by Tanya Chris
“Daisy’s House of Delights. I came up with that this afternoon. What do you think?”
Quoitrel nodded. The name said it all. “I could go out and get something else.”
“Don’t be silly. I just said I loved their food, and besides, I’m starving.” Daisy growled out the word starving, giving it a double meaning. Quoitrel wanted to answer with a growl of his own, because he was starving too. It’d been years since he’d fucked an omega. Since never that he’d fucked one this beautiful. But it wouldn’t do to jump Daisy before the snow had even dried off his skin, so he went over to the kitchenette that made up one corner of his living space and took the meals he’d been keeping warm out of the oven.
Next to the kitchenette was a round table barely big enough for two even when it wasn’t crowded with candles. He might have gone overboard on the candles, but his place was too tawdry to keep the overhead lights on, and he wanted more than an infrared view of Daisy eating. Daisy did it heartily, flirting only with his eyes as he busied himself with the wild boar ragout braised with red wine and winter carrots, eating as if he were every bit as starved as he’d claimed.
“There wasn’t time for lunch,” he said by way of explanation. “And also, this is amazing. I didn’t realize boar even ran in this territory.”
“A smaller species than what we have at home, but they have a more delicate flavor.”
“Home is the Southern Pack?” Daisy asked in that tone people used when they were trying to decipher his coloring.
“Central Pack. My father was originally from the Southern Pack. That’s where the red hair comes from.”
“And the grey is your mother?”
“Most people just assume I’m older than I am.” Quoitrel ran a self-conscious hand through his hair.
“Don’t worry, handsome. I wasn’t thinking you were past your prime.” Daisy took another bite of the ragout and rolled his eyes back in his head with a satisfied moan. Quoitrel was glad Daisy was enjoying the meal. He was having trouble choking it down himself.
“I almost went to Central Pack territory,” Daisy said when he’d swallowed that mouthful, “but North Leland was closer than Hybernia, and I’d heard good things about the progress being made here, despite the complete lack of a cell signal.”
“We’re still a few years behind the Central Pack, but we’re getting there.”
“What’s the stance on sex work in the Central Pack?”
“They don’t— At least, I don’t think they— I’m not sure,” Quoitrel finally admitted. “I was barely of age when I came to North Leland, and there’s no way my parents would’ve let me visit a brothel, even if they were legal. My father escaped from the Southern Pack, and he never would’ve let my mother claim him if she weren’t a keen supporter of omega rights herself. You should know how important it is to me to fully respect omegas as equal partners.”
“Admirable,” Daisy said in that dry tone he used when he didn’t really mean it. “Can I tell you something, Sheriff?”
“Of course. Anything.”
“I don’t want you to respect me.”
“Your history as a sex worker doesn’t make you unworthy of respect,” Quoitrel protested. “You’re a clever businessman, show an abundance of determination, have a great sense of style—” Quoitrel stopped reciting the many reasons Daisy was worth of respect when Daisy held up a hand to stop him.
“I’m aware of my good qualities, though I appreciate the fact that you’ve taken notice of them. You’re surprisingly sweet, Sheriff. I adore it. But tonight? I don’t want you to respect me. You understand what I’m saying?”
Quoitrel understood. His heart beat faster, and his cock butted up against the underside of the table, eager to comply with Daisy’s request to not be respected. His human was fascinated by Daisy’s delicate beauty, but his wolf wanted to destroy it, and his wolf was very close to the surface, sniffing and salivating, smelling Daisy’s arousal and eager to taste it.
“I can be too much,” he warned.
“For me?” Daisy laughed, issuing a challenge he couldn’t wait to meet.
Quoitrel pushed his chair back from the table, relishing the loud protest it gave at being scraped across the wood floor. He had a gift for Daisy, a tribute as requested, but that could wait. First he’d take. Then he’d pay. One long step brought him to Daisy’s side of the rickety table. Daisy was tucked behind it, shielded by the clutter of their dishes and the tapers that flickered yellow light over his golden skin. He shrank back, cowering against the plank wall behind him and turning up eyes that were convincingly wide.
“I’m not finished with that,” he pouted when Quoitrel picked up the entire table and moved it several feet to the right.
