Page 12 of Trapped By the Cartel

He let out a deep, velvety laugh, and it was so rich and intoxicating that it sent a wicked pulse straight to my core. "Ah, I see." He leaned in even closer, his lips brushing against my ear. "Well, I can help with that, you know. A little relief goes a long way in improving one's mood."

I froze, my breath catching in my throat. Was he seriously offering...?

And why was I surprised, anyway, considering the type of man he was?

"No, thank you," I said stiffly, forcing myself to push him away. "That's not going to happen right now."

He backed off, but the smug smile remained. "Of course you can," he agreed, though his eyes challenged me. "But sometimes, it's nice to have a helping hand, isn't it?"

I grunted noncommittally, refusing to rise to the bait. He was enjoying this far too much, and I refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing me lose control.

But fuck, it was hard. Harder than my aching cock straining against my zipper. The scent of his skin, the heat of his body, the pure alpha maleness that radiated from him—it was all driving me crazy.

I was a young, fertile omega, after all. My body craved an alpha's touch, his seed. And damn it, Damon Vexley was temptation incarnate.

Still, I had to resist. Had to maintain some semblance of self-control. Because giving in to him—to this—would mean losing myself, and I couldn't afford to do that. Not with so much riding on my freedom.

Not with so much at stake.

Chapter 6

Damon

I strolled casually around the expansive office, running my fingers along the spines of ancient tomes, feigning disinterest. Inside, however, a storm was brewing. I could still taste Elliot's frustration, still feel the heat of his gaze as he watched me dress. And fuck if it didn't excite me, knowing I affected him so viscerally.

Yet, I needed to play this cool. Needed to make him believe I didn't care. That he meant nothing more to me than any other piece of valuable property under my roof. It wasn't true, of course, but I still had to pretend.

"Would you look at that?" I murmured aloud, pulling out a dusty volume bound in worn leather. "A first edition 'The Art of War'. Sun Tzu himself would be proud."

Elliot glared at me from across the room, arms crossed tightly over his chest. His hazel eyes flashed with anger, his cheeks flushed a delightful shade of pink. It took considerable effort not to smile, not to march over there and take those plump lips in a burning kiss that would leave no doubt about how much I wanted him.

But I held back. Instead, I turned my attention to the book, flipping through the yellowed pages with exaggerated casualness. Inside, a part of me was telling me I was being evil.

"You know, they say that patience is the key to victory," I commented, not looking up from the text. "That true strength lies in restraint."

"That's funny," Elliot snapped, his voice trembling with barely suppressed emotion. "Because from where I'm standing, it looks like your 'restraint' has cost you whatever shred of dignity you might have once possessed."

I raised an eyebrow, glancing at him briefly before returning to my perusal of the tome. "Dignity is such a transient thing, wouldn't you agree, Elliot? One moment it's here, and the next…" I gestured vaguely, letting the sentence trail off.

His hands clenched into fists at his sides, his entire body shaking with pent-up rage. It was adorable, really. Like watching a kitten attempt to appear fierce, which only made me want to keep this going.

"But then again," I continued, allowing a hint of cold cruelty to enter my voice, "perhaps dignity isn't something an omega should concern himself with. It's rather an alpha trait, don't you think?"

He bristled at the jab, his anger morphing into something deeper, darker. Hurt flickered in his eyes, quickly masked by another wave of fury. Good. Let him stew in it. Let him wonder what he'd done wrong.

"And what exactly are you implying, Damon?" He growled, taking a step towards me. "That omegas aren't capable of feeling dignified? Of making their own choices?"

I shrugged, closing the book and slipping it back onto its shelf. "I imply nothing, Elliot. Merely stating facts, as I see them." I turned to face him fully, letting my expression hardeninto an impenetrable mask. "You are an omega. Your place is beneath an alpha. You exist to serve us, to cater to our needs."

The words were harsh, deliberately cruel. But necessary. I needed him to understand his position, to accept it. To submit to it, eventually.

"I am not a possession!" He shouted, slamming his fist down on a nearby table. A vase wobbled precariously under the impact, threatening to topple over. That was unacceptable behavior. "I will not be treated like one!"

"Then stop acting like one," I replied calmly, walking slowly towards him. With each step, I could feel the tension between us growing thicker, heavier. Like static electricity crackling in the air before a thunderstorm. "Stop throwing tantrums like a child who can't get their way. Stop trying to control everything, everyone. That is not the role of an omega."

I stopped just inches from him, close enough to feel his breath on my cheek, to see the dilation of his pupils as desire warred with anger within him. Close enough to smell the sweet, heady musk of his arousal, despite his best efforts to suppress it. As expected, his attempts were pointless.

"It is the role of an alpha to lead, to decide, to command," I continued, narrowing my eyes. "And right now, little omega, I am commanding you to stand down."

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