4. Chapter 4

It’s only when she’s left alone, naked and bare on the massage table, that Waverly takes in the room. Dominated by an array of dark colors: shades of red, black, white and a generous use of gold. Royal 19th century décor meshing delicately with a modern aesthetic. Admittedly, upon entering the playroom she is struck with war flashbacks of the time she wasted two grueling hours watching Fifty Shades of Grey. An absolutely horrid experience, worsened by the amount of overzealous joy from all the women around her every time Jamie Dornan did something supposedly sexy, go shirtless, chasing after the boring and hapless Ana; filling out the stereotypical dominant alpha with Armani suits and an annoying tendency to brood. There was a legitimate fear that her eyes would fall out of their sockets with the amount of rolling she did during the incredibly dull sex scenes; the dreamy moan she hears from Chrissy beside her accentuating the pounding pressure on her retinas.

Waverly practically had to be tied down to her chair to keep from running out of the theatre when everyone did a collective oooh! when Christian Grey said he didn’t make love, he fucked. Hard. The brunette swears several women, including her own best friend, went into early heat during the film. She wrinkles her nose at the memory of being surrounded by a bunch of horny women, salivating like hungry dogs.

But unlike the medieval sex dungeon that had every red-blooded female begging for their own creepy dominant with commitment issues, Nicole’s playroom is pleasant and inviting. Soft and subtle; the lighting enveloping the room in a warm glow despite the dark colors. The walls and ceiling are deep, dark wine-color, the floor an old varnished wood of high-polished mahogany. An expansive iron grid is mounted onto the wall towards the far right, adorned with ropes, chains and shackles. Beneath it is a large glass display case with small LED lights lining its edges. Each shelf is home to an assortment of items mounted on display stands. From Waverly’s view she can make out a paddle, two whips, a riding crop, a set of floggers, several different pairs of handcuffs and various blindfolds neatly folded together. Tame compared to the bottom shelf where she gasps at the array of vibrators and dildos of countless sizes and shapes are located.

To the far left is a door with a silver doorframe, next to it is a bulky black chest of drawers, each one decked with golden knobs and a number etched into the wood above. In one corner of the room is an oxblood sofa with thick foam padded cushions, elegant button tufting on both the seat and backrest. A rich mahogany finish on the solid wood curved legs. Facing a set of televisions mounted in a corner, a wave of apprehension fills Waverly as to what purpose the TVs could possible hold.

But what dominates the room is a bed. Massive in size, able to fit at least five, six, maybe even seven people at once; garnished with an ornately carved four-poster with a flat top canopy above, shrouded in sheer red curtains. The mattress dressed in silk black sheets, red satin pillows decorated with soft white goose downed pillows at the head of the bed. At the foot, set apart by a few feet, is the massage table the omega currently laid on. An odd arrangement, but really, the entire room’s existence is a testament to the absurdity that has now become Waverly Earp’s life.

Compounded by the fact that she resembled an offering; a sacrificial lamb waiting to be devoured. Fitting, really. She is nothing more than a lowly omega, counting down the minutes, the seconds before she’d be spread open and used like a toy. Not the most appealing image, but the brunette blames her European History professor for the dark thought. The man’s lecture on the Italian Renaissance and most importantly the reign of Pope Alexander VI and the Borgias being a prime example. Details on the corrupt papacy and its cardinals, even the pope himself, frequenting brothels and paying a hefty price for an omega to sleep with. Promising riches and a position of power for a virgin to deflower.

Waverly immediately tenses. Society has certainly changed since then, but it did nothing to ease her worry. If she felt out of depth before, this was something else entirely.

When you first look at Waverly Earp what do you see? You see a twenty-one-year-old college student with long hair and hazel-green eyes, a former cheerleader and class valedictorian, now a worn-out woman barely into her twenties with an insurmountable weight bearing down on her shoulders. Furthered by the sudden vulnerability of being exposed without a shred of clothing to cover herself; anxiety settles in easily with no façade for her to hide behind. Not when her only reprieve lies in the ability to hide her eyes against her forearm for a modicum of dignity.

Exhausted and filled with worry; her throat runs dry.

The air is thick with the anticipation of lightning.

This is all for a better future, she reasons with a deep, nervous breath. For you and the family.

