5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

INIKA

I woke up panting, my silk pyjama shorts sticking to my thighs with slick, and groaned as I threw off the assortment of bedding that made up my nest.

My heat was a few weeks away, but that was in no way to blame for my current situation.

No. The current mess between my thighs was pure Blake.

I'd had plenty of incredible sexual encounters in my time. Actual sex even, not just masturbating in a dusty hallway. And yet, this was the first time I'd ever woken up in my nest so horny I was about to die just dreaming about it.

Sleep on that idea, princess.

Blake had made it sound like the ball was completely in my court as to whether we did anything further—which was very respectful of him—but what if he'd changed his mind? Blake may have enjoyed himself in the heat of the moment, but there was a real possibility that he'd filed a complaint about my irresponsible use of omega perfume the moment his sexual haze had worn off.

I was going to be highly annoyed with myself if I'd scared off one of the most in-demand tradesmen in London because my vagina was incapable of behaving in his presence. Especially if I scared him off before I even got to sleep with him. I suspected he would provide a plethora of memories that would get me through any lonely nights in my nest.

Sleep on that idea, princess.

The decision was simple on my part, but I was oddly unconfident that he would feel the same way. It was an uncertainty that I was unaccustomed to experiencing.

I was no breathtaking beauty in the grand scheme of things, but alphas usually lined up for me anyway. And why wouldn't they? Mating me would materially change their lives. Rejection was not an obstacle I had particularly encountered in my romantic life.

The sheets tangled in my legs as I wriggled up the bed, fumbling around on the bedside table for my phone. Clutching it close, I burrowed back into my blankets, pulling them over my head until I was properly surrounded by the comfort of my nest again.

Inika: I've slept on it.

I startled as my phone lit up almost instantly in response. Had he been waiting for my message? Blake didn't strike me as the type to be glued to his device.

Blake: And?

My stomach fluttered. The way he spoke to me was so curt. And yet he seemed intently interested in me, and it was the contrast between the two, the fine line he was straddling, that seemed to do it for me.

Or perhaps it was just the novelty of it all?

I probably shouldn't examine it too closely, or I'd talk myself out of a good time.

Inika: The desires I expressed yesterday haven't changed.

Was that too formal? Blake probably thought I was some posh robot, but I didn't know how to be flirty in writing.

Blake: Use your words, princess.

I fought my way back out of the blankets, feeling around in the drawer next to the bed until I found my favourite toy.

I'd produced so much slick from my dreams that the fake cock slid in with no resistance, the buzz of the vibrator muffled as I clamped it between my thighs to hold it in place so I could reply.

Like a lady.

Inika: I want you to fuck me.

Before I could panic about the boldness of that message, he'd already replied.

Blake: Of course you do. But I have work to do. Ask me nicely at 3 o'clock.

That arrogant prick. That arrogant, sexy, outrageous prick.

I set the phone aside and rolled onto my front so I could fuck myself with my toy at a better angle, rocking my hips back until the fat silicone knot was wedged at my entrance. I'd never got the hang of fully taking a fake knot—which was a large part of the reason I used an agency for my heats—but I still managed several quality orgasms before I crawled out of my nest, making the sprint of shame to the en suite before I trailed slick everywhere.

By the time I emerged—in a far shorter, flirtier skirt than I usually wore to work from home—I could hear Blake hammering away in the stairwell. I was tempted to have a peek, but I suspected that if I distracted him before three o'clock, Blake might send me back to my nest with only my silicone knot for comfort.

Blake Alwis was a man of words from his head to his toes, that much was obvious about him.

"Your breakfast, Ms Dara," Graeme said, quietly letting himself into my office with a tray of coffee, fruit, and yoghurt as I logged on to my computer.

"Thank you, Graeme."

He hovered after he set the tray down, his usual way of letting me know that he had something he wanted to say despite how many times I'd told him that he should feel free to speak his mind.

The hovering made my eye twitch.

"Is everything okay, Graeme?"

Graeme cleared his throat. "This contractor of yours..."

