Page 31 of Shared Omega

“Oh yeah? And you think you can do a better job?”

It’s dark in here, so she probably can’t see the smirk curling at my lips.

My experience with women is…extensive.

Dr. Frostgrave has two methods of reinforcing my conditioning. One is punishment. Even the slightest mistake in my training means hours spent inside the pain-glove, a device which turns every nerve ending into a raging inferno of pure pain without doing any actual physical harm to my body.

I am, after all, a very expensive weapon, as Frostgrave is fond of reminding me.

However, my good behavior is met with the other method of reinforcement.

Reward.

And my rewards have always come in female form.

I don’t know where Frostgrave acquires the women, but I can only assume that they are prostitutes. Based on their looks and their skills, they are probably high-class pleasure girls from the upper tiers of the city hive. No doubt, they cost SynerGen a pretty penny. Plus, Frostgrave has to inject them with special relaxant chemicals that allow their bodies to…accommodate my size.

The important thing for an Alpha, however, is not simply his release. Yes, that is required to keep me sane. But I need so much more than that. I need to hear my mate scream with pleasure as she writhes under the touch of my fingers, my tongue, my cock.

My knot.

I feed off those pleasure sounds and those spasms of ecstasy. I drink them up like blood.

By the time I’m finished with my “rewards,” the lab assistants usually have to carry the women away, their legs too weak to walk after a merciless barrage of intense orgasms.

Of course, I don’t need to tell Sloane all of those details. But when she asks me if I can do a better job of taking care of her needs, my answer is simple.

“Yes,” I growl.

She nods wordlessly, eyes wide, lips quivering.

“Okay.” She looks at me expectantly. When I don’t move, she asks, “So, um…what do we do?”

“You told me to stand down. Now my psychological conditioning won’t allow me to touch you until you have given me explicit permission.”

I sense the wave of heat that suddenly emanates from her body.

“All right,” she whispers at last. “You have permission to touch me.”

My hands feel like they have been freed from shackles. They reach out and grab Sloane’s body, pulling her close to mine. She gasps as my naked erection presses against her smooth belly.

I turn her around again, her back pressed to my front, and my hands start to rove, caressing her smooth arms, squeezing her perfect breasts through the thin fabric of her shirt.

“Where do you need me to touch you?”

My breath at her ear makes her shiver. She moans lightly as I tweak her erect nipples through her shirt.

“You know where,” she hisses.

I use my purring voice. The one that induces the necessary state of receptivity in a female.

“Say it. Tell me where you need me to touch you. Say it out loud.”

She whines and squirms in my grasp, grinding her tight little butt against my hard cock.

“My pussy,” she breathes. “I need you to touch my pussy.”

Still keeping one breast clasped tight, I allow my other hand to slide down her body, down her abdomen, and lower still, fingers parting her fine, closely cropped pubic hair until my fingertips find the ridge and fleshy hood of her clitoris.