Waverly imagines just how easier everything would be at the end of the week. Going home and being thousands of dollars richer. Freer. A life where she’s able to work regular shifts at Shorty’s without wanting to grab Gus’ shotgun from under the bar and put it in her mouth. Staying awake during her sociology professor’s mind-numbing lectures. The freedom to walk into a store and not have to pinch pennies, mentally making sacrifices just to afford something.

Chrissy’s new life is enough proof of it. The expensive clothing in her closet weren’t bought off a clearance rack; her treasured cashmere sweater is worth more than an entire outfit of Waverly’s. The one time they’re days offs were miraculously synched up, the beta invited her to eat at some restaurant in Calgary, the kind where patrons had to follow a dress code and the maître d would all but spit at your feet should you request seating in jeans and t-shirt. The kind of restaurant where nothing on the menu was below twenty dollars.

Granted, Chrissy had saved up to try out the restaurant and take Waverly with her. Saved up a lot, to pay for the sheepish omega who spent the entire outing with her cheeks burning out of shame. Wishing she could just slip between the polished floorboards when the check came and had to concede to her friend’s wish to pay for the entire meal.

To this day, Waverly still doesn’t know how much Chrissy spent that day.

Then: “You can back out at any time, just say the safeword.”

Nicole appears from the doorway with the silver frame she had disappeared through earlier. Dressed in dark washed jeans with a firm fit through the thigh and straight from knee to ankle, fading and whiskering, five-pocket styling, the back pockets embroidered with the finest stitching. Possibly imported from someplace fanciful like France or Italy. The denim deliciously tight over the alpha’s insanely long legs, hanging low on her hips. The silver buckle of her leather belt glinting in the dim lighting, framed on either side by the v-line of her hips.

In her hands is a steel bowl, bronze in color. Nicole places it someplace behind where the omega can’t see.

“Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” the brunette says quickly, feeling more exposed now that her naked body is in full view of the alpha’s piercing gaze. Her face is flushed red with embarrassment.

“You’re not.” Nicole says seriously, voice even and leaving no room for discussion or denial. It forces Waverly to straighten her back. “I need you to be honest with me, understand?”

“Not exactly an easy thing to do,” Waverly retorts before she can reel the words back in. Omega snapping its teeth at her hip in warning, chastising her for such an act. She takes a deep breath, nuzzling her face into the crook of her arm and shielding herself from Nicole’s eyes.

“I know it isn’t—but trust me on this,” Nicole says. “That’s all I ask.”

Waverly dares a peek and sees the older woman turning on the TVs in the corner, each monitor showing a different hallway and room in the large mansion. Some part of her is grateful that those TVs didn’t hold any nefarious reason, but it only reminds her that the auburn-haired woman is beyond wealthy. High-end security for the rich alpha.

She then steals a glance at Nicole, tracing the lines of her triskelion tattoo on her back. Spirals shifting slightly over the muscle with each movement. A blush colors her cheeks and Waverly groans, hiding her eyes again. Damn purebred.

“Are you ready?”

The brunette nods, shoulders curling in further. She bites her bottom lip, teeth gnawing at the soft flesh. Harder, when she feels something silky run up her spine and across her shoulder blades. She doesn’t know, but she can feel Nicole looking at her then; golden eyes burning into her skin like a hot brand. Nicole gently lifts the younger woman’s chin, wrapping a blindfold around her eyes and tying a firm knot at the back of her head. The material, despite being soft against her skin, is thick and leaves Waverly partially blind. Only able to make out vague shapes.

“Of all the senses, we rely on sight the most. Remove it, and we are much freer. Our other senses are heightened in response.” Waverly’s arms are pulled out from underneath her head and towards the side, fingers instinctively curling around the edge of the table for support.

“We are more accepting,” the alpha’s fingertips ghost over the curve of her spine and along the lines of muscle in her back; a trail of goosebumps rising in their wake.

“More open,” the warmth of Nicole’s hands disappears from her back for a second before reappearing on her calves. Each stroke moving higher and higher on her legs, subtly spreading them until a rush of air glosses over her core. A heady rush of warm pleasure fills Waverly, her omega purring in delight as she tightens her grip on the edge of the massage table.

“More…” Voice trailing off, deepening as Nicole’s hands run over her thighs, fingertips dangerously close to grazing against the brunette’s waiting sex. “Possessable.”

