Vengeance in His Bed

The double doors of the master suite locked behind him with a heavy, pressurized thud, sealing Dorrent inside the silent fortress of his own room. The grand expanse was drowning in shadows, illuminated only by the faint, silver luminescence of the midnight sky bleeding through the floor-to-ceiling glass.

Dorrent didn’t turn on the lights. He moved like a ghost across the plush rug, his chest heaving under his midnight-blue suit jacket as his S-tier aura vibrated with a chaotic, toxic static. He approached the bed and dropped heavily onto the edge of the mattress, the dark silk sheets rustling beneath his weight.

He sat there in the dark, his breath coming in ragged, shallow hitches, his mind a burning wasteland of rage and self-hatred. Slowly, deliberately, as if drawn by an invisible, malicious force, he raised his right hand.

He looked at his fingers. In the dim silver light, his skin still glistened with a faint, slick sheen. It was Jannah’s cream. The clear, natural lubrication of her untouched omega core, gathered from the hyper-sensitive boundary of her thighs just minutes ago on the deserted highway.

Dorrent brought his hand closer to his face. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, drawing the air over his skin.

The scent hit his olfactory system like a physical blow. It was an intoxicating, suffocatingly sweet explosion of wild frost-lilies, damp earth, and raw, highly concentrated omega musk. It didn’t just fill his nostrils; it seemed to bypass his logical mind entirely, sinking straight into his nervous system, setting off a chain reaction of primitive, predatory instincts that had been dormant for five long years. His S-tier biology screamed at him to claim it, to hunt the source, to consume every single trace of the woman who had produced it.

Lick it, a dark, feral whisper roared from the depths of his subconscious. Taste her.

"No," Dorrent rasped out loud, his voice a broken, hollow friction in the quiet room.

He fought against it. He clamped his jaw shut, his entire body locking into a rigid, trembling stance as his pride battled against his biology. He loathed her. He found her to be a manipulative, sharp-tongued gutter-rat who had entered his palace to tear his masculine ego to shreds. He had just thrown her back into her room, calling her filth, yet here he was, sitting in the dark like a starved animal, captivated by the fluid she had left on his skin.

But the temptation was a gravity well, and his defenses were already fractured from the nightmare, the runway, and the suffocating environment of Shadron’s penthouse.

With a low, defeated groan that sounded like a dying animal, Dorrent succumbs to the madness.

Slowly, his fingers parted his lips. He guided his hand into his mouth.

The moment his tongue made contact with his fingers, a sharp, electric jolt ripped straight to his brain. He began to lick the cream away, his tongue tracing the smooth contours of his skin, gathering every single drop of her moisture, tasting her fully.

It was sweet. Intensely, devastatingly sweet, laced with a raw, natural heat that coated his throat as he swallowed. It tasted like a forbidden, poisonous nectar that made his mind spin on its axis. He sucked on his own fingers, completely consumed by the taste of the girl he claimed to hate, his heart hammering a frantic, unhinged rhythm against his ribs.

While his mouth consumed her essence, Dorrent’s left hand frantically slid down his torso, navigating past his belt to reach into his trousers. He was desperate. He was frantic. He needed to feel the touch below him; he needed to see if this absolute, unhinged level of mental arousal, this primal act of submission to her taste, could finally awaken his relaxed, dead manhood.

He closed his eyes, squeezing his lids shut until his vision spotted with red, his hand working against his own flesh, searching for any sign of life. Rise, he begged internally, his teeth grinding together until his jaw line ached. Give me something. A twitch. A pulse. A single surge of blood to prove I am still a functioning man.

Nothing happened.

His manhood remained completely relaxed, a dead, useless statue beneath his palm, entirely unresponsive to the intoxicating sweetness coating his tongue or the frantic, sweating desperation of his mind. The S-tier neural blockage was absolute, a cold, iron vault that refused to crack even under the weight of this hyper-sexual madness.

A sudden, violent wave of pure, unadulterated self-loathing crashed over his chest, turning the sweetness in his mouth into the bitter taste of ash.

Dorrent ripped his fingers out of his mouth, his face twisting into a grotesque mask of horror and disgust at his own behavior. He hated himself. He absolutely loathed the pathetic, broken creature he had become. Here he was—the ruthless, multi-billionaire CEO of Gammar Tech, a dominant predator who ruled sectors—sitting in the dark, licking the juices of a nineteen-year-old peasant girl like a degenerate pervert, begging his own body for a reaction that would never come.

The failure ignited a fresh, catastrophic hatred in his soul. He hated the omegas with every fiber of his being. He hated the wild, unhinged omega from five years ago who had dragged him into this dark, impotent abyss, and he hated Jannah—the current omega in the next room who was driving him completely insane, invading his dreams, and making a mockery of his pride. They were a plague on his perfection.

"Disgusting," Dorrent choked out.

Dissatisfied, humiliated, and drowning in shame, he violently turned his head to the side and spat onto the dark rug, trying to remove any residual trace of her cream from his tongue. But it was too late. He had already swallowed a great, irreversible amount of it, the heat of her core already settling deep within his stomach, a permanent brand on his internal biology.

He surged to his feet, his frame towering in the dark room as he violently ripped his wet suit jacket off, throwing it across the floor with a force that shattered the platinum buttons against the baseboard. He stood in his unbuttoned white shirt, his chest heaving, his eyes burning with a lethal, crimson resolve as he stared at the wall shared with her quarters.

"I can’t keep you here," Dorrent whispered, his voice dropping into a flat, freezing register that dripped with a ruthless finality. He began to stride toward the bathroom to wash the rest of her taste from his flesh, his words a cold promise to the shadows. "The moment the merger with Hodin Oil is signed... I will send you back to the gutter to rot."