Beautifully Broken Omega: A Dark Reverse Harem Omegaverse Romance, page 15
The beam of light wavers slightly, and when I glance up, I catch her trying to control her breathing. Her chest rises and falls in quick, shallow movements, and there’s a flush creeping up her neck that has nothing to do with the room’s temperature.
She’s fighting it too—the pull between us, the way the air seems to thicken with every breath. When our eyes meet in the flashlight’s pale glow, something passes between us that makes my breath catch.
“Kit,” I whisper, her name like a prayer on my lips. As soon as her name leaves my mouth, her scent intensifies—that faint vanilla blooming into something rich and intoxicating, wrapping around me like silk until I can barely think straight.
Every instinct I possess screams one word: Mine.
Chapter Twenty-Three
KIT
Itry not to breathe in, but it’s useless. Every breath I take fills my lungs with his scent—whiskey, rain-soaked earth, and wood smoke, something uniquely Declan that sends heat racing through me. My core clenches involuntarily, a pulse of heat that makes me squeeze my thighs together in a desperate attempt at control.
But there is no control anymore. Not around these alphas. Not around him.
I watch his hands as he works, mesmerized by the elegant precision of his fingers as they navigate the maze of cables and circuits. Those hands are so capable, so sure of themselves, and my treacherous mind can’t stop imagining how they would feel on my skin. Stroking along my thighs, teasing me with that same methodical patience, sliding deep inside me where I’m empty and aching.
I swallow hard, trying to think of anything else, but it’s impossible when he’s so close I can feel the warmth coming off his broad frame. The flashlight trembles in my grip as arousal floods through me, slick gathering between my thighs despite my attempts to remain professional.
His scent intensifies as he shifts closer, and I have to bite my lip to keep from whimpering at how good he smells. How right this feels, standing here in the dim glow of the flashlight, surrounded by his warmth and strength.
Suddenly, he looks up. “Kit?”
I know I should step back, should put distance between us before I do something we’ll both regret. But I can’t move. He’s so broad, so tall, taking up all the space in this small server room. I should be scared—trapped here with an alpha whose presence makes my skin feel too tight and my pulse race with need.
Instead, all I want is to press closer, to feel the solid warmth of him against me. To feel his skin against mine, his lips on mine. Touch me, I think desperately. Kiss me. The plea repeats endlessly in my head.
His nostrils flare suddenly, and his green eyes darken with something that makes my breath catch.
“Kit,” he says, his voice rough with restraint. “I can smell you.”
My slick. He can smell my arousal, the evidence of how completely he affects me.
Heat floods my cheeks as embarrassment wars with desire, my skin burning under his intense gaze. The air between us crackles with tension so thick I can barely breathe. “I... I’m sorry,” I stammer, my voice barely a whisper. “This is so inappropriate. I shouldn’t—” I start to turn away, desperate to escape before I humiliate myself further, before he sees just how much I’m falling apart.
“Don’t.” The single word stops me cold. His hand shoots out, fingers wrapping around my wrist with surprising gentleness despite the command in his voice. His touch sends electricity racing up my arm, making me gasp. “Don’t you dare apologize for that, Kit.” His thumb traces over my pulse point, and I know he can feel how frantically my heart is beating. “Do you have any idea what your scent does to me? How fucking perfect you smell?”
I shake my head, unable to form words as his green eyes bore into mine with an intensity that makes my knees weak.
“Like vanilla and honey,” he murmurs, his voice dropping to a rough whisper that makes my core clench. He lifts my wrist to his nose, inhaling deeply, his emerald eyes fluttering closed for a moment as if savoring the scent. “Sweet and warm and so goddamn intoxicating I can barely think straight.” His eyes darken as they hold mine. “Makes me wonder if you’d taste as sweet as you smell.”
My core clenches at his words, heat flooding through me as my mind immediately conjures the image of his tongue against my skin, tasting, exploring. I can almost feel the wet heat of his mouth, the way his tongue would feel stroking against my most sensitive places. A soft whimper escapes my throat before I can stop it.
I should step back, leave this room, go home where it’s safe. This is insane—he’s an alpha. My rational mind screams that this is all wrong, that I should run before this gets any more complicated.
But there’s something else, something deeper than logic or fear. The same inexplicable force that draws me to Griffin and Nolan. An invisible thread pulling me toward all three of them with a strength I can’t understand or explain, like I’m powerless to resist.
My eyes are drawn downward by some movement, and I realize with shock that he’s hard, straining against the fabric of his pants in a way that’s impossible to ignore. He looks huge, thick and long even confined by clothing, and my breath catches in my throat as I stare.
I can’t help myself. My gaze traces the outline of his arousal, wondering what he’d look like without the barrier of fabric. Would he be as thick as he appears? Would there be veins running along the shaft? How would it feel in my hands?
My body responds immediately to the thought, core clenching with desperate need, slick flowing heavier as the emptiness inside me becomes more unbearable with each passing second.
“You have to stop staring, Kit,” he whispers, his voice tortured. “Do you even know what you’re doing to me? To us?”
