Filthy Beginnings

Scarlett

“You getting those panties filthy wet for me, wild thing?” Damien’s whispered rasp sent gooseflesh rippling across Scarlett’s skin. “I want that lucky little toy to prime that pussy. To make you a slick, creamy mess between those gorgeous thighs. The kind I can’t wait to lick clean.”

His words were as potent as the flat clear rod vibrating between her clit and the puckered rosebud of her bottom, its pulses pure ecstasy—and pure torment.

Damien’s gift to her, held in place by gentle suctions that only intensified her pleasure, was a top-of-the-line sex toy from his home planet, and her new favorite transgression.

Scarlett stifled a moan.

The Consortium had positioned her display case high on the raised stage at one end of the oval-shaped stadium, a golden stool beneath her and a glittering gold curtain at her back. While the curtain hid the sterile wall and functional doorway behind it, the other three clear walls fit with the message her handlers wished to convey: she was the ultimate prize, a trophy just out of reach, there to motivate the fighters and fuel their aggression while discouraging them from approaching.

And usually, no one dared.

Except for Damien.

He stood in the concealed doorway, hidden from the others by the curtain. Her perfect, filthy secret. Her risk and her rebellion. Her everything.

“Such a good fucking girl.” He slipped a single finger through the curtain and trailed it down the nape of her neck.

She shivered with need, fingers curling around the edge of her stool.

Reckless. So damned reckless.

If caught, there would be hells to pay. But, Goddess help her, she lived for his touch.

Buzz. The toy’s pulses intensified.

Another flutter of the curtain. Another low rasp. “Press those pretty thighs together and try not to squirm, sweet Scarlett.”

A purr escaped. Most called her the prize. Or simply referred to her as Consortium property. Each time Damien said her name, a lost part of her found its way home.

“That’s right, beautiful. So good. Soon, I’m going to reward you.”

She wanted that reward. Needed more of his filthy praise.

The urge to shift from her position was almost overwhelming.

But that would be an absolute disaster, and not only for her.

Scarlett’s gaze flicked to her primary handler, Consortium personnel Egan Avitus, holding court on the training arena floor—his back to her, his silver hair as shiny as the coins he so loved. As pit boss, showman, tournament organizer, and director of prizes and fighters, his power was extensive. Over her, it was absolute.

Her brother, Luc, stood beside Egan. His recent promotion to high trainer had earned him a coveted spot up close to the action, but it also placed him in proximity to monsters such as Egan. Spines ramrod straight, they surveyed the rows of eager warriors from across the galaxy sparring on the floor mats.

The training facility was as well-built and extravagant as all Consortium ventures, a soaring, open space with three visible levels that narrowed toward the top. The lowest, widest ring was filled with training mats, equipment, and observation areas. The second ring was a raised fighting platform only slightly above the ground level, split into sections to accommodate at least fifty fighting matches at once. The third ring, her current level, was the smallest, filled with viewing platforms and private seating rooms for special clients.

At the moment, most of the action was taking place on the ground level, where the fighters had gathered, all stretching or sparring while waiting for the next round of matches to begin. There were Alphas with horns, wings, plates, spikes, tusks, and tails; their skin, scales, and exoskeletons in colors as varied as the stars in the Anarcheim Galaxy. The one commonality: all were huge, fierce, and determined to win the tournament.

A slew of equally diverse-looking security, trainers, investors, lower-level Consortium members, and omega groupies crowded behind the fighters, huddling as close to the action as possible, their excitement palpable.

Several Brotherhood Alphas, the final major group in the facility, sat in the exclusive cordoned-off luxury suite on the ground floor. Their membership in the galaxy’s most powerful, ruthless crime organization ensured them a prime viewing spot. Most were here to cheer on the fighters they’d sponsored or get an early peek at who to bet on in the tournament’s final rounds.

Thank the Goddess, all Alphas who entered the training arena were required to wear scent mufflers. Otherwise, they’d all know what a mess Damien was making of her panties.

“Fighters, to the second level.” Egan Avitus’s voice rang out, making her sit up straighter. “You might have survived to round four of this tournament, but if you want to make it to the main event, don’t shame yourself by being eliminated here.”

Fear whispered through her. “Damien—”

“You look so fuckable right now.” She knew he was purposely distracting her, soothing her, even as he reminded them both to whom she already belonged. “I don’t even have to see you to know you’ve got that slight flush on your gorgeous face, the one you get only from my touch. The one that says you’re mine.”

That was all she wanted. To be seen. Touched. To be his.

“Don’t worry, beautiful. I’ve got this.” There was no hesitation in his voice. No doubt. Just one hundred percent pure confidence. Like always. “No one is taking you from me. I’m going to make it through every trial, win this fucking tournament, and make you Scarlett Skolov.”

Hope, painful and jagged, twisted through her, but she clutched onto it all the same.

She’d resisted for as long as she could, but there was something about Damien Skolov.