Waverly groans as she feels hot almond oil drop slowly onto the small of her back, the slick liquid cooling upon contact with her stiff muscles. Heating up as Nicole’s hands—masterful and precise—rub oil into the brunette’s skin, working some of the more arduous knots out of her calves. Fingers skillfully digging into the muscle. Another groan escapes her lips, her omega easily getting swept away by the sweet sensations, broken only by the occasional unruly knot that the redhead works out effortlessly.

It isn’t long until the brunette starts to drift, slow and natural, following the deliberate pace of the older woman’s hands; rhythmically playing an unknown tune against her thighs. Tempo softening along the inside before massaging her ass. Waverly flinches, not expecting to be touched there. But each stroke of the alpha’s hands is a soft caress enveloping her body with a reverence that makes the omega flush several shades of red.

The hands travel up her back, finding purchase on her shoulders. Waverly’s stomach swirls with the intoxicating feeling of submission as she relaxes into the alpha’s touch. Each knot lined into the crevices of her shoulder blades unfurls beneath Nicole’s talented fingers. Her mind desperately trying to figure out the unknown song being played into her skin; each note driving her further and further into a state of bliss she didn’t know could even exist.

Two fingers trail up and down her spine before running along the curve of her shoulder and over her neck. Pulse coming to life as her omega whines with abject want.

“You have a lot of knots,” Nicole gingerly chasing down the kinks that keep Waverly from fully succumbing to the blissful relaxation intended for her. “That isn’t good for you.”

“Yeah well, there isn’t a lot of time for relaxation between school and work.” More almond oil is applied, cooling along the curve of her spine until it shines like porcelain. Each motion of the alpha’s hands makes Waverly shiver, back arching when Nicole presses into a particularly unruly knot at her waist. Drawing a startled gasp from her lips.

“Shhh…” Nicole whispers softly, expertly loosening the knot. “It’s alright baby, I’ve got you.”

Waverly moans quietly as more oil is finally dripped over the luscious curve of her ass. “Daddy’s got you.”

Divine fingers leave her boneless and floating on a cloud of the softest, smoothest cotton. Waverly couldn’t possibly protest even if she wanted to, not when the oil slips between her spread legs. Glazing over her heated core, a strange and yet exhilarating feeling. She couldn’t think, body melting as she feels Nicole dutifully work the muscles in her ass. Hands shaping them wonderfully before—“Ah!”—a thumb glides over wet folds.

The brunette bites her lip, hoping to stave off any unwanted sounds. The skin of her bottom lip splitting beneath her teeth as the alpha’s thumb circles her clit delicately. Each motion sending sparks through her veins, body coming to life like a livewire. A lone fingertip teasing her folds with the promise of slipping inside; torturing her with tender swirls against her wet core.

Her entire body is heated. Flushed red as she feels a pair of lips glide up her back, pressing a series of kisses into her quivering muscles before finding a place along her shoulders. A voice, soft and sensuous, curls along the shell of her ear. “How do you feel?”

“I-I feel, I feel good.” Waverly can barely breathe.

“The contract says that there are certain activities you are interested in trying,” the finger torturing the brunette into madness drifts upwards, “this, being one of them.”

Waverly arcs her back, virgin hole clenching tight upon contact. She gasps, body trembling slightly with fear.

Anal; a scary and strange sexual act that is both perverse as it is exciting. Like most women with a healthy sexual appetite and curiosity, Waverly has always wondered what it would be like. Having heard from many friends that anal sex is a delightful way to spice up one’s sex life. Unimaginable pleasure just waiting to be discovered. But for all the fantasies, there are horror stories as well. Tales of not being prepared properly, the pain that follows when there hasn’t been enough time adjusting and god forbid, ripping. Porn certainly paints an unrealistic view that does more to shock than quell any worrying thoughts, actors and actresses gaping open in ways that shouldn’t be humanly possible.

When Nicole’s lips wrap around her ear, teeth grazing the sensitive flesh of her lobe before her tongue flickers against the shell. Small kisses against her neck, sucking the sensitive spot at the crook of her jaw. Waverly jumps as she feels Nicole’s finger teasing her open. “Relax baby, today’s all about you.”