The knowledge that I have this effect on him—on all three of them—sends a thrill through me that’s both terrifying and intoxicating. These powerful alphas who could have anyone they want, and somehow I’m the one making them lose control.
“I don’t know what’s happening to me, Declan,” I whisper, my voice barely audible over the hum of the servers. “All I know is I can’t stop thinking about the three of you. My body feels alive when you’re around in a way I’ve never experienced before.”
The confession hangs in the air between us, raw and honest and impossible to take back. We stare at each other in the dim glow of the flashlight in my trembling hand, the weight of everything unspoken pressing down until I can barely breathe.
Then he kisses me.
It’s explosive, desperate, like a dam finally bursting after holding back a flood. His mouth crashes against mine with hungry intensity, his tongue sliding past my lips to stroke against mine in a dance that makes my knees weak. I taste whiskey and mint, something darkly masculine that’s purely him.
My hands fist in his shirt, pulling him closer as he backs me against the wall. The cool metal of the server rack presses against my spine, a stark contrast to the heat of his body covering mine. His hands span my waist, fingers digging in just enough to make me gasp into his mouth.
Suddenly, he stops. His hands still on my waist as he pulls back just enough to look into my eyes, his breathing ragged.
“Kit,” he says, his voice rough but gentle. “I need you to know something. I can stop. Right now, any moment you want me to. If you tell me to stop, I will. No questions, no pressure. This is your choice.”
The sincerity in his voice, the way he’s giving me complete control even when I can see how much he wants this, makes my heart race for entirely different reasons. This powerful alpha, putting my comfort above his own desire.
“Don’t stop, Declan,” I whisper, reaching up to cup his face before pulling him down to me. “Please don’t stop.”
Then I’m kissing him again, and he responds immediately, his hands sliding up to tangle in my hair, holding me to him as if I might disappear.
“More, Declan,” I hear myself saying frantically, my hands roaming across the broad expanse of his chest, threading through his dark hair. “I need more.”
He lifts me easily, his large hands gripping my waist as he presses me against the wall. I wrap my legs around his waist, feeling the hard length of him pressing against my core through our clothes. The friction sends sparks through me, making me arch against him with a broken moan.
When he lowers me back to my feet, I’m trembling with need. Without conscious thought, I guide his hand between my thighs, pressing his palm against my aching center through my uniform pants.
He doesn’t hesitate. His fingers find my clit through the fabric, rubbing in slow circles that have me gasping into his mouth. The kiss turns deeper, more desperate, as he works me with skilled fingers that seem to know exactly how to drive me wild.
“Fuck, you smell so good,” he breathes against my neck, his lips trailing hot kisses along my throat. When he bites gently at the sensitive spot where my neck meets my shoulder, I nearly come apart in his arms.
“I want to taste you, Kit,” he whispers against my ear, his voice rough with desire. “I want to taste you so bad.”
God, yes.
“Then do it,” I whisper back, all logical reasoning completely gone as my mind is overwhelmed with need, my hands already moving to the button of my pants.
We’re still kissing frantically as I work the fabric down my hips, his hands helping, both of us desperate to eliminate the barriers between us. When his fingers slide against my bare skin for the first time, we both groan at the contact.
I’m so wet, slick coating his fingers as he explores my folds with reverent touches. He finds my clit, circling it with just the right pressure until I’m trembling on the edge of release.
Then he stops.
“Not yet, sweetheart,” he says, his emerald eyes dark with promise. “I want you to come on my tongue. I want to taste your sweet release.”
My core clenches at his words, at the thought of his mouth on me in ways no one has ever touched me before.
His voice drops lower, intimate and reverent. “Do you want that, sweetheart?”
“Yes,” I whisper.
“Say it, Kit.”
“Taste me, Declan.” The words come out breathless, desperate. “Please.”
He drops to his knees in front of me, and the sight of this powerful alpha kneeling between my thighs makes my breath catch. The flashlight has fallen to the floor beside us, casting long shadows up the walls and leaving us in intimate semi-darkness. When his tongue touches my clit for the first time—tentative, testing—I cry out at the sensation.
“Fuck, you taste so sweet, sweetheart,” he groans against my core. “You taste like fucking heaven.”
Then he’s devouring me, his tongue working my clit with devastating skill while his fingers slide deep inside me. The dual sensation is overwhelming, pleasure building with an intensity that terrifies and thrills me in equal measure.
When I come, it’s explosive—my back arching off the wall as his name tears from my throat in a broken cry. The orgasm crashes through me in devastating waves, each pulse of pleasure so intense it borders on overwhelming. My thighs shake uncontrollably around his head as he continues his relentless attention, his tongue working me through every spasm, drawing out aftershock after aftershock until I’m completely undone. My fingers claw desperately at the metal behind me, seeking purchase as sensation floods every nerve ending, leaving me boneless and trembling against the wall.
He comes up and kisses me, and I taste myself on his tongue—sweet vanilla instead of the bland chamomile that’s defined me for so long. We stare at each other in the flashlight’s pale glow, his hand cupping my cheek with infinite tenderness, his face filled with something that looks like awe.
The realization strikes me like lightning. Vanilla. My old scent. The scent that marked me as what I used to be. What I really am.
