I gritted my teeth at the youthful alpha ordering me in my own house. “It is too dark. Tell me instead about this sister of yours, who allows you to steal her dresses and masquerade in her place.”
“Viola does not like the masquerade.”
“Oh? And you?”
“I understand why I am doing it. And if all goes well, then the deception is justifiable. Do you think I can pull it off?”
“I believe you capable of anything, but I do not believe you would play me false in this. You would not manipulate or lie to me. I know you, Hartwell,” I chuckled. “If you were to pull the wool over my eyes, however? I’d hide you for the insolence.”
The silence stretched on except for the sound of silk on skin and with each passing heartbeat, my desire rose like the tide. My unspeakable need to know what was happening on the other side.
I stood and walked towards the screen but stopped abruptly. Because the mirror above the fireplace caught the reflection of a naked back dipping low but not low enough for my liking. Yet I dared not step closer lest I lose my increasingly tenuous control. Instead, I studied her as best I could in the flickering light. More lightly muscled than I’d expected after crossing swords with her. I watched entranced as she dropped a chemise over her head covering her nudity but not removing the temptation. I had seen women tempt as they removed their clothes, but watching her dress was almost more alluring. As each piece of clothing was added, my arousal became more insistent against my breaches. Closing my eyes, I took a deep breath and held it for a count of ten, letting it out slowly, then drawing it in again. I nearly gasped at how strong my own scent was (that I could even notice it) and how it mingled with Viola’s. The smell of lust filled the room. I dared to look into the mirror again, to see if perhaps she had noticed. But she was an alpha, her sense of smell not nearly as strong as an omega’s. Perhaps she would feel a little more aggressive, perhaps she would bristle, thinking I lusted for her sister. I almost wished she would challenge me. I would gladly cross swords with her again. My temper was in check this time, and I knew I would hold back to better see her gracefully dance with a rapier in hand.
Hartwell stepped around the screen with her focus on smoothing her skirts and fussing with a bracelet on a slim wrist.
“Viola,” I breathed in awe. I had yet to meet the omega, but if what Hartwell said was true, they looked remarkably alike. Enough to be mistaken for one another. The pull towards this facsimile of an omega almost proved too great. Dark hair was threaded through with ribbon in a feminine fashion and easy to accomplish without the aid of a maid. The low cut gown revealed breasts fuller than Hartwell’s.
“How did you achieve,” and I gestured helplessly at the swell of the gown. The fashions of the day displayed breasts to perfection, and seeing her now, I wondered if I could persuade her to give up men’s clothing for evening gowns. A temptation too far.
Her face heated, and she mimicked my movements around the illusion of breasts. “I… They are mine. I bind them, normally.”
“Ah,” I said, attempting to force a casualness into my voice which I did not feel. I wanted to hold the vision in front of me. Press our bodies close together, inhale that intoxicating combination until I lost all rational thought. But I would not. I might be an alpha, but I was no stripling or feral savage. I was a peer of the realm. A civilised creature who could overcome this reckless obsession.
“Did you…?” I bit back a curse. Hartwell had challenged Paxton for speaking of her sisters, and here I was asking about her breasts. “Forgive me. They are beautiful.”
“I... I should call you out for that. But after the other day, I would surely acquit myself ill. Just respect that I cannot answer that question—“
“For you wouldn’t know. Faith. If you did call me out I would let you pink me. I cannot imagine what overcame me,” I groaned and ran a hand over my face desperate to wipe what had just transpired from both our memories. Yet while I wished my words unsaid, I now must imagine what those breasts must look like, feel like. A cursory glance, an assumption that those were the picture of reality, and I was tortured by the thought of what colour those nipples might be. I focused on breathing through my mouth to lessen the impact of Viola’s scent, which was quickly filling the room now that she had moved closer. And closer still until if I had wanted, I could have reached out to run a finger down that graceful neck down further still to then trace the swell of her breasts.
“Could you help me with this? The clasp is tricky, and I cannot seem to make it work. Syon?”
I blinked, startled from the spell she’d wrapped me in. “Help you? Of course. Come here.”
She huffed a laugh but came forward, her silk skirts shushing on the carpet. But my desire would not be silenced. The necklace was an intricate piece of enamelled panels, pearl, ruby, and gold twisted as intricate knots.
“My father gave it to my mother,” she said without prompting. “Then she passed it on to me. It is more correctly a collar.”
“I’ve never seen the like.” But I was looking at her, not the necklace. How could a necklace compare with the greatest of god’s creations? A collar, though. They were out of fashion, but at one point alphas and male omegas had given them to their mates. A declaration of intent before a wedding formalised the pairing.
“Turn,” I growled. I wanted to collar Hartwell. I wanted it almost as much as I wanted to feel her cunt squeezing my knot.
A shy smile was all I saw before she turned.
“Here,” she held the ends of the collar to me. I took it, careful not to allow our fingers to touch.
“Lift your hair,” I commanded.
Delicate hands gathered dark curls allowing me to fiddle with the clasp. In the soft light, it was tricky, but perhaps I allowed myself longer than necessary to secure the clasp. Finished, I rested my hands on white shoulders, giving them a comforting squeeze, and brushed along where an omega’s mate gland would be. When she tried to turn back around, I held her. Like a marionette, my hand drew up along the graceful curve on her neck until I wrapped it around the slender throat. I stayed there. A gentle pressure to ground us both, or so I hoped. Instead, I could feel a rapid pulse. My thumb caressed where a mating bite would go. The current fashion was to expose the neck, some even went so far as to put a bit of rouge to enhance the scaring. How perfect my mark would be. How good that alphas like Gale and Pitt would back away knowing I owned all of Hartwell.
“My mouth,” Hartwell whispered into the silence. If I hadn’t had my finger on the racing pulse, I would have been fooled into thinking that she had commented on the weather. “Last time I did not touch you. But... I wanted to use my mouth.”
I groaned. This could not be happening to me. It had been its own kind of torture when Hartwell had knelt before me, perfectly obedient as I sprayed that beautiful innocence with my seed, had rubbed my essence over that face and into that her wet mouth. How would those hands feel about my cock? And now she wanted to put her mouth on my aching cock? I could imagine with ease because I saw her pink lips almost every day.
“Do you want to kill me?” I asked.
“A little death,” came the husky reply.
“A little death,” I agreed. “I can’t let you—”