"Ah." I'd put the ventilation system on the maximum post-sex setting yesterday, which should have been enough to hide my tracks, considering all of my staff were betas and their noses weren't so sensitive. Then again, Graeme had worked around alphas and omegas for decades and was perhaps more attuned to it. "Mr Alwis. What about him?"

He winced at my bluntness. Graeme had worked for my parents for years before coming with me to my household, and if I could make the choice again, I'd have insisted he stay with them. My mother was the kind of omega he enjoyed dealing with—quiet, soothing, obedient. She'd never been difficult a day in her life.

"You're, er, quite certain he's the best for the job?"

"Quite certain. He comes highly recommended. Do you have concerns about his workmanship?" I asked, tilting my head to the side in faux confusion.

"No, no. His work seems… perfectly acceptable." I let the silence linger, encouraging him to get to the point. It was a skill that had taken some honing, and I still struggled with it. Omegas soothed and flattered. They didn't allow any awkwardness to settle in.

Graeme seemed to debate internally with himself before settling on an explanation. "Your father might have some reservations about having an unmated alpha in the house."

"Perhaps he would, but this is not my father's house." Graeme's cheeks pinkened, and I took pity on him. "Thank you for your concern, Graeme. I appreciate that you have my best interests at heart."

I kept my voice calm and even, but left no room for argument. Graeme nodded tersely, already excusing himself from the office. Undoubtedly, he would raise his concerns with my parents, and I would receive an anxious call from Mama later today, begging for me to stay with them.

There was some comfort in the predictability, I supposed.

It was a dull morning of emails and video calls, followed by a dull afternoon working on a report I was compiling on scent-neutralising SPF. While it wasn't particularly interesting to write, I had high hopes for how it would be received. Sun cream aligned nicely with our brand and Om-Guard's existing product range, while giving us room to expand into new areas.

Product research wasn't my dream job by any stretch of the imagination, but seeing the tangible results of my work ending up on shop shelves was somewhat rewarding. And that was all I really wanted, in the end. To make an impact in some small way, to do something, rather than just floating through life, barely touching the sides.

Incoming video call: Mama

I slumped for a moment before straightening my posture and accepting the call, setting my phone on the magnetic mount so I had a good angle.

"Oh, there you are, Inika." Mama was already wringing her hands, her phone sat on the coffee table in the drawing room, angled up under her chin. "I just spoke to Graeme. I was so worried you wouldn't answer the phone, Inie."

I wouldn't have answered if you'd called after three.

"Graeme says there is an unmated alpha in your house," she added in a scandalised whisper.

"Mama, I'm completely fine. Graeme is worrying over nothing."

"An unmated alpha, Inika!" she whisper-shouted, peering down at the camera with wide eyes. "Even if he is a nice, respectful man—Graeme offered me no reassurance on this front—it isn't a good look, Inie, for you to stay there alone."

"I'm never alone. I have an entire retinue of staff, Mama."

"Why would you even want to stay in the house while it's having work done? The dust!" She tutted impatiently. "Nonsense. Come stay here, Inie. You know Papa and I would love to have you."

"I'm fine here, Mama."

"Or go on holiday! We can go together. How long will these repairs take? Let's spend a few days shopping in Paris. Or perhaps to Mustique, if it's going to take longer? Some proper sun will do us both good. There's never enough sun here."

That idea was actually tempting, but I couldn't leave now for a multitude of reasons. The most pressing being that I wanted to have filthy, degrading sex with the plasterer for as long as I could. But I also had this report I needed to get done, and the preparations for my heat to make.

There was the board's edict too, but I'd been trying not to think about that. At this point, I was confident that I wouldn't be able to bring myself to do what they wanted me to do, and I'd never be able to look myself in the eye again if I did. Om-Guard would never be mine, and I'd made my peace with that—or I was working on it, at the very least. But I wasn't ready to address the questions that were raised of what was next for my future.

"Perhaps after my heat, Mama."

"Your heat!" she shrieked, making me wince, my gaze darting to the office door to confirm that it was still closed. "Oh Inika, you cannot have this alpha in the house. What are you thinking? You are usually such a sensible girl."

