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Chastity blushed deeply but acquiesced, part of her grateful to be rid of even the thin layer of fabric. Dr. Jones examined each breast in turn closely without comment, fingers gently palpating the skin around her nipples to test the responsiveness of the flesh. Chastity couldn’t help herself and whimpered when she was touched, arching her back slightly to make her tits more available to the doctor’s exam.
After a few more minutes, Dr. Jones nodded. “You can put your shirt back on. I’m glad you came in today. This is highly unusual.”
Chastity tugged her tank top back on with a slight whimper before she tried to focus on the doctor and took a shaky sip of water. “What’s unusual?”
Dr. Jones regarded her for a moment before folding her hands in her lap. “Well, Chastity, it seems that… you’re presenting as an Omega. You’re experiencing all the classic symptoms of an Omega’s heat.”
Chastity stared at the doctor for a moment, the urge to laugh bubbling up in her chest. The moment was too serious, though, and after another moment the urge died away. “Excuse me?”
Dr. Jones nodded. “Increased heart rate, your temperature is highly elevated, sensitivity to innocuous stimulus, and you’re experiencing a mild increase in sexual arousal with no apparent cause. That will continue to increase over the next few days until the heat peaks, and then it will resolve a few more days after that.”
Chastity stared at the doctor, the words only barely registering. “But… I’m neutral.”
“Well, it is a very late presentation by most standards, but by no means out of the ordinary. There are some Omegas who don’t present until their late forties and early fifties. Just because it’s common to present in late adolescence doesn’t mean that any other age is unusual.” The doctor offered a smile that Chastity was sure was meant to be reassuring, but she felt sick to her stomach. Her? An Omega? There was no way. God, what was this going to mean for work? Her thoughts flashed back to the initial assumption she had had about the sexy models on TV before. God, everyone was going to stare at her like she was a slutty sex toy, weren’t they? She was going to be demoted, there went her career…
Dr. Jones cleared her throat. “The average duration of heat is about seven days, so I would suggest taking the time off work if you can. It can be… very overwhelming to deal with for the first time, from everything I’ve heard and read. Do you have someone nearby who would be able to take care of you for the next few days? Make sure you eat and drink water?”
Chastity shook her head, feeling dazed. “Um. No. My family is all out of state. What do I need to do? I can set alarms on my phone to remind me to eat and drink if I need to.”
Dr. Jones eyed her for a moment before sighing. “Make sure you drink a glass of water at least once every hour, and eat five small meals a day. Snacks are good if you can’t manage a meal, but make sure not to eat too much at once. It could make you sick.”
Chastity nodded, taking the paper that Dr. Jones handed her with notes and instructions. “I’ll… call out of work, I guess.”
Dr. Jones nodded sympathetically. “I think it would be for the best. Be sure to call if you have any other questions, but unfortunately, this is just something you need to ride out. There are some medications that can mitigate the symptoms of heat, but the side effects are so challenging that most choose to just go through the heat instead. But I can prescribe them if you think that isn’t something you want?” Her pen poised on her prescription pad for a moment as she looked at Chastity earnestly.
After a moment, Chastity shook her head. “No, I think I’ll be okay. I’ll just take a cab home and get some rest.”
Dr. Jones nodded. “Very well. I’m going to have my receptionist schedule you to come back next week for some blood tests to confirm my diagnosis, but I think I can say with relative confidence that you’re an Omega. I’ll see you next week. Feel better.” She exited the room without further comment, and Chastity shook on the table for a moment before she stood up and walked out of the office in a slight daze. This time she didn’t put the jacket on, and could feel the gaze of the receptionist follow her as she walked through the waiting room and exited the building.
She glanced at the street for a moment, several cabs passing her before she turned down the sidewalk and started to slowly make her way home, gently bumping against random individuals on the sidewalk like a ping-pong ball.
CHAPTER3
The street was packed with pedestrians, the waning, low-angle early evening sunlight shining into his eyes as he walked west along Waller Avenue. Though his car was only parked a few blocks away, with the competition he had for the sidewalk, it was going to take him forever.
“Yeah, that should work, Dylan. The ironworkers aren’t going to want to do shit until the city’s signed off on the slab and footing—they’re fucking stubborn about that. So you might as well call them off for tomorrow, too. We’re not paying them to stand around and cat-call passing women. The inspector left me a message saying he wouldn’t have time to get to our site until at least Monday.”
“Shit—that means I’m gonna have to push back electrical and plumbing, too.” His foreman, Dylan, had called from the job site, a three-story mixed-use commercial for one of the biggest developers in town, Sanderson and Drinker. Dylan was wondering why the steel had shown up that morning… but no workers to actuallybuildanything with it. “We were already doing this on a slim margin, boss. Just got slimmer. You know that, right?”
Adam scowled, stepping off the sidewalk for a few paces to get around a young woman pushing a tandem stroller at a speed somewhere between glacial and tectonic. He stopped back onto the cement, weaving his way through the crowd. “Give the crew tomorrow off. It’s supposed to dump all day anyway, so might as well give ‘em a three-day weekend. We’ll hit it hard next week. Catch up in no time. Make it happen, Dylan. You’ve done it before, and I—”
A sable-haired woman blundered into him from behind, her shoulder bumping hard against his. She bounced away, nearly losing her balance as she spun to look at him. Perhaps in her early to mid-thirties, she was most definitely under dressed considering the coolness of the late spring evening. Her dark jacket was slung haphazardly over one arm. Her light gray tank top was practically threadbare, and judging by the jiggling of her generous breasts and the very erect nipples clearly defined against the thin fabric, there was not so much as even a sports bra underneath it.
Her somewhat form-fitting though still loose pants, navy with a narrow yellow stripe down the side of the leg, were a cross between yoga leggings and warm-ups, and hinted at pleasingly rounded hips.
The woman’s deep blue eyes met his for a moment, and what he saw there was surprise, a dull, almost trancelike glassiness, and maybe even a little fright. “Oh… shit, I’m sorry,” she mumbled, turning away from him and pushing forward once more.
He caught the scent just as she passed out of view into the crowd ahead. His cock instantly began to harden, a sudden heaviness in his tingling balls. “Dylan, I gotta go.”
He hung up before his foreman could reply.
Picking up the pace, and now making no effort to snake his way around people, instead simply shouldering them aside, he quickly caught up until he was only a few paces behind her.
He’d never actually scented one before. In an academic sense, he knew what one wassupposedto expect, to experience. The chemistry behind it. But how do you explain that concept to a man who has no frame of reference for it, no actual experience ofit?
It reminded him of the conversation he’d had with his father all those years ago. When he was a budding adolescent, his dad had explained to him the curse and blessing both that came with being an Alpha (as his father was, as well). How genuine mates were few and far between, far fewer than Alphas. Made worse by the fact that some of these mates took great pains to hide their true natures, to remain secret—living lives of dishonesty and deceit, denying their own destinies, their purity of purpose.
Adam hadn’t understood—not then anyway—why his father, breath smelling of pipe smoke and single malt scotch, had told him in his deep, gravelly voice how itwaspossible to find contentment, happiness with a Beta, or even a neutral. That Alphas did it all the time, that a good life could be had, if a man wanted to make one.
