He didn’t want the omega to crave his knot because he’d never taken one before and it was his only experience being satisfied the way an omega should be. Oberon wanted more than that.
No, he demanded more than that.
Already, Fenrir had tried to cop out. Had denied his attraction and attempted to end his heat, and therefore their time together, prematurely. O could certainly keep him locked in the throes of heat for a while—continue to feed him pills to trap him in that state—but eventually, the omega’s body would give out from overuse.
Risking permanent damage or worse, death, wasn’t a satisfying solution to Oberon’s newfound problem.
But if he did nothing and allowed this heat to end, the contract would be completed in all legal sense. He’d have no ground to stand on, no legitimate reason to hold the omega hostage.
Hostage?
He played with the idea as he continued to pound Fenrir into the mattress, only partially noticing when the omega screamed and came for him again. He didn’t slow his thrusts, didn’t acknowledge it at all, just kept going as his mind raced to solve this issue that was driving him half mad.
It’d been a long time since something had bothered him this much.
Since anything had demanded so much of his concentration.
Levi wanted to block the Wardrobe’s schemes. Perhaps using Fenrir as a hostage could do the trick?
He discarded the notion almost as soon as the thought fully formed.
That would give the Dominus too much power over Fenrir.
Oberon didn’t want to share, not even with the Leviathan.
Maybeespeciallynot with the Leviathan.
He couldn’t allow anyone else with power greater or close to his near his omega.
But outright kidnapping him wouldn’t work either. All it would do was cause more problems between the White Frost and the Wardrobe, and Levi would be forced to order O to return him. They may be horrible people and rulers of the underworld, but a broken contract looked bad all around.
Oberon had a reputation to uphold, and if he suddenly appeared untrustworthy…Reputation was everything in their line of work. Businessmen only understood power and the honor of a deal. He couldn’t break a contract—even a heat contract—for no good reason.
Technically, this problem didn’t need to be solved right this instant. He should enjoy the feel of his omega and worry about it later. There was the whole weekend ahead of thembefore the heat ended and the risk of Fenrir needing to return to the Wardrobe became reality.
With his omega virginity gone, would Michelle place him in a regular auction?
Word must have spread that the Purse of the White Frost had spent a small fortune on an unknown product.
Other alphas would be curious.
They’d want to experience a taste. Brag they’d bedded the same omega as Oberon King.
“Too deep!” Fenrir clawed at O’s shoulders, nails digging into his flesh as his eyes rolled.
“If you were a born omega,” Oberon voiced the thought as it came to him, lost in his own head, “I’d be in your womb.”
If Fenrir had the ability to get pregnant, how many alphas would attempt to breed him all for the sake of stealing Oberon’s omega?
“An ass worth eleven million coin.” Men and women would come flocking like vultures, whether or not Fenrir could be bred.
And Oberon had done that.
Had put this omega, who had otherwise lived in relative obscurity, on the map for all of the garbage to find.
Not even being the Wolf would help him. Hell, thanks to O, his fame was now even greater than it’d been when he’d only been known by that nickname. At least then no one could recognize his face.
He was no longer Michelle’s Wolf.