The Sterling Acquisition : A Steamy MM Alpha/Omega Corporate Dystopia Romance (Manufactured Mates Book 1), page 14
“Beautiful,” Dante breathed, his eyes dark with hunger. “Look at you. So open, so ready. I can’t wait to taste every inch of you.”
The tears spilled over then, not from sadness but from pure frustrated fury. Dante could just take him. Right now. And there would be nothing Orion could do to stop it. All his defiance, all his planning, all his resistance, and in the end, his own body would betray him to the first Alpha he let get too close.
Dante must have seen something in his expression because his voice gentled, even as his hands remained possessive. “Hey. Look at me.”
Orion met his eyes, breathing hard.
“I’m not going to make you cry on my cock,” Dante said quietly. “Not until you’re good and ready. That’s a promise. We’re just going to blow off some steam and get you under control.”
Before Orion could process that bizarre reassurance, Dante’s fingers were teasing at his entrance, circling the sensitive flesh with maddening lightness. The sensation was alien, intrusive, sending confused signals of alarm and pleasure through his system.
“You’re trembling,” Dante observed, his voice filled with dark satisfaction. “I can feel the heat of you. God, you’re perfect.”
“Touch me there and I’ll bite your fucking fingers off,” Orion snapped, even as canted his hips into the touch. The threat sounded hollow even to his own ears, his voice too breathless to carry real menace.
“It’ll be hard for you to bite them off when they’re inside you,” Dante murmured, slowly pushing one digit inside. “But feel free to try.”
The sensation was so foreign, so intense, that Orion’s threats died in his throat. His body went rigid as Dante worked him open with careful patience, adding a second finger when the first was accepted.
It burned. It ached. It felt impossible and invasive and... good? The contradiction made Orion’s head spin. He had always associated this kind of penetration with another slippery slope to ownership and submission. But this—this was something his body wanted desperately, even as his mind scrambled to reject it.
“Fuck,” Orion gasped, his hands fisting in the bedsheets. “I hate you, I hate this, I—”
His words dissolved into a broken moan as Dante’s mouth closed around his cock, sucking with practiced skill while his fingers continued their relentless exploration inside him. The dual sensation was overwhelming, too much to process. Wet heat engulfed him while those fingers stretched him open, touching places inside that sent shockwaves through his entire system.
Orion’s mind went blank, higher reasoning obliterated by pure sensation. His hips moved of their own accord, seeking more of both sensations simultaneously. He didn’t know whether to push up into Dante’s mouth or back onto his fingers, his body greedy and confused by pleasure it had never experienced.
“Still hate me?” Dante asked, pulling off with an obscene sound before returning to his task.
“Yes,” Orion managed, though it came out as more of a whimper. “Fuck you, yes.”
When he added a third finger, crooking them to hit that spot that made Orion see stars, all pretense of coherent thought abandoned him. His world narrowed to those fingers stretching him open, that mouth working him over, the building pressure that threatened to tear him apart.
“Dante, wait, I need to—” he gasped, not even sure what he was begging for. “I-I can’t—”
Dante let Orion’s cock fall from his mouth as he pulled back, but his fingers remained, working steadily as the sound of a zipper filled the small room.
“Look at me,” Dante commanded.
Orion opened eyes he didn’t remember closing and saw Dante stroking himself with his free hand. The sight of him—hair mussed, pupils blown wide, jaw tight with restraint—was almost as overwhelming as the fingers inside him.
But it was the sight of Dante’s cock that made Orion’s breath catch. Thick, flushed, and intimidating in a way that sent twin spikes of desire and terror through him. His mouth watered even as his logical mind supplied the unhelpful observation: That will never fit.
The contradiction was maddening—wanting something that would destroy him, craving the very thing his body wasn’t ready for. The three fingers inside him suddenly felt woefully inadequate as preparation for something that size.
“This is what you do to me,” Dante said, his voice strained. “Can you feel how tight you’re gripping my fingers? I can already picture how it’s going to feel when I finally get inside you .”
Orion whimpered, caught between wanting to cum and wanting to maintain some shred of defiance. His body was no longer his own, responding to Dante’s touch with an eagerness that terrified him. This was surrender, and surrender meant ownership, and ownership meant the end of everything he fought for.
“I want to fuck the fight out of you,” Dante continued, his hand moving faster on himself. “And then fuck it back into you so our little dance never ends. You’re breaking me apart, and I fucking love it.”
As Orion got close to the edge, his body drawing tight as a bowstring, he used every ounce of stubbornness he possessed to resist. Dante seemed to sense his struggle.
“Cum for me,” he ordered. “Stop fighting and let go.”
“No,” Orion gasped, even as his body screamed for release. The pressure was unbearable, his muscles clenching around Dante’s fingers as he tried desperately to hold back. It was the last shred of control he had, and he clung to it like a lifeline.
Tears of frustration leaked from his eyes as Dante continued his relentless assault, fingers hitting that perfect spot over and over while denying him the friction he needed to finish.
In desperation, when Dante leaned close enough, Orion bit down hard on his shoulder, drawing blood through the expensive shirt. It was violence, not surrender—the last defiant act he could manage.
