Fuck, I’m close already. I don’t even know if I can hold out until I can get the knot inside of me.
With one last desperate thrust, the knot snaps in. There’s a moment of excruciating burn followed by a sense of complete and utter fullness andrightness.
I’m not even touching my cock, but I climax anyway, ass clenching around the knot, cum pulsing onto my stomach.
It’s more of a ruined orgasm than anything, and my heat is still just as bright, balls still aching like I’m on the edge.
Iamon the edge.
As soon as my hand hits my slick cock, I let out a moan, stifling it with my other hand before remembering that I’m alone for the moment.
Fuck fuck fu—
I cum so hard that I hit my cheek, body convulsing around the knotted dildo, balls tense and throbbing.
It’s only the beginning. I lose track of how many times I climax. I try to count—I’m supposed to count. Omegas are supposed to track, to understand their cycles.
Butyoutry remembering which number comes next when you’re cumming your brains out, over and over.
I get loud. So loud. Howling and whimpering. Calling for an alpha, I’m sure. Like my body knows there isn’t one here. When I have to stay quiet, my heats last longer—days, almost a week once.
When I can be loud like this, I cum fast and hard. It’s like my body accepts that there’s really, truly nothing I can do to summon an alpha, and it relents, letting my cycle restart. Better luck next time.
“Oh god, oh god,” I beg, clenching so hard around the knot I see stars. My stomach and chest are slick with cum, and I can’t tell anymore where one climax ends and the next begins. Fuck, it feels good, so unbearably good.
I just know, as sure as the alpha in the video says it, that I’m going to keep cumming until my balls are empty.
Well, testicles and other glands. Namely the skeins gland, currently being crushed by the knot, just below my prostate. I whimper as another wave of ecstatic pleasure ripples from that point, adding a gush of cum to the mess on my stomach.
When I finally slump down in the tub, spent and empty, I float on the cloud of euphoria that comes with finally satisfying the needs of my heat.
In these moments, being an omega isn’t so bad.
It’s the come-down that’s miserable.
An ice-cold shower dims the last of my heat as I scrub away the sweat and cum. Wrapped in a towel, I slink back to my room, collapsing on my bed. I sink into a chaotic pile of pillows and blankets, soft textures soothing my hyperactive senses. My arm emerges from under green fleece, rummaging through the nightstand for the stash of snacks kept there for this exact purpose.
The come-down pulls over me slowly, like a shadow across the sun. Oxytocin’s evil twin. Abandonment trauma on fucking steroids.
The utter, soul-crushing loneliness of being an unmated omega.
Chapter 3
JAMIE
I nap off the rest of my come-down. If I can be loud and get my heat over with, it clears after a couple hours. Mom’s home now—I see her car in the driveway—so I need to get started on dinner.
As I push out of my room, the smell of butter and garlic hits me, and I wince. So much for trying to get some chores done today—I didn’t even manage to make dinner.
Apology is written on my face as I step around into the kitchen and sink defeated into the chair.
Mom knows why I was napping. We give each other space when it comes to heats. Think about the facts, nothing more. Hers are much milder now, thanks to age and her prior mating bond.
My body cries out for some alpha,anyalpha. But hers is a thousand miles away, cut off by a web of decoys that rivals the witness protection program.
“Bon appétit,” Mom says, plopping down a plate of steaming chicken and heavily buttered mashed potatoes in front of me.
Mom is on the short side of average—like me. Most omegas are, but I’ve seen posts by a few tall ones on the message boards. We both have the pointed ears and canines that mark all alphas and omegas. There’s a reason that omegas tend towards wearing our hair down and shy, closed-mouth smiles.