"It's still weeks away, Mama," I assured her, gritting my teeth slightly. "I'm perfectly safe, but I have a lot to accomplish in the lead-up, so a holiday—or even switching homes for a while—isn't practical. Why don't I come around for dinner, Mama? Will that make you feel better?"

She pulled out the thin glass Om-Guard 10ml Scentshield Rollerball tube for the third time in the course of our call, absently coating her pulse points again.

"Yes, that would be good. I'd like that. Your uncles are already coming for dinner. We're having Zafrani Murgh."

"Sounds delicious. I'd love to join you."

I finished the call and logged off my laptop at 2:58, hurriedly mentioning to a tight-lipped Graeme that I didn't want to be disturbed as I darted up the main stairs. The shower in the hallway bathroom was running—probably the reason for Graeme's disapproval—so Blake didn't see me as I inched under scaffolding and around his workspace to open the door to the only room at this end of the house.

It was my own personal version of a professional fuck den. A makeshift but impersonal nest, used purely for fucking, because no alpha would see my real nest except my mate—if I ever decided on one of those. Once I was in the throes of passion and the sheets were soaked in slick and pheromones, I was usually comfortable enough in here, but the lead-up was always an exercise in endurance because it wasn't my nest. It smelled like nothing. The upholstery was all chosen by me, but I'd intentionally not selected anything with personality because I didn't want to get attached to it. The room was white, sterile, and functional, but it got me through my heats and the odd dalliance in between, so I couldn't complain.

Confident that none of the staff would venture up here, I left the door open, allowing a clear view of the bed from the under-construction part of the hallway. I kicked off my shoes, sliding them under the bed, and climbed onto the mattress so I could attempt to organise the cushions and blankets into something that made sense to me.

Should I have dressed in something a little more intentionally seductive? I glanced down at my black mini skirt and grey cashmere top. My suite of rooms was next door. I could run over and put on some kind of strappy lace bodysuit. Or perhaps the red corset that pushed my breasts up to my chin?

No, this was better. Even though this encounter had been orchestrated in advance, I didn't want it to feel orchestrated.

I wanted to feel caught.

Like he'd read my mind, the door clicked shut behind me and I startled, not having heard Blake enter while I was on all fours, tucking in a sheet.

"Don't. Move."

I froze in place, face down, ass up, the linen sheet clutched tightly between my fingers. There was a pulsing, cramping sensation just south of my bellybutton, and I immediately felt my lace mesh knickers grow damp with slick. From two words. No alpha had ever had the effect on my body that this surly plasterer had.

He moved around the side of the bed, so close that I could feel the heat of his body on the backs of my exposed thighs, but he didn't actually touch me. My hips tilted forwards of their own volition, begging without words as my face burned with humiliation at my desperation.

"Remind me of your safe word."

"Audit," I replied breathily.

Calloused fingers traced the outline of my underwear beneath with a featherlight touch. We were silk and sandpaper, and the contrast between us only made me wetter.

With no preamble, Blake pulled the scanty fabric tight, yanking it up so it rubbed against my throbbing clit. I rocked back instantly, gasping for air at the sudden contact.

Blake let out a growl of approval that had my pussy clenching around nothing.

"What a perfect little slut you are, princess."

I came instantly. It was the most humiliating, satisfying orgasm of my life. A few rubs of my clit with my own knickers and the most disrespectful praise I'd ever had the pleasure of hearing, and I was done for.

Blake flipped me onto my back while I was still trembling, manoeuvring me like a rag doll so that I was lying with my hips at the edge of the bed. He tugged off my underwear, tossing them away before bending my legs up so my feet were flat on the mattress, leaving me clothed and yet entirely exposed.

My fingers twisted the sheets on either side of my head as I squirmed my way through each pulse and shake rattling my body, setting my nerves alight.

Blake never took his eyes off my face the entire time, and that made me feel more vulnerable than anything else.

"Pretty," he said gruffly, staring down at me.

The quiet, oddly intimate moment extended before he seemed to shake himself off right in front of me, straightening his spine and pushing his shoulders back.

While Blake's expression appeared to be all bored arrogance at first, the heated desire in his eyes and the thick layer of alpha pheromones in the air were undeniable. He wanted this as much as I did.