Dante’s response was immediate—a low moan of pleasure as his teeth found Orion’s collarbone in return, marking him with enough force to bruise.
The pain-pleasure combination shattered what little control Orion had left. He came with a broken cry, his vision whiting out as his body convulsed around Dante’s fingers. The intensity was unlike anything he’d ever experienced, wave after wave of sensation that seemed to go on forever. It wasn’t just physical—it felt like something fundamental inside him was breaking apart, rearranging, becoming something else.
Through the haze of his orgasm, he felt Dante withdraw his fingers and heard the slick sound of him using Orion’s wetness to stroke himself. Then Dante was repositioning them, slotting their cocks together and wrapping his hand around both.
The sensation was too much. Orion whimpered, oversensitive but unable to pull away as Dante worked them both with ruthless efficiency.
He watched Dante’s face as the Alpha chased his release—saw the moment when that careful control cracked. Dante came with a strangled groan, spilling over both their cocks and his hand.
For a moment, they just breathed hard, the air thick with the scent of sex and sweat and something that might have been satisfaction.
So that’s what it looks like when Dante falls apart, Orion thought distantly as the Alpha slumped against him. The observation came through a fog, his brain struggling to process what had just happened, what he allowed to happen.
It was beautiful and terrifying in equal measure.
“Do you know anyone in town who sells really strong suppressants?” Dante asked after they’d both caught their breath, his voice returning to that maddeningly practical tone.
Orion stared at him in disbelief. His body felt strange, foreign—loose and heavy and sensitive in ways he’d never experienced. And Dante was talking about suppressants like they’d just had a business meeting instead of whatever the hell that was.
“You’re asking this now? After all that?” His voice sounded wrong, hoarse from sounds he hadn’t meant to make.
“After establishing that your current condition makes strategic planning impossible, yes.” Dante was already reaching for something to clean them both up, efficient even in the aftermath. “Suppressants would give us more time to work with.”
“Why didn’t you start with that suggestion?” Orion wanted to sound angry, to maintain some semblance of his usual defiance, but he just felt... exhausted. Drained. Like something essential had been pulled out of him along with his orgasm.
Dante’s smile was sharp, unapologetic. “Because this was more satisfying than practical problem-solving.”
Orion wanted to throttle him—and was annoyed to realize he no longer had the energy for proper violence. His limbs felt like lead, his mind sluggish and confused. Part of him wanted to curl up and sleep for a week, while another part was screaming that he’d just surrendered something fundamental in ways that would be impossible to take back.
“There’s a clinic on the east side of town,” he said, the words coming slowly. “Gray market stuff, mostly. They don’t ask questions if you pay in cash.”
“Perfect. I’ll handle that this evening.” Dante finished cleaning them up and began straightening his clothes with clinical efficiency. “In the meantime, you need to be the compliant pet Leo expects to see.”
“And if I can’t manage that?” How was he supposed to act normally after this? How was he supposed to pretend nothing changed when his entire body felt different, when he could still feel the ghost of Dante’s fingers inside him?
“Then we’ll have to accelerate our timeline.” Dante moved toward the door, then paused. “For what it’s worth, you were magnificent.”
Magnificent. Like he was a natural disaster rather than a person. Like his desperate struggle to maintain some control had been a performance for Dante’s entertainment.
“Go to hell,” Orion said, but without real heat. He was too exhausted, too confused by what had just happened between them.
“Already there, but I’ll be leaving soon,” Dante replied. “I hope you’ll come with me.”
The door closed behind him, and Orion was left alone with the knowledge that he’d just let his potential future owner give him the most intense sexual experience of his life while planning his escape from chemical lobotomy.
He stared at the ceiling, too tired to move, his mind a jumble of confused, half-formed thoughts. His body felt better and worse—the desperate edge of pre-heat dulled, replaced by a bone-deep satisfaction.
What did it mean that he responded so eagerly? Was it just biology, just his heat, or was he weak enough to be seduced by the first Alpha who knew what they were doing? Had he just handed Dante a weapon to use against him?
Orion pressed his palms against his eyes. He should be furious—at Dante for pushing, at himself for responding. Instead, he just felt... empty. He reached for the stolen blanket, still stuffed beneath his pillow, to stroke the plush texture as he wondered what the hell he was going to do. Dante’s scent still lingered on the blanket. On him. In him.
It smells good.
Christ. He was in so much trouble.
Chapter sixteen
Pharmaceutical Roulette
Dante
The gray market clinic was what Dante expected—a converted storefront sandwiched between a pawn shop and a place that sold “medical equipment.” No corporate logos, just a faded sign reading “Wellness Solutions” in peeling vinyl letters.
Perfect. The kind of place that didn’t ask questions as long as the payment cleared. Dante parked three blocks away and walked, the evening air carrying SVI’s distinctive chemical tang—sulfurous and metallic.
The suppressants were a practical necessity—Orion couldn’t think strategically while his biology was in chaos, and Dante needed him functional for what was coming. But even that rational justification couldn’t explain the way his hands still shook from their encounter hours earlier.
