My stomach gurgles, crying out for food. I’d take a meal of plain rice in the dining hall with a smile and grateful thanks at this point, rather than Jason putting his fingers in my mouth and feeding me his leftovers.
Maybe they’ve forgotten about me. Maybe this is it.
Cold hands caress my messy hair, and I close my eyes for a second, hating myself for leaning into it.
This is what they want me to do. They want me to rely entirely on him, to be a good omega, a good pet. To follow the three stages of omega submission – kneel, spread, present. To set me up for breeding.
I think they’re going to get what they want. I’ve tried so fucking hard, but there’s no fight left in me.
“Spread.”
This time, he uses his bark. I’m quicker now. I don’t even feel nauseous at the thought anymore. If I please Jason, then he might give me something to drink. My throat is bone dry and if I cough, I’ll be back in the ice bath.
My knees spread apart, hands obediently resting on my thighs in the correct position as I rest back on my heels. My chest is pushed out, displaying my body for him, the thin underwear doing nothing to hide me.
Jason’s alpha bark rings through me and I feel a gush of wetness between my legs as my body responds. Two weeks ago, I would have panicked. Now, I feel nothing.
Reaching down, he strokes his fingers against me almost gently. My body tenses up even as my hips shift, my body seeking more as a low whine comes out of my throat.
He hasn’t mated me yet. He wants me to beg him for it. It’s the one line that I haven’t crossed, and Jason’s doing everything he can to drag me across it.
I won’t present for him. Presenting is the ultimate omega submission. Elbows down, ass up. It’s permission for an alpha totake.
This is the only thing I have left, and I won’t give it. So, the punishments continue.
But I’m so tired. I’m so close to giving in.
I keep my eyes focused on the floor as his finger strokes back and forth over my thin underwear, his pungent lemon scent burning my nose like bleach.
His eyes never leave my face. Inside, I’m screaming. I’m fighting a battle with my own body. The screaming is so loud I’m surprised Jason can’t hear it.
Nobody is listening.
Nobody is coming to save me.
My instincts are crying out for me to obey, raking claws down my insides. To do exactly as he tells me, to be a good omega, to have privileges and be warm and make my alpha happy.
But I’ve already given up so much. My full submission is the only thing I have left, and even if Jason takes it from me, I won’t give it up willingly. I don’t know how much longer I can keep this up, though.
Jason’s scent sharpens as his anger spikes. Withdrawing his hand from between my thighs, he shoves his meaty fingers into my mouth as far as he can. I taste myself on his fingers as I choke, falling backward onto the floor.
He follows me, bringing his weight down and shoving himself between my thighs. I try to push him away, but my efforts are pathetic.
Weak.
“Beg,” he demands, but he stops short of using his alpha bark. I shake my head frantically and a moan slips out as he grinds himself into me. I can feel his knot swelling up. As he stares into my face, greasy and lank blonde hair hanging down, realization fills me.
He’s not going to take my silence as an answer anymore. He’s just going totake.
He reaches down to unbuckle his trousers, pulling his leather belt through the loops. Stretching up, he easily catches my flailing hands and ties them above my head. I cry out thinly, but there’s no strength left in my body or my voice. I keep trying to shout, heedless of the silence telling me that no one will hear me.
Shifting down, Jason brings his face between my legs. I moan in horror as he places his nose against my dampness and inhales deeply. Traces of my own perfume start to appear. The scent blockers are wearing off, since Jason hasn’t given me any since I’ve been here.Cinnamon and oranges.
It's been years since my scent appeared at all.
This is happening. This is really happening. In my panic, I remember the Directors words. “You can’t bite me,” I rasp. Not responding to my words, he pulls my head to the side and drags his tongue up my throat.
He’s going to do it. The Director might be angry, but he won’t break a bitemarked pair. And my consent doesn’t mean a damn thing. Alphas don’t need an omega’s permission, only the OC’s.