The chamomile is gone completely. In its place is the vanilla that speaks of who I really am, what I’m becoming in their hands.
Then suddenly, like ice water flooding my veins, Roman’s voice echoes in my memory.
What kind of omega smells like this? Where’s the jasmine I was promised? You’re broken, Katherine. Defective. No real alpha would ever want something as disgusting as you.
The panic slams into me like a freight train. I’m an omega again. The broken, defective omega that Roman couldn’t stand. The one who wasn’t good enough, who disgusted him so much he could barely touch me. All these years of hiding as a beta, of being safe and invisible—and now it’s all unraveling.
They’ll see what I really am. What Roman saw. They’ll realize I’m not worth their time, their patience, their gentleness.
“I have to go,” I gasp, scrambling to pull up my pants with shaking hands. “I’m sorry, I have to—”
“Kit, wait—” Declan reaches for me, confusion and concern written across his face.
But I’m already running, fleeing from the server room and the truth I can’t face. That I’m still that broken omega who ruins everything she touches.
I need to get out of here. Need to go home where I can lock the door and pretend this never happened. My hands shake as I jab the elevator button repeatedly, as if that will make it arrive faster. The vanilla scent clings to my skin like evidence of my shame, impossible to ignore or wash away.
What is happening to me? The thought spirals frantically as the elevator finally arrives and I stumble inside. Two years of careful control, of being safely invisible, and now everything is unraveling. My body is betraying me, changing me back into something I never wanted to be again.
The elevator descends toward the lobby, and all I can think about is getting to the bus stop, getting home, getting away from the truth about what I am.
The doors slide open, and I step into the lobby.
Time stands still.
For a moment, I think I’m hallucinating. That the stress and panic have finally broken my mind completely. Because there, standing between Griffin and Nolan in his perfectly tailored suit, is the face that haunts my nightmares.
Roman.
He looks exactly the same—golden hair perfectly styled, expensive suit immaculate, that cold beauty that once fooled me into thinking he was salvation instead of damnation.
Our eyes meet across the marble expanse of the lobby, and I see the exact moment recognition flickers across his features. Those cold blue eyes I once thought were beautiful narrow slightly, and then his mouth curves into that same cruel smile I remember so well. The one that always preceded pain.
My pulse skyrockets, blood rushing so loud it drowns out everything else. I just stare, frozen like prey caught in a predator’s gaze, unable to move or breathe or think beyond the single, terrifying realization:
He’s found me.
After all these years of hiding, of running, of becoming someone else entirely—he’s found me.
I turn and run.
I don’t know where I’m going until I find myself bursting through the door of the cleaning staff room, my breathing coming in sharp, panicked gasps. The familiar smell of industrial cleaner and old coffee does nothing to calm me as I stumble to the back of the room, sliding down the wall until I’m sitting on the cold linoleum floor.
He’s going to kill me.
The thought repeats in my mind like a mantra of terror. Roman doesn’t forgive. Roman doesn’t forget. And Roman certainly doesn’t let his property walk away without consequences.
I wrap my arms around my knees, trying to make myself as small as possible, trying to disappear the way I’d learned to do when his voice got that particular edge. But I can’t stop shaking, can’t stop the hyperventilating that makes black spots dance at the edges of my vision.
The door opens, and I flinch, expecting to see Roman’s cold smile and perfectly styled hair. Instead, three familiar figures fill the doorway—Griffin, Nolan, and Declan, their faces etched with concern and alarm.
They take in my huddled form on the floor, the way I’m gasping for air that won’t seem to fill my lungs, the terror written across every line of my body. I see the moment their expressions shift from confusion to something deeper—protective worry that makes my chest ache even through the panic.
“Jesus Christ,” Nolan breathes, immediately dropping to his knees beside me. “Kit, what happened?”
But I can’t speak, can’t explain. All I can do is shake my head frantically as the panic consumes me, as the walls of the small room seem to close in around us.
He’s found me. After everything, Roman has found me.
And I have nowhere left to run.
Chapter Twenty-Four
GRIFFIN
Seeing Kit so small and helpless, curled up on the cold linoleum floor like a wounded animal, does something catastrophic to my heart. Every protective instinct I possess roars to life, demanding action, demanding I fix whatever has put that look of absolute terror in her gray eyes.
I move without conscious thought, my body responding to her distress before my mind can catch up. Nolan and Declan are right behind me, all three of us dropping to our knees around her like we’re forming a barrier against whatever invisible threat has reduced her to this state.
“Kit,” I say softly, keeping my voice low and non-threatening. “We’re here. You’re safe.”
Nolan already has a paper bag from somewhere—probably grabbed it from the small kitchenette—and he’s holding it out to her with steady hands. “Breathe into this, sweetheart. Just focus on breathing.”
Her hands shake violently as she takes the bag, pressing it to her mouth with desperate fingers. Each breath is a struggle, rapid and shallow, like she’s drowning in air that won’t reach her lungs.
“That’s it,” Declan murmurs, his voice thick with concern as he settles beside her. His hand finds her leg, stroking slowly through the fabric of her uniform pants. “You’re doing great, love. Just keep breathing.”