“Yes, you are.”
As he wrapped his hands around Daisy’s upper arms, an even darker hunger sparked to life. Daisy’s skin was so silky, as if he’d been simmered in oil, and Quoitrel’s hands stirred up his scent as they raked over it, filling the air with a wild bouquet that contained notes of sugar and yeast and take-me and fear. Fear. That perfect prey scent, the one that called forth alpha pheromones like nothing else.
Quoitrel growled, giving his alpha full voice, letting the sound tear through his tiny apartment as if announcing his victory to the entire pack. This here omega was giving himself up to him, and Quoitrel wanted everyone to know it. He growled again as he lifted Daisy straight out of his chair using nothing except the grip he had on his arms.
Daisy squeaked. He sagged forward, straining for contact. “Alpha,” he said, and the word ripped through him. He knew it was a hot button word, that all the prostituted omegas were taught to say it, that it meant nothing under these circumstances, but his body reacted all the same. His cock began to leak, and his muscles puffed up to increase the difference in their sizes. He felt primed, swollen, so ready to show this minx of an omega what he could do.
He carried Daisy into his bedroom, lit only by the glimmer of snowflakes drifting endlessly down outside his window. The flakes were fat and floaty, indicative of the kind of snowfall that took its time, that was content to bury them in incremental degrees. In the center of the room, his black-sheeted bed lay like a dark pool into which he deposited Daisy with all the care that would soon be beyond him. Daisy glowed against the darkness, a golden bead nested on black velvet. He raised his graceful arms and beckoned Quoitrel to him, but Quoitrel stayed on his feet, taking advantage of this last moment of clarity to soak in the sight of Daisy in his bed.
“Come on, handsome. I’m waiting to see what you’ve got.”
“And you’ll keep waiting,” Quoitrel told him, even though what he had was right out there in front of him, pointing at the pretty wolf stretched sinuously across his mattress. He didn’t touch himself, despite his cock’s insistence, relishing this moment poised on the brink of a storm not yet released. He took a deep inhale, letting the mingled scents of their arousal fill him slowly, sipping at it like a fine wine. Daisy was so beautiful. The world was so quiet. And he was so hopelessly hard.
Daisy reached for him, but Quoitrel growled him back into submission. “I’m in charge here,” he said in his best alpha voice.
“Then prove it.”
The challenge shredded the last of his control. He blanketed Daisy with his body, pressing him harder into the mattress and relishing the soft, satisfied oomph of Daisy’s acceptance. He put his hands in the hair that’d been tempting him since he first saw it, tangling his fingers roughly through it and using it to pull Daisy’s body into a bow so that the crown of his head brushed the mattress and his chest arced. The position offered up all of Daisy’s best features in a tempting curve—his mouth, his nipples, his cock.
He took Daisy’s mouth first, bending down to kiss him thoroughly. Daisy tasted like the dinner they’d shared, like wilderness and nourishment. The boar was better from his lips than it’d been from the plate, and Quoitrel was so hungry. The wet sinuous heat of Daisy’s tongue stroked his, the two of them cont
inuing their playful fight for dominance. Quoitrel dove in, drilling into the recesses of Daisy’s mouth in a preview of how he intended to fuck him—deeply and thoroughly.
Daisy whimpered, churning his hips up so their cocks slid together. His nipples formed the high point of his body, round and small, perfectly centered dark nubs in the lighter circle of his areolas. Quoitrel took one between his front teeth—the teeth that were only human-sharp, not his fangs which dripped with the hunger of a wolf. He nibbled, gently at first, feeling his way to the point where more would be too much. Daisy reacted beautifully beneath him. If it was all a fake, it was expertly done, but Quoitrel wasn’t paying Daisy, had no sway over him, so he chose to believe it was him making the omega wriggle and moan, making his nipples pebble-hard, making him leak slick in amounts copious enough to fill the air with the scent of it.
Quoitrel rocked back onto his heels to move his cock farther away from the temptation of Daisy’s ass. His knee landed in the puddle Daisy was making. Moist and slippery, so thick and sweet. Quoitrel released Daisy’s hair and grabbed his hips instead. He lifted them, bowing Daisy further so that now his cock jutted into the air instead of his chest. He ignored the demands Daisy’s cock made, just like he was ignoring the demands of his own cock, and went for the source of all that slick—the glistening pucker between Daisy’s legs.
