Omega’s Gambit by Flora Quincy
Syon
I rolledonto my back and took a firm hold of my knot which was swelling almost painfully. A rough jerk at my hard cock was a kind of punishment for not recalling the dream that had caused me to grow increasingly frustrated each morning for the last few weeks. I closed my eyes for a moment and breathed in deep through my nose trying to draw in the scent that haunted my days. Yet it was dangerous to touch myself, for then I imagined violet eyes. To conflate Viola and Hartwell—even if she wanted to be an omega—was dangerous.
I stroked up and ran a thumb across the head, smearing the precum and stroking down with a hard stroke trying to mimic the tight grip of an omega’s quim as I thrust deep inside Hartwell. Omega or not, I knew she’d be tight around my cock and knot. I’d fuck the insolent challenge out of her… I groaned. The reality of what I imagined more effective than a swim in a cold lake. An alpha? That did not cool the ardour. But the knowledge that in indulging these fantasies, allowing them to rule my passions would only bring pain. I would not take a wife and mate another. No matter how much my heart called to Hartwell, the likelihood of two alphas having children was low, and oddly those children were almost always betas.
I rolled off the bed, tossed a dressing gown on, and strode to the window, looking out across the square. The countess’s house mocked me. I could almost remember her face seen across a ballroom when they’d been newlyweds. But the harder I focused on fair hair and pale eyes, the more I conjured dark curls and violet eyes. My hand shook as I lifted the lid of a plain box on the table by my bed and removed a lace handkerchief I’d found dropped by her desk. I brought the delicate fabric to my nose and caught the first whiff of violet eyes—I could not put a name to that scent without pushing myself beyond the limits of a civilised alpha. A near feral growl reverberated through my chest as my cock stiffened once again.
Without thought I reached down and pumped steadily, precum easing my way. Again that smell with a sweet underlying hint of Viola’s vanilla and violets. The combination brought forth the flush of my impending orgasm. I gritted my teeth hoping to prolong the moment and switched hands so that the one holding the delicate fabric fisted my cock. The other gripped the swelling knot. My balls drew up before my orgasm pulsed through me, the handkerchief catching my spend. It was a poor imitation of where I wanted to plant my seed but better than letting it completely go to waste. At least I had now marked something that belonged to… Viola. Or was it Hartwell, who had taken Viola’s scent… I did not care. It would have to be enough because I would never let myself take what I so desperately needed—my knot lodged deep, my mark fresh on her neck. And after yesterday? I wasn’t certain I was alpha enough to resist the temptation Hartwell offered. I’d see her on her knees again.
Torture indeed, especially when I knew Hartwell would be arriving within an hour. Yet I could not feel disgusted with myself or the feral alpha lurking beneath the surface. I was soothed by the knowledge that in some small way I had marked what was mine. Enough that I was able to spend the day with Hartwell with only the now constant need to fuck my secretary.
* * *
Hartwell stood in front of me, her face flushed. I grinned. If I wanted she would go to her knees again. Only this time I would fuck that perfectly insolent mouth.
“Viola has been called to Kellingham House… I must change here… Your Grace?” She licked her lips, and my gaze fixed on how tempting her plump bottom lip looked. I blinked, her words breaking through my thoughts which increasingly trended towards depraved fantasy when she was near. “I, uh, I need to change here. I am supposed to attend a concert as Viola tonight. I had not thought… Mrs Markham sent a message around... She wanted us to join her for dinner beforehand as she will be my chaperone.”
“What?” I glared at the eyes that haunted my dreams. It was one thing to fantasise, another to have that dream presented on a silver platter. “You didn’t tell me this before.”
“I didn’t know how. I… Viola was invited this morning. I planned on going home to dress…”
“When did that change?” I gripped the desk to hold myself still. I had forbid her to dress as Viola in my house. Even the memory of her in a dress sent my pulse racing. I longed, needed to see the vision of Viola in my house. Her scent filled the room. And with it came the memory of when she had expressed her wish to be an omega.
“When it became clear there was too much to do!” She growled. “We still have to go over your speech before the lords. The business of being your secretary must come before my social engagements.”
“And you have your things here?” I interrupted.
“I sent for them, yes. I can just use a guest room. You don’t have to see or smell Viola.”
I swallowed at the sudden image of a naked Hartwell in my house and knew if I had to suffer that knowledge I might as well complete the torture by having her change behind the screen as she had done before. My voice was understandably hoarse when I told her. “You will change behind the screen as before while I practice my speech.”
“Is that wise?” Her voice was soft. “We’ve… We’ve done things.”
We had not once spoken of what happened after the duel. How I had fucked my hand until I’d ejaculated on her face. All the while hoping to stuff Hartwell with my cock and knot in her every available warm and wet opening.
“I think I am more than capable of controlling myself,” the lie slipped off my tongue.
“I’ll ask Timms to bring it through then,” she said softly.
