Page 47 of Generation Omega: Claimed
Ethan begins to stand when Jameson’s voice booms from below, “Nobody puts our omega in a damn corner or below deck!” Jameson’s chortling, and I’m pretty sure his dick hasn’t left Tillie yet. “Hey, guys! Come on down! I’m calling a pack meeting.”
Shit—what now? “You don’t have to attend Jameson’s impromptu pack meeting. I can deal with him, and you can get some sleep.”
“Oh, no. I need to see this, even if it’s just to explain it to Tillie later.”
“Fine, but when you need actual therapy because of what we’re about to witness, it’s on you.” As we walk toward the stairs, I add, “And, full disclosure, I got my therapist license from a prop guy, so what could go wrong?”
CHAPTER 25
GIDEON
“Holy…” Ethan mutters, and I’m impressed he found even part of a thought, while I’m struck speechless by a sight I’ll never be able to erase.
Other than Tillie’s annoyingly cherished memories of Jameson’s sex tape, I’ve never actually paid much attention to his salacious proclivities. Some of us have jobs and responsibilities, even hobbies that don’t involve our dicks. Besides, I knew this little shit when he was a kid, so it always grossed me out to think about his almost obsessively amoral pursuit of pleasure. Now, I’m really thinking I should have paid more attention, because the shock of this scene is making me feel… dammit,old.
If Jameson is thenepo baby, fuck-champion alpha, what does that make me? The age-gap alpha? Am I first alpha because I’m the oldest, the soonest to decline, or the mostmature? That’s less charming, isn’t it? Ory is ancient, but Mackenzie isn’t. I’m acouple-ishyears older than Thatcher and Kazimir—I don’t have one foot in the grave or anything. I would have even said I was in my prime, before this performance.
When I finally manage to cobble together a thought, it’s in reference to Ethan’s unmoving form beside me. “You sure you want to be here for this?”
“Nope, but I’m already trapped.”
I get it. I’m not sure anyone could walk away from this spectacle. This is… creative? Daring? Bizarre? Distinctly Jameson, for sure—I believe there was a woman bound to a hotel balcony in his sex tape, so risky coupling may be hisraison d’être.
When assessing the yacht’s romantic potential, I certainly considered all the beds, tables, and even the counters. It’s not like I’m a traditionalist, who can’t have intercourse anywhere but on a mattress. I’m even down with that up-against-a-wall, gravity-defying vertical sex position—I can do that. But the bow of the ship… I never would have even considered such a thing.
Jameson quite obviously did, and that’s where he’s got Tillie, with her butt resting on the triangular tip of the metal railing. Her legs surround his waist as he brutally pounds into her. Tillie’s eyes are open, but she’s clearly consumed by lust and primal satisfaction. Jameson’s disturbingly toned ass conveys his total commitment as he enthusiastically fucks her like he’ll never tire, falter, or fail to rock her world.
I hate him… maybe even more than Thatcher. I’m a terrible first alpha, but no one needs to know that.
“Finally—took you guys long enough,” Jameson calls, turning back to look at us while still performing his assigned fucking duties without missing a beat. This guy can multitask. Jerk. “I want to try something, but I need help, and our resident skirt-wearing, caveman alpha wouldn’t approve withoutfirst alphasign-off.”
Please, don’t tell me this is foreplay and not the main event. And why do I suddenly feel like we did get a circus performeralpha? I bet he’s as flexible as a contortionist, and he absolutely belongs in a dang sideshow.
“What do you want to do now?” Ethan asks, territorial as any alpha.
Unlike Thatcher, Jameson has no status concerns regarding Ethan’s position in the pack. “We need Tillie back.” His tone is surprisingly serious, at least briefly. “As much as I’m prepared to worship Tillie’s innerho, this insatiable, feral omega isn’t Tillie. Seriously, this feisty bitch doesn’t evencarewhose cock she’s impaled by.”
He huffs with melodramatic flair. “All this work I’m putting in, to not get any credit because omegas are basically equal-opportunity cock jockeys… I think not. I’m actually feeling a little used right now.”
Oh, shit—the omega is makingJameson Farrawayfeel unappreciated for his unique proficiency in all things scandalous. Fuck, I’m laughing. No, I’m crying I’m laughing so hard, while the poor, neglected, serial, one-night stand,himbo manwhore—can he be both those things at the same time—just gets more aggrieved.
“You don’t have to be a dick about it,Gideon. Some first alpha, pack leader you are.”
“Sorry.” Yeah, I kind of cackled through that, so my sincerity might be appropriately questioned. “We were thinking the same thing—that it’s time to bring Tillie back and help her work through the pain of losing her alphas. Do you have any ideas about how we might accomplish that?”
Jameson doesn’t miss a single well-timed thrust as he continues his conversation with us. I don’t want to think about how normal this is for Jameson—engaging in a relaxed chat with three other men while going to town on a woman.
“First, I want Ory to send her omega packing.” Thrust, thrust, thrust—he’s not even out of breath, like he’s been in fucktraining for years. “Once Tillie’s back, I have some ideas, mostly involving sexual gratification—naturally—plus some harmless manipulation and definitely some knot-themed trust exercises.” He pulls almost all the way out and surges forward again, sparking a shriek of ecstasy from my omega.
“My theory is…” Jameson momentarily stills before slowly moving inside her again, drawing out her pleasure. “… if Tillie trusts us completely—not me, necessarily, but you know what I mean—she’d know on a primal level that she’s safe whether she has just the four of us or all six.”
His head and floofy hair bob around as he tilts his head side to side. “I think it’s a lack of safety and security that’s driving her pain this time, not the bossy legacy punishing her for what her alpha did. The runaway professor told me about that before he, you know, ran away. What I’m suggesting is that the concept of being deserted rattled her more than the actual loss of the alpha she couldn’t stand. Does that track with you guys?”
My skepticism at Jameson’s well-considered theory is mirrored in Ethan’s expression, where Ory just gives an approving nod. Now, that’s a true compliment to Jameson, the man who failed out of twelve colleges before his famous father abandoned hope that his son would excel in any career field. Is it possible we’ve discovered that Jameson’s true gift istherapeutic porn god?
But even as I try to dismiss him, I’m struck by another possibility. Is Jameson a natural at being an alpha to a troubled omega during a fraught time? Or is it that he’s mastered the art of rolling with the punches when life yanks the rug out from under him? Is he observing the loss of safety and security in Tillie that he felt after losing his mother, something no one else could provide for him? Or maybe he’s a vapid fool, and it’s just a lucky guess.
“It makes sense to me.” Ethan’s dubious tone is not subtle, and mine is roughly the same when I add, “Me, too.”
