She was watching.
O knew she was.
Probably from the office where he’d just left her after filling out the paperwork.
Oberon had started this with the intention of riling her up. He’d wanted her to watch, had inwardly laughed at how foolish she was for thinking he wasn’t aware of the hidden cameras in the room she’d chosen. He’d already spotted three and had pretended otherwise.
But as soon as Fenrir leaned back and bent his legs, spread his thighs and exposed himself…Something shifted inside of O.
Their impromptu audience wasn’t such a laughing matter anymore. Strange, since jealousy had never been somethingOberon needed to worry about. It was an altogether new experience, one that had him momentarily contemplative.
If he called an end to this now, he’d tip his hand, and he couldn’t allow that.
Did Fenrir know his mistress was spying on them?
Did that get him off?
Oberon’s gaze swept down his form, taking stock of the hard ridges of muscle and the way his waist tapered. Fenrir looked gorgeous in the golds, his chained wrists moving to accommodate the order given, palms slipping between his thighs.
Even soft, his dick was impressive.
“I’ve read your file,” Oberon broke the silence, but Fenrir didn’t seem surprised to hear it.
“Was that before or after you bid on me?”
Was he trying to feel O out?
Fun.
“Before.” He wouldn’t lie and claim that wasn’t his deciding factor. “I’m curious, what kind of training do they give you if they aren’t allowed to pop your cherry? We’ve already covered that they make you suffer through your heats with unsatisfactory toys. What else?”
“It’s not very pretty.”
“That’s all right. You’re pretty enough to keep me going. Tell me.”
Fenrir rolled his heavy sack, tugging at it lightly before letting go and moving his hand away enough that Oberon got a good view of his balls bouncing back in place. Then his fingers moved to the base of his dick, pressing against a smaller bump there that was hardly noticeable with the man still soft.
“You still have your knot,” Oberon recognized. “I thought Rebirth—”
“Only the newer versions,” he cut him off. “Their original success wasn’t capable of altering the alpha physiology to that degree. Now, they’ve perfected the coding so the altered subject’s body targets parts of them no longer deemed necessary, like their knot.”
“That sounds horrible.”
“To actively remove a piece of someone against their will?” The sarcasm was impossible to miss. “Not at all.” Fenrir brought his hands to his face and spit into his palm, then finally started to stroke himself in slow, lazy movements. “You want to know about their training program? Why? Is the White Frost interested in dipping their toe in the business?”
Oberon scowled, some of his arousal dying at the suggestion. “Don’t be offensive.”
“Oh? Apologies, King. I didn’t realize a man willing to pay for sex would have a problem with raising product of his own. Is it a moral issue, or do you just see the work as dirty and beneath you?”
“Social decorum clearly wasn’t a lesson they bothered to enroll you in.”
That seemed to give the omega momentary pause, but he was back to working his semi-hard shaft in no time. “Something about you makes me want to mouth off. I’m not usually like this. Maybe it’s your smell.”
“My smell?”
“Your pheromones. They’re…unique.”
Oberon snorted. “Everyone’s pheromones are unique, omega.”