He’d barreled past all her excuses, making every obstacle appear inconsequential in the face of what flared between them.

It didn’t matter that he was too young for her, or that there were hundreds of other fighters here to win the same fight, or that other warriors were bigger and more experienced, or that the Consortium had already chosen their favorites to win.

Damien Skolov made her believe.

He made her feel alive.

To him, she wasn’t some glittering virginal prize but the wild, reckless creature inside—and he welcomed it, pushing her to be as fierce and fearless and filthy as he.

“Those fuckers might not know you’re mine yet, but you are.” As was so often the case, Damien’s thoughts echoed her own. “In just a short time, I’m going to win this tournament, become the greatest fighter this galaxy’s ever seen, and claim not just that sweet pussy, but your clever brain and brave heart too.”

A small semblance of self-preservation reared its head, cutting through her lust and raw, wild adoration. “But what if—”

Buzz. The vibrations increased.

She bucked, her spine arcing, her mouth opening. The pleasure inside her coiled tighter.

“D-Damien…” His name was a plea.

“You. Are. Mine.” His growl was near feral. “Fuck the Consortium and fuck their favorites. I want Scarlett of the Consortium as my omega, and she wants me. I can’t lose.”

The giddiness inside her chest expanded—along with the pleasure cresting between her thighs.

With him, she didn’t have to pretend to be perfect or polished or serene: a pretty, untouched trophy on display in a crystal case.

With him, she could be craven. Coarse. Carnal.

Dirty.

Her true self.

Her hunger for him was insatiable.

And it wasn’t only her body that recognized him as hers. Her heart called out for him as well.

“When those fuckers tell you it’s time for their little sales pitch on this stage, we both know who you’ll be thinking of. Who you’ll be performing for. We each have our role to play, baby. But we’re a fucking team—and they won’t break us. We’ll have it all very soon.”

“Yes.” She barely moved her lips but she wanted him to hear every word. “Only for you. Every move I make, only for you.”

A growl of primal possession rumbled at her back.

“Meet me again tonight.”

Panic and excitement flooded through her in equal measure.

Did she dare? The more often they met, the greater the risk.

“Damien, I. . . ” She could barely think straight. Her body was so close to the edge. Ready to soar. Ready to—

“Uh-uh.”

The vibrations slowed to a faint, teasing pulse. He’d stopped her from coming.

A growl of fury sprang unbidden from her chest.

Damien chuckled. “There’s that spirit, wild thing.”

Pride swept through her. He liked her uncensored. Liked her real. With him, submission didn’t equate to cowed docility.

“You want to come? It won’t be from a fucking toy.” The possession and jealousy in his tone made her heart take flight. “That’s just a primer. It will be on my tongue, my fingers, and my cock. It will be when you tell me I am yours and you’re mine.” He didn’t hesitate. “Meet me after I win my matches. Our special place. We’ll celebrate that we’re one step closer to you being mine.”

He was gone before she could protest. Or wish him luck.

Pressing her legs together, she tried to stay annoyed. But she couldn’t. Although she kept her lips in a firm line, her expression serene on the outside, a slow smile formed inside her.

She liked their games. She enjoyed the anticipation and the delayed pleasure, the certainty that he was hard and wanting—and that he wouldn’t do anything about it until they were together.

Damien was disciplined and loyal. He never once looked at the omega prostitutes or prizes-in-training forced to prance around the ring in the same flimsy outfits she was required to wear.

His focus never wavered from her.

And she loved the strength of his desire. He’d use whatever it took to push her over the edge and bring her to him.

Scarlett exhaled slowly, loosening her hold on the edge of the stool, surrendering to the heat rushing through her veins each time the toy pulsed.

It wasn’t the only surrender she’d make this rotation.

She would meet Damien Skolov at their special place and, despite her fears, she would tell him exactly what he wanted to hear.

Not because she was desperate to come—though there was that too—but because she was desperate to be his. No matter the cost.

With a glance, Scarlett ensured Egan and the rest of his Consortium partners were still focused on the ring. Then she shifted her gaze from the stage floor to survey the throng of fighters below.

All hopeful. All determined.

All fodder for the real winner of the tournament: the Consortium itself. The company earned more from tournament ticket sales, sponsorships, and bets placed than any one fighter ever could. And all the Consortium had to do for such profits was steal the lives of so many, including her own.

But thanks to Damien, for the first time in forever, Scarlett had hope that she might get her life back and be more than a commodity. More than a pretty pet commanded to perform. More than a shiny prize to be won.

The wild thrumming in her veins and between her legs surged as Damien’s beautiful red skin, curling black horns, and broad shoulders appeared in the crowd below.

Some might have noticed his absence, but they’d never suspect where he’d been. A few careful bribes to the right guards—money was everything in this town—had bought their silences and made it possible for Damien to evade the watchful eyes of the Consortium and her guards.

Just in time too.

“Prize, rise!” Egan snapped his finger, his purple cape billowing behind him as his leer burned into her exposed skin.