“What?” I snapped. When had my secretary commandeered my valet?
“I needed to have the wrinkles released from the gown. Our Goddess, Syon, do you expect me to appear in public in a creased gown?”
“Puss, I couldn’t care less how you appeared, I want to know why you are instructing my servants.” All too often Hartwell made some move on the board that pulled me up short. I’d gone from wanting to fuck my cock into her mouth to annoyance that she had command of my servants. I smiled at the turn about. I couldn’t even be angry with her about it.
“I am your employee. You pay me a wage as you Timms or your footman or charwoman. I can speak to them…”
I stood for a moment in shock. I had never considered my relationship with her in the terms she used. “You are not a servant.”
Hartwell chuckled. “As it pleases, Your Grace.”
I growled but without any heat. If she chose to needle me, then I would indulge her as I was coming to realise I indulged her in all things. “Fine. Order my servants as if they were your own. See if I care.”
“As you wish,” she swooped into an exaggerated bow. The bell was rung, and there was a flurry of excitement that brought in both Horne and Timms to arrange the screen, place candles, and finally with great decorum a gown. I tried to avoid the parade of ceremony that passed by my desk. It disrupted my work and gave me ample time to build the anticipation of what was to come. For though my secretary held my interest, the unknown Viola caught me up in a swirl of desire. The gown being the pièce de résistance of lavender satin gave off the intoxicating scent of violets and vanilla. A fragrant manifestation of the power of omegas over alphas.
At last, it seemed to be time. By some invisible summons, Hartwell put down her quill and tidied her desk as if she were not about to transform into her twin. I sat back in an armchair and watched as Timms helped her shrug off the well-fitting coat. With a careless wave, she sent him away and disappeared behind the screen.
“Why not recite your speech,” came a muffled voice.
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—”
My tormentor just turned and gracefully dropped to her knees before me. I looked down briefly but only saw a head of dark curls and billowing silk skirts.
“I’ve never done this before,” the confession was an aphrodisiac. Mine, mine, mine to train. To show how best to suck my cock. I’d train my Hartwell up.
“Take it out,” I ordered.
Delicate hands reached up, fumbling with the fastenings. I groaned as those same hands pulled me free, as they held my knot, and fingers teased along the length. I heard a soft rustle of silk and then had to feel the heat of a body against my legs. Lips brushing up my cock from base to the flared head.
“Put it in your mouth and suck,” I groaned and closed my eyes, hoping that by blocking out the image it would lessen the intensity of feeling a willing mouth sucking on my cock. It was too much, I realised. This would change everything. There was no way I could ever give her up after this. I’d have her go down on me every day… I went to grab her head, to stop her from taking us further down this road. My hands threaded through the curls, prepared to jerk away.
“Please do not ruin my hair,” the words blew against the head of my cock. “Let me…”
“We have to st—” The words were cut off with the first feeling of Hartwell’s mouth around me. The heat, that wicked tongue doing wicked things. I knew, I knew that she was innocent without her telling me. That made my alpha purr. That made me want to halt this madness.
“Little one,” I purred. “Look at me.”
Her eyes sparkled up at me, my cock stretching her lips. Those eyes though, they were not as violet as usual, for they were black with desire. This wasn’t some nameless, faceless creature giving me pleasure, but my secretary, my very particular Hartwell who wanted to fellate me in my library. Another alpha might care about dynamic, might be repulsed by the thought of an alpha sucking his cock, but I had never cared about the trappings. But Hartwell! That forever perfect combination of omega scent, feminine appearance, and the aggressive fire one would never find in an omega overwhelmed me. Never before, never again would there be someone more perfect than my secretary. She was my undoing. So I demanded eye contact as I slowly began to thrust in and out of that perfect mouth. I would not go too deep. She had never done this before. Nor would I be gentle.
My orgasm built slowly until suddenly, I felt my balls tighten and my knot throb. I grabbed my knot squeezing it with all my alpha strength. Though my hand paled in comparison to an omega’s hot cunt or ass when it was leaking slick and desperate to clamp down on a good hard knot, but her mouth might be as good. Her tongue worked. She sucked me deep, forcing more of my cock into her throat until she gagged and tears streamed down her cheeks and her lips brushed my hand.
When it came, my orgasm was like a wave breaking on the shore. I shot my cum down her throat, and she could not swallow all of it so that it began to leak from her mouth. I pulled free, still erect allowing the last shots of cum to land on her chest. I ran a hand through my hair, breathing hard as I looked down on a dazed Hartwell, whose eyes were cloudy with desire.
“Hartwell… Here, let me.” I fished my handkerchief out of my pocket and carefully dabbed at her breasts to remove my cum. It went against everything I wanted, but it had to be done. Because now more than ever, I wanted to spread her out on the desk. Taste her, fuck her. No, that had to be done. Now. This instant. “I need to taste you.”
