I’m not gentle with myself. My faux heat demands a knot, which is what I give it, but the stretch is still empty. I fuck myself over and over again, ignoring the discomfort from not going slow. My body doesn’t want a cheap imitation of sex, but it’s all it’s getting.
I think of each of my alphas. Alric and his raw, aggressive need for me that borders on feral, shuddering with release. Zach, who is tender and magnetic. Another orgasm steals my breath. And Hunter, my playful and generous alpha.
Only then does my body finally feel like it’s had enough, but my head pulses in pain. I leave the shower with a slight limp. It was too much, but at the same time, not nearly enough.
Once I’m dressed in PJs, I pull a bag of peas out of the freezer and head to what used to be a small walk-in closet, which I turned into my nest years ago. It only fits me, but that’s all I need.
Bellini follows and I shut the door, turning on the candle warmer so my nest can smell like my natural essence. Sweet and fruity. It’s a comfort since I have to take scent blockers. I love my omega scent but unfortunately, alphas like it even more.
Diving into my pink nest, I can finally relax. There’s only a single light, a small lamp in one corner next to a fan that I puton the highest speed. Bellini steps into my lap. She starts to purr when I pet her, her soft fur a comfort. The frozen vegetables bag is pressed into my temple and the relief is instant.
That’s it, then. I closed this chapter of my life, of the past year with three men whose company I genuinely enjoyed. But now it’s time to move on. Typically, my client agreements are staggered and I always have at least one alpha in rotation. I’ve never had all my clients’ time end on the same weekend.
Maybe I should feel excited by the prospect of meeting new people, traveling to new places. Alphas are known for being extra generous in the first few months of having a sugar baby. They want to throw around their wealth, thinking they can impress me more than any other alpha has. Probably because I let them think that.
I pull my phone out of my bag and open up Knotty, the dating app I used to find Hunter and Zachary. There’s no omega-specific app, so I ensure it’s on alphas-only mode. Hopefully, I’ll find a new donor as sweet as them, but I know they’re rare gems.
My account stays active but I haven’t used it in so long. I update a few of the generic photos of myself—so they can imagine me as whoever they want me to be—before heading to the messaging tab. It’s filled with years of ignored alpha messages. I scroll slowly and glance over the ones sent in the past six months that I haven’t bothered to check. Most of the alphas are attractive in a bland sort of way. Similar haircuts, similar suits. Everyone had pretty omega mothers who gave them nice cheekbones and rich alpha fathers who passed down their entitlement and smug looks.
The most recent messages are from Jensen. He’s been talking to himself in my DMs for months.
Jensen:
Another date soon?
What are you doing Friday?
I would love to see you again!
You must meet my brother, he’s a beta but he would love you. He’s rich too, a doctor.
Did you seriously just dump me over text? Can’t we talk about this?
Give me another chance!
Stop playing hard to get.
How dare you cut me off! After all the money I spent on you, I deserve your heat!
How much more do you want for it??
Name a price!
Unblock my phone number!
Stop ignoring me!
Text me back!
I roll my eyes. Alphas like him are the reason I rarely break off any arrangements in person. All the money he spent? Two nice dinners, embarrassingly low money transfers, and one ugly designer bag was considered poor effort for an alpha, and he tried to take me home after every dinner, despite me repeatedly saying we were simply getting to know each other. The utter entitlement to think he deserves anything. I report the message, letting the app deal with it, and scroll on. Most of the messages are the same. Big promises and grand displays of wealth that may have impressed me at eighteen but not anymore.
I’m about to click on one of the messages when my bestfriend’s face appears on my screen, notifying me that she wishes to video chat. I smile as I hit accept.
“Hey,” Harper says with that chipper voice of hers. Her long red hair and bright blue eyes fill the screen.
“Hey, hon. How’s the art gallery tonight?”
“Great, I sold a few paintings!”