Blake bunched up my skirt, gripping the waistband like a handle and keeping me pinned to the mattress like a butterfly beneath a tiger's paw. His pupils dilated as he knelt down, leaning over and inhaling my pussy like it was a particularly fine vintage.

It was lewd in a way that sex never had been for me before. I loved it.

"Fuckkkk," Blake groaned roughly, knuckles kneading into my abs as his hand shifted restlessly. "That fucking scent. That's rich girl pussy right there. You gonna let me lick this champagne cunt?"

"I'm going to let you ruin this champagne cunt," I breathed, writhing beneath him, desperate to feel more than just his hot breath on my clit.

I wanted him to be rough with me. To tell me I was spoiled and to make me beg. I wanted to let go in every respect and trust him to catch me when I fell.

"Of course you are," Blake agreed easily, parting me with his free hand, exposing my dripping hole.

He flashed me a grin, and my stomach fluttered in a way that I wasn't entirely sure I could attribute to sexual desire.

And yet Blake still didn't touch me where I needed him to. He just watched for a long moment as slick pooled, forming a wet patch under my ass on the sheets. "What a mess you are, hm?"

"Yes," I breathed, trying and failing to squirm in his firm grip. "Yes, I'm so messy."

Blake's gaze travelled slowly up my body, his expression almost bored. "And so shameless ."

He tutted disapprovingly and a small, humiliating whine of need escaped me before I could hold it back.

"What's that, princess?"

Use your words . That's what he wanted. Blake wasn't going to do a thing until I pleaded for it.

"Touch me. Use me. Please ."

"You are such a good little fuck doll," Blake replied conversationally, using his grip on my skirt to shove me further up the bed. "I want a taste, princess. Feed me."

I slid a hand between my thighs, wetting one finger and holding it up for him to taste, melting from a combination of shame and desire that I'd begged for his touch and he'd arrogantly made me touch myself instead.

With a smirk of approval, Blake guided my wrist to his mouth, sucking my finger into his mouth, a rumble of approval vibrating in his chest.

"Fucking expensive," he growled, releasing my digit with a pop. "Just like I thought. You taste like top-shelf whiskey and spoiled little rich girl problems."

I all but sobbed in agreement, feeling more empty than ever.

"Tell me you want me to take those rich girl problems away," Blake purred, cupping my pussy so possessively that I briefly bared my neck before remembering myself. "Tell me you want these rough, working-class hands all over you. In your cunt, in your mouth, around your throat."

Blake's alpha dominance was clear in every word, every movement, but I felt oddly certain that he would never use his bark on me. Seemingly without doing anything, he was making me feel incredibly safe.

"I need you. Only you. Please—"

"Legs up. Hold them in place."

I didn't hesitate, gripping the back of my knees and pulling them up as high as I could, exposing myself entirely.

"Spread those lips for me, princess. I can't do all the work."

"You haven't done any work yet," I muttered, my face burning as I slipped a hand between my legs, shaping my fingers like a V and putting my slick-covered pussy on show.

He cut me an entirely unapologetic grin before looking between my thighs with a sigh that was somehow disappointed, amused, and aroused all at once. It was a potent combination.

"And yet, look how desperate you are for me, princess." He tutted. "Anyone would think you've never had a proper fucking before."

Blake lowered his head slowly, scraping his beard over my inner thigh, coating his face in the scent of my arousal and sparking my own possessive instincts.

Don't get attached. It's just great sexual chemistry. That doesn't mean he's your soulmate.

Though, that resolve grew shaky at the first few confident swipes of Blake's tongue. Maybe he was my soulmate. I liked to believe my soulmate would be as devout of a disciple of pussy eating as Blake was. He was enthusiastic and not at all self- conscious. I was desperate to move, but he kept me pinned in place with my bunched-up skirt, the weight of his forearm bearing down on my hip.

I gasped my way through another soul-blistering orgasm, my hands fisting Blake's hair, though I wasn't sure if I was pulling him close or pushing him away.

He stood up as I floated back to earth, wiping his glistening beard on the back of his hand, his hard cock pressed so tightly against his jeans that it had to be hurting.

"My turn, princess."