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The way I’m feeling, I could definitely see that. I want to scratch my skin off. It feels too tight, too hot, too much. I need a cock and I need a knot and I’m about halfway to not caring who gives it to me.
I have to get out of here before that is the case, because I refuse to fuck anyone but my pack. I’m honestly not sure how my body would handle it. My RMD might try to kill me in the process of easing my heat.
Forcing my heat drenched brain to focus, I wiggle my fingers while Dr. Attersby continues on with her conversation. A thrill runs down my spine when they do as I command. Next I try my toes, still up on the stirrups, but I watch as they curl and uncurl. There are pinpricks along my thighs, my forearms. Like the more I focus on moving, the more the drug leaves my system.
It’s probably my heat burning it off faster than expected, but I’m not going to question it.
Thank god. Thank fucking god. I should be able to move fully soon, so long as she doesn’t realize and give me another dose. With that thought, I make myself go still, staring straight ahead.
The door clicks shut and Dr. Attersby is back. I try to snarl at her, to growl, but all that comes out is a whimper of pain. Which is okay, because I don’t need her to know how much I can move.
She tuts. “I know you’re upset, but Sylvie, this is the best thing. You’re going to help so many people! You could be the answer to the population crisis! You can help us make betas more like an omega, more fertile.”
I want to roll my eyes at her, because that is not true at all. Being on suppressants will have hindered my ability to have children. That’s what Dr. Callahan told me. It’s why she wanted me to have a natural heat once a year. To try to mitigate infertility. But at the time I thought I was doomed to a life alone, that the possibility of children was so far out of my reach, it might as well have been in outer space. So I didn’t care.
But god, do I care now.
So much.
She leans over me and I get a whiff of her scent, cloyingly sweet and unmistakably omega. “We’ve been trying to fix this for so long, but have gotten nowhere. But you! An unbonded omega with RMD who has been on suppressants for years? Your body is working overtime to pump out those hormones, Sylvie. The ones that make you irresistible to an alpha. You’ll see it’s worth it in the long run. I’m sorry that you have to be uncomfortable for the time being.”
Uncomfortable is putting it mildly when it feels like there’s a pissed off mountain lion in my uterus slicing me up to get out.
I wince when she drops onto the stool between my legs. “I’m just going to take a few samples from inside your vagina, if that’s okay.”
No. No, it’s really fucking not okay. I want to scream at her to stop, but of course she just beams at me like I’ve given her permission and then slides a speculum inside me, before stretching me open. It’s embarrassing how good that actually feels. Shame hits me even as I moan. It shouldn’t feel good, it’s a violation.
But my body doesn’t care about that at the moment. It just needs to be filled and stretched. The speculum is cold and clinical and in no way an alpha knot or even a dildo, but at this moment it gets the job done.
I’m going to kill her, I think as I stare at the ceiling and she goes about swabbing my insides like this is just a normal pap smear. I’m going to fucking kill her. She’ll die pleading for me to stop while I just shush her and make tsking noises the whole fucking time.
I’ve never been a violent person. I didn’t even imagine killing Yasmin while she was being escorted around by my pack or when that fake announcement was made. But I will make an exception for this woman.
“All done,” she coos toward my pussy as she seals the swabs into a plastic bag. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?”
She pushes away from me and stands. That has to be it, right? She has to be done for now.
She said she was going to help with the pheromone spray, whatever that means. So she’s going to leave me alone now, right?.
There’s another knock on the door and she pats my cheek, smiling down at me. “Just hang tight here and we’ll get you out of here in no time.”
By ‘out of here’ I’m assuming she means taking me to a second location where she can do experiments on me to her heart’s content. A second location, which everyone knows is a huge no go when dealing with kidnappers.
As soon as the door clicks shut, I force myself to move. I still feel heavy, like my entire body has been shot full of novocaine. You know where it’s kind of droopy and you can move shit, but it just doesn’t feel right.
I have to watch my arms as they bend and place my palms flat on the exam table, hoisting myself up into a sitting position that feels like I’m underwater. The air is heavy on my body, like I’m swimming. I’m panting, whimpering, crying, but I don’t let myself stop.
I have to get to my pack. I have to call them, let them know what’s happening. They’ll come. I need my alphas and my beta. Biting back a whine of need, I curl my hands around one of my legs and work to get it out of the stirrup. I’m sweating by the time I’m done, dizzy and fighting the opposing needs to vomit and touch my clit to make myself come. It’s a very weird combination of sensations. I ignore the sexual need coursing through me and, with Herculean strength, remove my other leg from the stirrup.
Every noise has me on edge, has me panicking that she’s coming back, that she’ll be here any minute. That I’m not moving fast enough.
I grit my teeth and place my feet flat on the floor, readying to push myself to standing, but another cramp has me sagging back, clutching at my stomach while my hips roll seeking friction and pleasure that isn’t coming.
I can’t take the time to make myself come. Not here. It’s not safe.
Taking a deep breath, I lift my head and look for a phone, thanking god that I memorized all the guys’ phone numbers years ago, and that they didn’t change them. I just need to call them, tell them I need them and they’ll come. There will be no force on this earth strong enough to keep them away.
I nod to myself in affirmation, only to realize that there isn’t a phone in this exam room. But I spot my pants and underwear folded neatly on a chair, like Dr. Attersby wanted to be mindful of creases while she was harvesting my slick and hormones. My purse is next to them, but it’s open and I have the feeling that my phone won’t be inside.