Focus, he told himself.
The clinic’s interior was dimly lit with flickering fluorescents, the space reeking of desperation. Mismatched chairs with cracked upholstery filled the waiting area, occupied by patients avoiding eye contact. A disabled security camera dangled broken wires—the message was clear: what happened here stayed here.
The receptionist—a middle-aged Beta with hard eyes and the unnaturally steady hands of someone who saw everything and been surprised by nothing—barely glanced up when Dante approached the scratched plexiglass partition.
“Need something?” she asked, her tone suggesting she already knew this wasn’t about legitimate medical care. Her fingers continued typing on a keyboard so worn the letters had been erased.
“Heat suppressants. Something effective for a difficult case.” Dante kept his voice low. “Price isn’t a concern.”
She studied him for a moment, cataloguing his expensive clothes and corporate bearing. Her eyes paused on his hands—too manicured for the neighborhood, too steady for someone buying gray market pharmaceuticals for recreational purposes.
“How difficult?”
“Adult virgin. Extended pre-heat, possibly complicated by other medications.”
Her eyebrows rose. “That’s not difficult, that’s a medical emergency. What kind of other medications?”
“Unknown.”
“Shit.” She leaned back in her chair. “Without knowing what the Omega is on now, it’ll be hard to determine what to give without side effects.”
Dante felt something cold settle in his stomach, a visceral response that his Gensyn conditioning should have filtered. “What are the alternatives?”
“Custom formulation. Takes time to synthesize, costs extra, and we’d need an in-person consult.” She pulled out a tablet, fingers flying over the screen. “Or emergency intervention, but they’re like killing a spider with an atom bomb. Stronger, faster acting, but higher risk of side effects.”
Time was the one thing they didn’t have. “Emergency intervention. What kind of side effects?”
“Nausea, disorientation, possible mood changes. Think chemical suppression hangover, but immediate.” She quoted a price that would have made most people balk, her eyes watching for any flinch at the number. “Cash only. No questions, no records.”
“Done.”
The receptionist buzzed him through to a back area that made the waiting room look luxurious by comparison. A harried-looking doctor—if he even had legitimate credentials—barely made eye contact as he prepared the medication, his movements efficient but jittery. A jar of cotton swabs on the counter had yellowed with age.
“Dosage instructions are on the bottle,” the doctor said, handing over a small amber vial. “But since you’re paying premium rates, here’s what the label doesn’t tell you: these will work, but the come-down is brutal. Make sure your Omega is somewhere safe when they wear off. And for fuck’s sake, don’t mix them with alcohol or street-grade pheromone enhancers.”
“Understood.”
“One more thing.” The doctor met Dante’s eyes, something like professional concern breaking through his practiced detachment. “If these don’t work, you’re shit out of luck. Don’t double dose.”
Twenty minutes later, Dante was walking back to his car with the small bag containing what might be Orion’s salvation or another layer of chemical chaos. The clinic assured him the suppressants would work within hours, providing relief for up to a week even in extreme cases.
Long enough to plan an extraction. Long enough to get them both out of SVI territory before Morrison could implement his timeline.
Long enough for Dante to figure out what the hell he was doing.
His encrypted phone buzzed as he reached the car—not a message this time, but an actual call. Dante stared at the device for a moment, genuine alarm cutting through his post-planning satisfaction. His pulse spiked in a way it hadn’t during an operation in years.
Amalie never called. Never. Their communication was strictly text-based for security reasons.
“Yes,” he answered, keeping his voice neutral despite the sudden dryness in his mouth.
“Dante, darling.” Amalie’s voice carried its usual cheerful warmth in her text communications, but Dante had always imagined her voice to be high pitched and maternal. Her voice had a husky sort of quality to it that made it sound like she was two second away from asking him what he was wearing. “I hope you don’t mind the call, but I simply had to discuss the fascinating files you sent over.”
Fascinating. In Amalie’s vocabulary, that meant either extremely valuable or extremely dangerous. Possibly both.
“I’m glad they were useful,” Dante replied, settling into the driver’s seat but not starting the engine.
“Oh, more than useful. Revolutionary, really.” Her tone remained bright, but Dante could hear the edge underneath. “The Board is very interested in acquiring a complete sample for analysis as soon as possible. Consider your 8 weeks cut short.”
Meaning not just the partial files he sent, but the full research and possibly a working example of the technology.
“That would require significant risk escalation,” Dante said.
“Risk escalation that the Board feels is justified by the potential returns.” Amalie said with a cheerful finality that meant arguing would be pointless. “They’re particularly interested in the subject profile you mentioned. Test subjects would provide invaluable data about implementation effectiveness.”
Meaning Orion.
“The timeline for acquisition could be complicated by local variables,” he said, forcing his voice to remain steady.
“Oh, I’m sure you’ll find a way to manage those variables. You’re so very good at creative problem-solving.” The false brightness in her tone was a warning in itself. There was a pause, and when Amalie spoke again, her voice carried a subtle warning. “The Board has expressed confidence that you’ll be able to secure everything we need. Complete samples, research data, and any relevant test subjects.”
