Page 55 of Omega on Fire

I nod.

He withdraws his fingers and brings them to my lips, glistening with Josiah’s saliva. I open for him, never breaking eye contact as he slides them between my lips.

The taste of salt and submission blooms on my tongue. I moan.

His voice rumbles through me. “On your knees, Charlotte.”

And I go, moving from behind Josiah, I drop to my knees in front of him. Not because I have to, but because I want to. Because in that moment, I don’t feel owned. I feel chosen.

Josiah looks wrecked. Beautifully, utterly undone, his pupils blown, lips wet, chest rising in shallow bursts. But beneath the haze, there’s clarity in his gaze. Not just hunger. Something deeper. For me. For this.

I’ve never seen someone so thoroughly surrendered yet so present. The juxtaposition hits something primal inside me. His surrender isn’t fragility, it’s an alternative form of power, one demanding greater bravery than I’ve ever mustered for any political struggle.

Teagan steps behind me, his hand settling at the nape of my neck. The weight of it sends electricity down my spine, a silent claim that doesn’t feel like ownership but like shelter, like belonging.

“You feel this, Josiah?” he asks, voice low and deliberate. “She’s giving herself to us. To you.”

Josiah’s throat bobs as he swallows. “Yes, sir.”

The honorific slides from his lips so naturally, like breathing. I’ve heard worse men demand that title with threats and violence. But Teagan’s earned it in a way I’m only beginning to understand.

“Do you want her?” he asks.

Josiah doesn’t blink. “More than anything.”

The raw honesty in his voice makes my skin tingle. No games, no posturing. Just naked want.

Teagan’s grip tightens, grounding. “Then ask her.”

My heart thuds against my ribs. This is real, it is really happening and there’s no panic. Teagan is still checking in without saying a word, ensuring I have a voice, ensuring Josiah respects it.

Josiah turns his body to face me directly. Wrecked, reverent, his voice barely above a whisper. “Charlotte, may I touch you?”

My lips part, breath catching. I nod, but Teagan’s fingers press firmer at my neck. A warning.

“Use your voice,” Teagan murmurs, his breath warm against my ear.

The reminder doesn’t feel like a correction. It feels like protection, for me, for Josiah, for the fragile thing we’re building between us.

“Yes,” I say, breathless. “Yes, Josiah. Touch me.”

His hands reach for my thighs, gentle and tentative, like I’m something precious. His touch is different from Teagan’s, softer, more exploratory. His thumbs trace circles into my skin, anchoring me, waking something inside me that isn’t just desire, it’s connection.

My sun dress bunches at my waist where I kneel. Josiah’s fingers slip beneath the fabric, tracing the edge of my panties with a reverence that makes me tremble.

Teagan’s palm trails over my shoulder, fingersgliding down the curve of my arm. “Such a good girl,” he murmurs in my ear. “Letting him see you like this. Letting him have you.”

His praise melts through me like heat against ice. I arch into the sensation, needing more. The words sink deeper than they should, hitting places I’ve kept locked away, protected. Places that crave validation and approval, not because I’m weak, but because I’m human.

Josiah leans in, lips brushing the inside of my thigh. One kiss. Then another, higher this time. His tongue follows, teasing, tasting. The contact sends sparks racing up my spine, pooling low in my belly.

“Off,” Teagan commands, voice like smoke and gravel. “Now.”

There’s no ambiguity about what he means. I strip. Slowly. The air is cool against my skin, but the heat between us makes it irrelevant. Teagan helps, steady hands at my hips, lifting, guiding, until I’m standing bare before them.

I should feel exposed. Vulnerable. But their gazes don’t reduce me to flesh—they elevate me. Like I’m art given life.

Josiah’s eyes go wide. “You’re—fuck, Charlotte.”

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