“Mmmh…”

“All about you,” Nicole whispers. “As it should have been.”

The first dip takes Waverly’s breath away. Tip working its way against the clenching skin, each stroke pushing further inside, rim stretching until her walls are fluttering around the finger. It’s entire length filling her.

Flesh unfurling beautifully, a gorgeous pink rose in bloom on the first day of spring, wettened with morning dew. Waverly is utterly spellbound by the pleasure; amazed at how something generally thought to be debauched could feel so wonderful. Body vibrating with every swirl of the alpha’s thumb against her clit.

The tight ring of muscle clenching as Nicole starts to thrust back and forth, nerve endings igniting, forcing Waverly to pant. Every breath she takes is a hard reminder of the feeling of being penetrated, virgin hole stretched around the alpha’s finger. Heart pounding against her ribcage as heat swarms her chest. Making its home there as it consumes the brunette until it explodes. A colorful array of stars behind her eyelids, orgasm crashing into her like a tidal wave.

Waverly involuntary whines at the loss of the finger inside her, omega whimpering at the lack of contact. And while the emptiness inside her leaves her wanting more, the separation doesn’t last; not a second later when she feels Nicole’s hot breath against her ass. Only for the brunette to jump when it’s replaced with a slick tongue snaking its way against her skin before dipping inside. The alpha licks deeper, plunging through her tight walls and tasting Waverly so thoroughly; sinful in every aspect—forcing a moan deep from her throat.

“Mmm… oh, oh fuck,” she moans. Body quivering at the alpha’s tongue pushing deeper inside, thighs wet with desire. And when Nicole curls her tongue within, her hips automatically push back into the alpha’s face, chasing after more.

She’s dripping, slick with arousal; omega sprawled on its back and purring happily as she’s driven towards another orgasm.

The brunette tightens her grip on the edge of the massage table, knuckles white as a finger enters her wet core. Long and slender, walls instinctually stretching around the lone digit. Reaching further than she ever has and Waverly bites her lip at the realization. Suffocating a moan that works its way up her throat. Tears brimming at the corner of her eyes, threatening to fall.

Suddenly, the heat between her legs is gone.

“Don’t be quiet, baby.” Only to come back with a vengeance; a pair of sinfully plush lips slither their way up her spine, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. Waverly shivers. The imprint of teeth grazing her skin, fangs elongated and sharpened, teasing her with a bite. “I want to hear you.”

Lightning strikes; the word leaving her mouth in a breathless, desperate whimper. “Daddy!”

For the second time, Waverly comes.

She is left breathing heavily, limbs like putty against the table. Her omega contently purrs in its corner, happily waiting for whatever else the alpha had in store.

On her back, Waverly is momentarily glad for the loss of her sight. Despite the embarrassment that still buzzes at the back of her mind like an annoying gnat, the brunette finds some sense of bliss in the ignorance of it all. Feeling slightly numb and weightless when Nicole’s hands start to massage her shoulders. Heating up the cooled oil, fingers tips skating along her collarbones.

There’s a feeling of apprehension, her insecurities coming to light as a wave of goosebumps form across her bare chest.

Despite the great lengths she went to accept herself, Waverly had always felt unsure of her body. She remembers being eleven years old and waking up to a smattering of blood between her legs. Her father, Ward, sitting down with her after Wynonna had taken to cleaning up her shaken form in the bathroom. As an omega in a house full of alphas, it was difficult to feel comfortable when there was no one she could relate to.

It wasn’t easy getting used to wearing a sanitary pad and then a tampon the next year once she started cheerleading. Or her hormones running wild, senses becoming sharper and being able to finally smell the rancid musk of her fellow classmates who were also coming into their own. Going through a series of false heats, body tearing itself in two as it went through the process of shedding the little girl from the woman she was to become.

Teenaged years filled with a budding attraction to both sexes, the revelation of learning she learned farther towards girls than boys, being self-conscious about her own sex appeal and whether anyone found her attractive. Compared to Willa’s sexpot vamp and Wynonna’s bad girl aesthetic, Waverly was sure she didn’t stand a chance. Not when she saw easily people gravitated to older Earps, her small town, girl next door aura getting lost in the dust.

Champ certainly ruined that image with his undeserved egotism.