Daisy gasped when his tongue breached him there. His arms flailed through the bedding, and his head rocked back and forth like he couldn’t handle what he was feeling. Mercilessly, Quoitrel drilled deeper, seeking more of the sweet flavor in the warmth of his channel. Daisy was ready to be fucked. There was no doubt about it. And Quoitrel could already feel the prickly heat at the base of his cock that heralded the coming of a knot.
He should get to fucking Daisy while there was still time to enjoy some gentler full-length slides, before the knot forced him into force, but he couldn’t convince himself to take his tongue out of Daisy’s ass, not when Daisy was twitching and keening and being so good. Obedient and boneless. His body begged for a cock, but his mouth only repeated Quoitrel’s name, his pitch going higher as Quoitrel continued to torment him.
He wasn’t going to be able to hold his knot back much longer, so he tore his mouth away and lowered Daisy’s legs to the bed.
“Present yourself,” he barked, the alpha in him thrilling when Daisy immediately rolled onto his knees and lowered his chest to the bed. He held the position perfectly. Of course. Quoitrel dug for one last morsel of control so he could spend a moment appreciating the vision in front of him. Daisy’s ass thrust high up to the sky. His arms were long over his head, his claws tipped by the carmine of his manicure. His hair cascaded in a golden fan over his right shoulder and his profile, turned to the left, showed a hint of fangs as he panted through his moans, all eagerness and sex.
“I’m not going to be able to keep my knot down,” Quoitrel warned him.
“Knot,” Daisy repeated approvingly.
“It’s okay to knot you?”
“Knot,” he said, almost like a demand. Quoitrel slapped his ass, just to make a point, and Daisy moaned and lifted it a fraction of an inch higher. The lines of his hamstrings were so long and taut, trembling with his arousal.
Daisy had been knotted before. Of course, of course. He would take it easily and well, his asshole pliant, his channel accommodating. Quoitrel locked away whatever was left of his civilized self and gave himself wholly to the wolf. He howled as he pierced Daisy, his entry as smooth and exhilarating as a downhill run. Daisy’s ass sucked his cock in as much as Quoitrel pressed it forward.
He paused when he was fully embedded. His knot teased, swelling slightly, and he drew back, easing out of Daisy’s ass to bury himself again. The head of his cock brushed over Daisy’s prostate, which was so thick and full and unmistakable that it added extra friction as he slid past it. Everything about fucking Daisy was better than fucking had ever been, and Quoitrel was immediately lost in a fast rhythm that kept getting faster.
The more noise Daisy made, the harder he had to fuck him. The firmer Daisy’s prostrate grew, the harder Quoitrel tried to hit it. Daisy squealed every time, and the sound swirled through his nervous system as if his ears were an alternate path to his cock. His knot plumped—swelling and swelling until it couldn’t pass easily through Daisy’s sphincter anymore. Quoitrel dug his claws deeper and thrust harder.
The first pop of his full knot through Daisy’s hole was nearly enough to make him come. How Daisy could be so tight and still so thoroughly accommodating, Quoitrel didn’t understand, but he could feel Daisy’s ass working with him, an equal partner in its own ravishment. Daisy pushed back to meet him, relaxing just enough for the knot to stretch him to full dilation and then clamping tight as it passed through.
“Alpha.” His voice was high and desperate, almost as if he were being hurt, but Quoitrel could smell the come dripping from his cock. Daisy was squirting in weeping waves, oozing out his pleasure as Quoitrel rammed into him. It was more than Quoitrel could take. He came himself, in powerful bursts that flooded Daisy’s channel as his world narrowed to his cock and balls and that pulsing, throbbing knot now wedged firmly against Daisy’s prostate.
Daisy’s moans ratcheted up in volume. Quoitrel was dimly aware of his own voice joining in the low chorus as he remained on his knees, his cock pumping in concert with the contractions wracking him. Belatedly, he put a hand on Daisy’s cock. It was still so hard and hot, the little omega balls like acorns in his fingers. He cupped them, massaging more come out of them until Daisy’s groans changed to whimpers.
