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His eyes don’t leave the bag even though every instinct in him screamsopen it.
“This is how they control us,” he whispers to himself. “This…all of this…nothing is going to change.”
Draven startles. “Hey, Abel. Don’t talk about this right now. You’ve only got two more weeks in here. Just hold on andshut up.”
There’s a clanging sound from above them, and Draven swears. “See you soon,” he whispers, shutting the door behind him.
The lock clicks shut, and Abel is left alone with the vacuum-sealed package.
You’re better than this. Don’t let it control you.
Like a beast, he tears it open with his teeth and groans as the scent overtakes him.
Warm honey.
Violets.
It’s what always keeps them in check.
No one dares disobey, because of that fuckingscent.
Omega.
But this one is different.
Two weeks without the potent pheromones have done something to him. His brain is rewired and only attuned to this single aroma.
It’s his lifeline. It’s his salvation.
He clutches the fabric tightly to him, his hands dwarfing the folded black cardigan, and he wonders what she looks like.
He wonders how she smiles.
He wonders what the color of her cunt is.
His cock is rock hard, aching for attention, and he finally gives in to his baser needs.
You’re pathetic, he thinks to himself, even as he grips his length harshly.If you ever met her, she’d hate you.
He doesn’t doubt it for one second. She’d fear him, recoil in disgust, and run away screaming.
There would be no convincing her he’s not a monster.
Or at least, that once upon a time he wasn’t.
He’s embarrassingly close to release, simply from clutching a fuckingsweater, imagining a pair of breasts straining against the buttons.
When he finishes, it’s not without shame. He’s careful to aim away from the blessed clothing, his knot popping painfully as he grits his teeth through his release.
And when it’s done…
Reality crashes back, harshly.
He’ll never see an Omega again.
His soul belongs to the government and the addiction of the pheromones.
Ofherpheromones.
