Fenrir’s shaft pointed straight up to the ceiling, mushroom crown turning a pretty shade of crimson the harder he got. Under O’s scrutiny, a single, pearly drop of precome formed from his slit, rolling down to travel all the way to the dip between his balls. A fresh gush of slick wet his tight entrance, the rosy bud glistening enticingly beneath the warm overhead lighting.
“As you can see,” Fenrir was no longer as put together as he’d been only a moment prior, and his frustration over that crackled in his heated gaze, “everything is in working order. Can we say I passed the test now and go sign the contract?”
“Can’t wait to get stuffed?” Oberon knew that’s not what he meant, but he couldn’t help teasing him further. He palmed himself between his pants, liking when the omega’s eyes landed there and Fenrir’s hips jerked as if on their own accord. “I haven’t seen everything I want to yet.”
An annoyed sound huffed out of the omega.
“Show me your knot,” Oberon ordered. “I want to see all of you.”
Fenrir faltered. “In order to do that, I would have to—”
“The point of having you jerk off was so you would come for me,” O stated bluntly. “Don’t think you’re going to get out of the grand finale. What’s wrong? You keep insisting you’re not alpha, yet you’re certainly acting like a humiliated one. Is this how the Wardrobe trains their product?”
An alpha didn’t have to knot to get off. Unless they were in rut, or in the presence of a horny omega, they could typically control that sort of thing.
Did Fenrir still have control over it? Over his own body? Or had that been taken too? Stripped away like the rest of his rights and autonomy?
“Let me help you.” Oberon sent a strong wave of targeted pheromones toward Fenrir, the kind meant to instigate arousal. He chuckled when clear, sticky fluid spilled from the omega’s entrance, seeping into the sheets and creating a dark wet spot impossible to miss. “You certainly cream like an omega.”
“I am an omega,” he growled, bound hands returning to his dick. His movements were more harried than before, both hands gliding up and down, the movement aided by the precome that leaked from his tip.
The plan hadn’t been to touch him, and yet Oberon found himself standing, moving toward the bed as though entranced. To his credit, Fenrir didn’t stop, even when O planted a knee on the mattress and hauled himself up. Or when he crawled until he was kneeling between his spread thighs.
“I promised not to touch you during the trial run,” he said, recalling that stupid deal he’d made with Michelle. “Think she’ll come bursting in here if I break the rules?”
Fenrir’s gaze slipped over Oberon’s head, toward a corner of the room where he knew one of the cameras was hidden and then in a quiet voice mumbled, “She wouldn’t risk it.”
In a flash of motion that surprised them both, O captured him beneath the knees and bent him forward, practically folding the other man in half. It forced his ass high in the air, giving Oberon ample access to his balls and his tight hole.
“Keep stroking,” he commanded, and before the omega could ask any questions and ruin the moment, O buried his face between his cheeks, tongue flattening across that clenched ring of muscle. The taste of slick, salty, with a hint of unexpected sweetness, greeted him, and his mouth latched around the area and sucked, drawing more of that fluid out.
Fenrir made a strangled sound, but Oberon didn’t check to be sure he was doing what he was supposed to and still rubbing one out.
His grip tightened on the omega’s thighs when he began to struggle, keeping him in place as he continued to lavish his most intimate area. It took work to loosen him up enough that Oberon could slip inside, and even then, he only managed to squeeze in the tip of his tongue, wiggling it around to help ease the way further.
When was the last time he’d eaten someone out?
Oberon couldn’t recall.
The smell of this omega was potent, more alluring than anyone he’d ever scented in the past. His tongue finally speared through, and he gave a few exploratory pumps before pulling out and going back to licking.
“King,” Fenrir called to him, and O regretfully lifted his head.
Not wanting to leave him empty, Oberon pushed two fingers into him, watching in fascination as the omega’s pupils blew large and he cried out. Letting go of Fenrir’s leg, his other hand slapped the omega’s touch away, capturing his dick and giving a rough pump that had his hips jolting off the bed.
“Your knot, omega,” he reminded, filling the room with his pheromones, liking the way they mixed and mingled with the ones Fenrir was emitting. A pleased rumble traveled up his chest when the omega was able to take another finger. “We smell good together, don’t you agree? You're weeping for me from both places.”
“Fuck off.”
Oberon chuckled and picked up the pace. “I’ll have to discuss how poorly trained the product is with the Mistress of the Wardrobe.”
“Wait,” Fenrir reached for him, “don’t.”
“Stop. Put your hands over your head and keep them there.” There was mild hesitation, but as soon as the omega did as he was told, O rewarded him with a fourth finger.
Or maybe it was a punishment, since the guy gasped as though in pain.
He kept his tempo on his dick, but gentled his touch lower, pressing his fingers against the soft tissue inside of the omega until he found that hidden place that would send him soaring.