Childhood sweethearts, they were once called. The omega and beta were an adorable pair according to all the adults, prime to achieve that fairytale dream of having a white wedding, birthing two kids and continuing on the stereotypical, small town way of life that has become synonymous with Purgatory.

A long time ago, Waverly believed it. Sure, that her destiny was to be Mrs. Champ Hardy and run Shorty’s like Gus and Curtis before her. But come high school things had changed, the children she grew up with, bright-eyed with wide grins were now teenagers; driven by a need to find their niche and place amongst their peers, ruled by hormones and destroyed by insecurities.

The halls reeked of adolescent alphas, betas and omegas clamoring for a spot on the social ladder.

Champ especially. Even back then, he was a bitter fool who tried as hard as he could to be like the alphas that ran the school. Wide receiver on the football team, regularly hanging out with the popular kids, hosting wild parties while his parents were away to elevate himself. The fairytale dream suiting him well come prom night when he was seen with the head cheerleader on his arm.

It sounds cliché, like something of an 80s teen movie. Only difference is sex with Champ wasn’t this magical explosion of colors and lights. Or a sordid memory that she’d always remember fondly as she helped her own daughter pick out prom dresses.

Just one disappointing memory opening up a gateway to the all others that followed. Back against a mattress, the weight of someone else above her, the air hot and arid between them. Feeling numb and lost; even when the faces changed, and it was no longer Champ rutting away between her legs looking for some semblance of his manhood and acceptance in the eyes of his sexually addicted peers, their touch always stayed the same. Burning her skin. Leaving her feeling dirty.

Guilty when the rest of the lovers she had taken to bed after him, were far more considerate. Far more emotionally attuned with her as they tried their hardest to make sure the sex wasn’t one-sided. Disgusted at her own traitorous body for giving in so easily. Even when her mind went blank with worry, she still feels it.

“Baby.”

Waverly flinches. Jumping out of her skin at the voice pulling her out of her thoughts, the stern tone forcing her spine to go rigid. The alpha is still, her presence somewhat warped and she worries if she’s done something wrong.

“Come back.” Nicole says simply. She doesn’t repeat it, nor is there a follow up. “You need to be here.”

Waverly nods sheepishly.

“Use your words.”

“Yes.” She then feels a slight of pressure on her thighs and quickly adds, “Daddy.”

“Good girl.” There is a soft kiss to her temple. Quick and reassuring. Almost lulling Waverly into a sense of genuine security and safety that just has to be false. It has to be.

Nicole’s fingers skim over her skin, shiver running down the brunette’s spine as they run along the length of her collarbone. Moving lower, trailing the pads of her fingers over the pert, supple flesh of her breasts. Coating it sweetly with the scented oil until they gleamed in the dim light like the rest of Waverly’s body. Thumbs caressing her nipples with maddeningly slow circles, heat rising in the omega’s chest like smoke. Cloying and thick until her lungs are full, threatening to burst.

“Tell me your favorite poem.”

“Wha… What?” Waverly gasps with half lidded eyes beneath the blindfold, mouth slightly open as her pleasure is crooned in quiet tones from her lips.

“Your favorite poem. Tell me.” The alpha licks the hardened peaks, sucking one into the warm wetness of her mouth and teasing the other with faster circles, occasionally pinching and tugging until Waverly arcs her back off the table. Reveling in the redhead’s electrifying touch, the quiet room filled with the sounds of ecstasy.

Waverly’s breath hitches, and in less than a second later she feels Nicole move downward, hovering over the brunette’s smaller frame, nosing along the sensitive skin beneath her left breast. The familiar imprint of teeth against flesh. Sucking until the blood vessels burst, blossoming into a pink and red bruise, Waverly hissing at the pain even when Nicole runs her tongue over the mark to soothe the omega.

Nicole’s hands drift lower, massaging the taut muscles of Waverly’s abdomen. Eyes shut as she finds herself listening acutely to her own heartbeat skyrocketing. Beating rapidly against the walls of her chest like war drums. Tension gathers within the crevices of her shoulder blades again; incredibly anxious, bordering on afraid. Waverly licks her lips, searching through her muddied mind for a poem. Any poem, really. One that would keep her distracted and satisfy the alpha’s wishes.

