide it the rest of the way. As soon as the fabric hit my ankles, I lifted one foot and stepped out, keeping my eyes on the floor as a sick mix of shame and excitement flooded my veins.
“This should be a pleasurable experience for all of us, little one,” Laszlo continued. “If you say your safe word… Let’s make it…ambrosia, then we’ll stop everything. But first, tell me what makes your skin crawl.”
My head snapped up, startled gaze jumping between him and Kane. The way he said it, the way he looked me in the eye rather than having a staring contest with my pebbled nipples—it didn’t feel like Laszlo was sniffing around for things to torture me with, but maybe that was the plan.
Maybe this was all an illusion.
Maybe these vampires had lulled me into a false sense of security in a way regular alphas couldn’t.
Still, given the nature of the underground world at Club Mistletoe, he could just be asking about my limits. I had no real experience with kink beyond the smutty books smuggled into the academy dorms that the other omegas and I devoured in secret. Banned books, all those romances and fanciful erotica, as if reading them might trigger our heats too early. Besides those, I had read the club manual. I listened to what other omegas gossiped about in the breakroom.
Maybe—
“Go on,” Ambrose encouraged with another heated whisper in my ear. “Speak plainly, Hollis. This is important.”
His big, icy hands quested down my curves as he crouched again, working on the red satin straps of my heels, slowly unwinding them from around my calves. My knees knocked, and the butterflies fluttered, and I looked up to the black ceiling, to the mistletoe hanging above the door that I’d missed before, then over to the decorated pine tree in the far corner, its lights off—like they had done it intentionally.
Like they didn’t want to see any more yuletide nonsense.
Totally fair.
I stepped out of my right heel when prompted, hip cocked, wearing little more than my diamonds and a red lip at this point.
“Don’t call me a bitch.” The uncertain knot in my throat lodged harder, and I held my breath for a moment, waiting for them to refuse me. Nothing. Laszlo just gave me a little nod, and Kane tipped his head again, looking a little too wolfish for my survival instincts. “Uh, o-or a whore. Or a cunt.”This omega cunt—Torvald flashed in my mind’s eye, memories of his touch, his assault, knocking me off-balance and into Ambrose’s shoulder when I stepped out of my other heel. He braced, saying nothing, and I straightened a moment later, feet a little sweaty on the marble. “Or a slut. And I don’t do anal.”
I had no problem with it in theory, but it wasn’t something I wanted with random alphas at a club where I’d been forced into my employment contract.Regardlessof how my body responded to them, how needy my inner omega side was getting in their presence, slick instead of the standard arousalwetbuilding between my thighs, a desperate whine straddling the tip of my tongue, I needed more trust than that.
“Fair enough,” Laszlo mused with a little smile. “No verbal degradation. No anal.”
“And don’t spit on me,” I blurted, my words followed by a humiliatingsqueeeeealwhen Ambrose suddenly licked between my buttcheeks as he stood, dragging his icy tongue up my spine, tasting me with a growl. We had already touched—he’d stripped me naked—but something aboutthat, the intimacy of his tongue, pushed me over the edge, slick smearing down my thighs. I pressed them tight together like that would hide it, but if I wasn’t careful, these alphas who felt like no others might just trigger my heatwayahead of schedule.
“Are you a virgin?” Kane rumbled, snapping me out of the shock. My face lit up like all the yuletide lights dangling upstairs, and I shook my head.
“No.”
A beta security guard at the academy had seen to that. He was handsome enough, all of them overtly flirtatious with the omegas once we reached a certain age. Back then, I thought sleeping with him would be my ticket out of my omega destiny, like a pack wouldn’t want a deflowered broodmare and pass me over so many times I’d just be removed from rotation.
We did it as often as I could swing.
And when we were discovered, he was transferred, and I got a stern lecture, a brutal paddling, and a strict curfew.
Then Jackson Misery came calling, and the rest was history.
“Have you ever been knotted before, omega?” Kane pressed, folded forward now, elbows on his knees, watching me keenly. My jaw dropped and my heart soared, and I snapped my lips shut when a horrifying little moan slipped out. Kane grinned, flashing his fangs. “I’ll take that as a no.” My frantic, nonsensical babbling after only seemed to excite him, his coppery gaze dark and heavy, his aura pure predator and getting more dangerous by the second. “Would you like to be knotted?”
Goddess above. I’d had everything but a knot. All the sex toys and pleasure aids to assist with my heats that set in at eighteen and happened right on schedule, two to three times a year, until now, at twenty-two, I could weather the storm like a real trooper.
But,oh, no matter how prickly and cynical I had become,allomegas craved a knot more than anything when the heat came calling.
I wasn’t in heat, but given the way they made me slick, the fact that none of these vampire alphas turned my stomach—why not finally take a knot?
Why not enjoy myself for a night before reality steamrolled me again?
No one ever needed to know how I felt about them.