“No,” she grabbed my hand. “I must… I must go. I’ll never forget… Goddess, I must go! I’ll be late.”
I watched confused as she stumbled to her feet and fled the library. The rejection filled me. Impossible. I was the dominant alpha. She would never reject me. Still, I felt empty as I tucked myself back into my breeches and slumped into my chair. Dazed and confused about what the future held for us now… As master and servant. As a pair whose relationship was closer than friends.
* * *
“You seek to marry the Countess?” Fordom asked, his face showing his genuine surprise. He arrived an hour after the vision of Viola had left and demanded to know if he could hide out here, drink my wine, and play a game of chess rather than attend some party or other. I’d relented, for he knew the Hartwells and I had questions for him. Questions I wanted to avoid asking but needed the answers as much as I needed my next breath. But instead of providing me with an opening, he had spoken of other things. That is, until now, when he had decided to remind me of my plan to marry. “May I ask why?”
“You may not,” I growled. “Whom I marry is my concern alone.”
“And surely the omega’s as well. But does your secretary know your intent?”
I frowned across at the alpha who lounged in the chair. A long leg extended, the buckle on his shoe glinting in the firelight.
“Why’d you ask?”
“I come from a gathering where I happened to see the countess and Miss Viola Hartwell. They are often in each other’s company, much to Caroline’s annoyance.”
“What has that to do with anything?” I held my temper in check. He was speaking of my Hartwell, and I did not like it.
“Oh, nothing. Viola is a most beautiful omega,” he scratched his chin and a smirk twisted his face. “She will be presented soon, and, I expect, will cause a few ripples.”
“Why? There is no fortune there,” I snapped and wanted to tell him the truth. It was Hartwell he’d seen, but I could not reveal it. Dammit. Viola was not some society prize. When she mated, it would be for something other than her social standing.
“Perhaps not, but those violet eyes. And that quickness of thought and conversation. Besides, of all the sisters, she is the most… Shall I say innocent?”
I growled. I had not seen those eyes or mouth but I knew another, and that is the one that flashed before my eyes—one in lavender silk with my cum on her face.
“Faith, what have... Unless it is not the countess but Viola who has caught your attention? Viola, my own goddess.” Though he did not sound surprised as he raised his glass of wine to his lips. “Well, if the wind blows in that direction...”
“And how would I know Miss Hartwell when I have not met her?”
“Has Hartwell not sung her praises? Paxton is not here so I feel safe to say that Beatrice is the fairest of the sisters. Hippolyta is beautiful but wild. Viola, however. Now she is a hidden gem. By far the most dangerous to an alpha’s peace of mind. Though I have a feeling you would not want some sit at home omega. Surely not after that dinner you threw the other night? My understanding is that you gathered the brightest political minds? Paxton came away grumbling that Hartwell is going to push you into a leadership position—“
“What?” I barked out a laugh at the absurdity of the thought. “My little secretary, bullying me to do something?”
Jack gave a Gallic shrug, his smirk still plastered on his face. “Paxton’s history with that family is not as long as mine. Beatrice and I grew up together. Though she’d rather swallow broken glass than speak to me—never mind that. But I’m sure that if Beatrice looked in Pax’s direction he would explode with frustration.”
“Why not just mate and marry her? Or you could share her. I hear you’ve done it before.”
“Why not indeed? And why not just take Viola for yourself? She is far more politically minded than any other and would make an excellent political hostess. And beautiful.”
“I’ve yet to meet the lady. And I’m no politician.” It was a poor excuse when I knew her scent lingered everywhere in the library. At least he would be ignorant and just take the scent to belong to some other omega.
“Oh? Her scent...” he frowned. “I could swear…”
I gritted my teeth, anger swirling about as I considered why Fordom would know Viola’s scent. He, who by his own admission was persona non grata at the Hartwell residence. Viola, not yet presented. Viola, carefully watched and protected from alphas. Viola, who was not the one sitting with the countess but safe at home and aware of her sister’s masquerade. Viola, whose name had tumbled from my lips this morning as I’d fucked my hand. The name I’d nearly called out as I came in Hartwell’s mouth.
“As for politics? Orley, your dinner the other night was considered enlivening, to put it mildly.”
“Well, then you and Beatrice?” I tried to change the conversation.
“I’m more likely to marry a shrew than my lady disdain,” as he took snuff. “She would not have me again.”
Again? I wondered what he could mean by that.
“You and Paxton protest too much, methinks.”
“Yes, it is a romance only Shakespearia could do justice. I knew Beatrice as a girl and when I say that to tangle with her a second time would be the death of me, I do not lie. But Orley, in all seriousness. Do not take into your head to ignore your instincts. While mine have, on occasion, led me astray, they do not do so for all alphas. I am man and alpha enough to admit I stumbled in my handling of Beatrice… But she and I were young. She was far too young. We both live. Do not make my mistake, though. Claim your Hartwell. Or cut yourself free before you are burnt.”