“Thoughts become words,” Waverly begins softly. Face transforming into a patchwork of different emotions. Grateful for the blindfold hiding her eyes. She can only interpret the look on Nicole’s, calm and collected. Stoically cool as she’s done this many times before and will continue to do so long after the omega.

“As I read sentences, written with black stockings.” Nicole hums softly against her breast, grazing the edges with her teeth. Biting lightly. “While I drink a dirty martini waiting.”

Waverly feels warm all over. Gasping when she feels the alpha’s lips release their hold on her breasts and drift lower, a small puff of air against her belly button, shiver running down her spine. And then teeth—fangs—being dragged sensually across the bare flesh of her navel. She doesn't know how it's possible to feel this much heat; it's flows through her body like a life source, centering in her hands and chest and pooling low in her belly. Fierce and urgent, Waverly is suddenly overcome with the need to be closer, as close she can possibly be. She reaches up, pressing eager fingers into Nicole’s scalp, running them through the silky tresses.

Tempted to curl a leg around the redhead’s body to keep her there, but thinks against it. Far too intimate of an action to even think about. Even when the alpha’s weight keeps her grounded, omega reveling in the feeling of being safe and wanted.

She whimpers. Chest tightening, a rush of heat flooding between her thighs at the need to be touched. To feel and be filled. The older woman’s fingers dancing over the soft, smooth skin of her inner thighs. Drumming a song into them, tempo picking up as Nicole, without hesitation, gives a languid lick against her slit. Slipping her tongue between the omega’s wet folds gingerly.

“Red heels on pavement,” Waverly grips the alpha’s hair tightly. The wiry muscles beneath her skin rippling, as she pulls harder.

Nicole teasingly swirls her tongue against Waverly’s throbbing clit, pressing the flat of her tongue against it as she deftly slides two fingers inside. Walls stretching delectably, ripping a hiss from deep with within the brunette’s chest. She’s tight around the long, slender digits thrusting inside of her core, instinctually clamping down in a vice-like grip that forms an array of multicolored stars behind her eyelids. Hips bucking with every thrust.

“Punctuated by long legs striding, s-striding—” a growl reverberates against her thigh, primal and guttural, “—fuck Daddy—” teeth biting in with a hardened pressure that leaves Waverly breathless, fangs splitting the skin and casting away every inhibition; omega taking hold and surrendering herself to the purebred’s will. “—towards me!”

Every thrust is endless. Fast and rhythmical; even as Waverly grips the edge of the massage table until her knuckles are white, Nicole doesn’t stop. A prayer whispered breathlessly into the air that has the redhead working faster into the omega’s wet heat. Unable to keep up, she squirms, holding onto the edge for dear life. Pulse like thunder. Heart beating a steady melody, each note singing the alpha’s praises and strengthening the heat taking over her body.

Waverly is drowning.

Drowning in a sea of flames; bright shades of orange, yellow and red, painting her lust-addled mind with lavish brush strokes. Each one, another reason she loses herself into the abyss, blissfully taken away by the current.

“Your lips a full stop on mine.” She can feel the edges of an intense orgasm building quickly, thighs quivering at the impending explosion to come. Then, the alpha moves back up her body, capturing her lips.

Deep and purposeful, an entirely selfish act to devour every pant, every moan, every needy sound that brings Waverly further and further towards the edge. She keeps it slow and sensual, but firm. Nipping at the brunette’s bottom lip until she pulls away.

Fingers curling, Waverly’s walls snap tight around Nicole’s fingers as she comes, electricity coursing through her veins and springing her body forward. Back arching perfectly off the massage table, chest consumed by a wildfire of emotions. Images of gentle hands binding around her bared throat, teeth punching into the curve and drawing blood, red and purplish bruises blooming with the older woman’s possession over her body, flashing through her mind in rapid succession.

Waverly melts into the table. Limp and motionless, chest rising and falling heavily as she regains her breath, body vibrating as the remnants of her orgasm slowly fades away. Trembling with exhaustion. Omega asleep in its corner, satisfied and purring softly.

“Ren… Rendezvous…” The alpha trails her hand from Waverly’s jaw down her neck to swirl a thumb along her collarbone before sliding down her chest and waist, to her hips where it moves lower and curls around her thigh. Soothing the bite mark with soft circles.

“By Michael Faudet,” Nicole finishes for her, finally removing the blindfold. “Excellent choice.”