He released him then and brought his fingers to his mouth so he could taste Daisy’s spend. It was saltier than slick, less sweet, thicker but not as viscous. But it was just as good. The slick was a sign of Daisy’s interest, the semen a sign of his satisfaction.
Unable to hold himself up on his knees any more, Quoitrel rolled onto his side to spoon Daisy in front of him with a possessive arm across his chest. He nuzzled into the nape of Daisy’s neck, nosing through his hair to find skin so he could lick the salt from it. Daisy twitched in his arms. His balls might be empty, but Quoitrel’s knot was still jammed up against his prostate, and they both enjoyed the slowly diminishing effects of being tied.
This was the point where Quoitrel usually started to think about his time being up. Brothels understood that you couldn’t pull a fully inflated knot out of a hot ass, but as soon as your knot started to recede, you were expected to move on. But there was no next customer waiting tonight. This was his bed, and though Daisy wasn’t his omega, he hadn’t been paid either, not beyond a dinner and that tribute Quoitrel hadn’t actually given him.
For the first time in his life, Quoitrel drifted off to sleep with his knot still embedded in his partner, letting it deflate at its own slow pace, his legs and arms and chest and face all making skin to skin contact with the most amazing omega in the world.
Chapter 5
The next morning, Quoitrel used his minimal culinary skills to scramble some eggs. Outside, the snow had stopped falling. It lay in a thick blanket over every surface, untouched by anything except the early morning sun. Quoitrel had woken to Daisy’s mouth on his cock, and after returning the favor, he’d wished they could just stay there, snuggled under the covers swapping sexual favors all day while the rest of North Leland dug itself out. But sheriffs didn’t get snow days, especially when they lived at the back of the office.
“I have work to do too,” Daisy said when Quoitrel suggested there was no need for him to get out of bed. He sat across from Quoitrel at his table, eating eggs as if they were actually good.
“Let me walk you home at least. Where are you staying?”
“At the omega hostel.” Daisy wrinkled his nose before taking another forkful of eggs.
“You don’t like it there?”
“I appreciate that it exists. I totally get what you’re doing with it, and I’m sure it’s a great option for a lot of omegas, but I don’t
really fit in.”
“Why not?” Must be jealousy. Daisy was easily the most beautiful omega in North Leland. The rest of them just didn’t like competition.
“It’s hard to be part of a community that disapproves of what you’re doing. Northern Pack omegas are only gung-ho about omegas having the right to make their own choices when you make choices they agree with. Otherwise, they want to have the same control over you that alphas do.” Daisy shook his head. He’d put his hair up in a sloppy bun that begged for Quoitrel to take it down again. “They don’t get it.”
Quoitrel still didn’t get it himself, but he couldn’t stand the thought of Daisy being unhappy. “Prince Angel’s husband, Leo, understood what you were saying, and he’s an omega. Maybe you could be friends with him.”
“Husband? That’s not a term I’ve heard wolves use before.”
“Leo was already claimed when Angel came along, and I guess it was a really negative experience, one he didn’t want to repeat, so they got human married. Anyway, he was the one who convinced Head Alpha Marta to give you a chance—because of what you said about how an omega should have the right to do whatever they want with their own body.”
“You told him I said that?” Daisy gave him a wide smile full of teeth. It lit his face up with a genuineness Quoitrel hadn’t seen before. “Thanks, handsome.” Daisy blew him a kiss, then took another forkful of eggs. “But you think Head Alpha Marta is going to change her mind about that, huh?”
“Leo talked her into giving the business a chance, but she’s expecting trouble. We all are. I see how having an omega in charge instead of an alpha might mitigate some of the potential for harm, but it doesn’t change the nature of the business. You’re exchanging sex for money. It’s sordid, dangerous. It’s bound to go wrong.” He couldn’t judge Daisy negatively because Daisy was the most charming, most lovely wolf ever, but the wolves who would pay to use him probably wouldn’t be so charming and lovely. They’d be abusers and cheaters, the sort of alphas who didn’t see omegas as much more than holes.