by V T Bonds
Sensual pain explodes in my channel as he thrusts deep and hard, his blown pupils filling my vision and chaotic messages pummeling through the link, making his thin control obvious.
Overwhelming pleasure steals all thoughts as he tightens his hand on my throat and begins a brutal pace, pistoning his cock in and out of me with so much vigor I slide around on the table. His movements force my body into orgasm, my ears ringing from my scream and my insides seizing.
When my head slides off the edge of the little table, Seeck’s firm hand cradles the back, creating a comforting prison around my skull. Still he fucks me, the sound of our coupling telling how much slick I’ve produced for him. The wetness eases his movements, but his girth pummels me with such power it hurts.
My core never gets a chance to recover from my first orgasm before he sends me soaring again. A particularly rough thrust hammers a sensitive part inside me, and I skyrocket into a kaleidoscope of bright colors, the neon tones reminding me of the shoes worn in Embilte.
As his knot stretches my insides, his teeth pierce my shoulder and my world splinters. Our woven souls dance in glee, negating any emotional issues we may face.
We’re meant to be together. We’re lifemates.
It may take more time, but we’ll work out the kinks and shed these problems.
Right now, with his seed filling my core, his knot stretching me, and his teeth in my flesh, the sense of security and contentment settles my anger.
He extracts his teeth and licks my wound, purring and prolonging our release.
As we return to reality, his rough hands frame my face and his piercing eyes gaze into my soul.
“I love you Nova. I will always give you what you need. Sleep, my little Omega, and I’ll resume trying to earn your forgiveness when we wake.”
The stress of the day crashes down on me, and in the security of his arms, I let his purr carry me away. I relax into my lifemate's arms and purr my satisfaction, all worries held at bay by our beautiful music.
The rightness of our connection warms my heart, and the plaguing worries from before seem like they were from a different woman.
Dreamless sleep claims me, my body in desperate need of rest.
Chapter Three
Dirk
The warm, wet cloth makes me sneer, but I squeeze harder and thrust my hips, ignoring my sensibilities. Lust demands I keep my quick pace, and I’m past capable of denying my body. My thick length juts from my hips, and I curse it while stroking harder, faster. The damn thing needs to quit ruling me.
Clamping my left fist around my swelling knot, I move the cloth at breakneck speed, demanding the pleasure to peak.
After what must be five days of relentless desire, I’m beyond done with this shit. I’ve lost all sense of time, focusing on slaking my lust and barricading my lifemate from my uncontrollable instincts. Every release seems more hollow, every useless knot irks me further. With no female to tend me, my orgasms hurt and my longing remains unfulfilled.
Thoughts of her keep me from storming out of my den and chasing down the nearest Beta. There are Omegas on this Sky-Flyer, but even with my Rut in full swing, I have zero urge to seek them out. I want my Omega, and while fighting with Seeck would release some of my pent up frustration, I couldn’t do that to Nova. I mean, I could mount her, but I can’t break her happiness. She deserves her lifemate, and if I started tussling with Seeck right now, one of us would die.
Same with Kwame. I haven’t met his lifemate yet, not officially, and while the fire I saw in her eyes tempts me, I don’t want to murder my teammate for her.
I want my Omega. My lifemate. The beautiful, fragile heart I’ve nurtured from the brink of death. The soul too pure and sweet for words. I don’t know what she looks like, nor have I scented her, but I’ve seen the depths of her heart and experienced how innocent yet fierce she is.
My knot inflates under my palm as cum splashes onto my sheets, the orgasm tightening my spine with its intensity. Unable to relent, I crush my swollen cock in my fists, prolonging my release.
Surrounded by filth of my own making, I recover from the worst orgasm of my life. My soaked sheets can’t hold more cum, so my latest offering splatters across the bedding, pooling with my sweat and drying jizz.
Peeling my cramping digits off my deflating knot, disgust rises in me as stickiness makes them difficult to remove.
A strange sensation creeps up behind my eyes, as though fire burns them, and moisture forms.
I’ve fought so hard, nearly died for her, felt her agony, and not once did I come close to crying.
This is self-pity, through and through. The lonely ache in my heart, sense of failure, and physical situation all work against me. I was so close to saving her the other day, yet still we’re apart.
All this wasted pleasure mocks me.
I yearn to have the smell of her slick mingle with my pheromones—my current scent a cloying, incomplete fragrance.
Squeezing my eyes shut, forcing the tears away, I will my muscles to move. After wading out of the disgusting bed, I rise on shaky legs and head to the hygiene bay. Not allowing my eyes to wander to the mirror, I close myself into the shower and start the cleansing cycle.
Another demanding wave of desire overtakes me, and I use the water to punish myself—my fist pulls on my cock, the glide uncomfortable due to the lack of slick. As soap sprays on my body, I ignore the thrumming of the link and orgasm, the slippery coating too close to what I imagine slick would feel like. As white splatters the wall, I grit my teeth and keep stroking, bringing my other hand to my knot.
With too much pressure, I clamp down on the overbearing thing, giving it what it demands and more. My growl rumbles through the tiny enclosure, the sight of my cum washing off the wall disturbing. As the soap carries it down, I feel equal parts anger and thankfulness.
The tightness in my spine loosens, completing the hollow feeling in my body. Water begins rinsing away the soap, and I pray my Rut relents. My sore cock softens, my knot deflating quicker than ever, and I lean my forehead against the wall.
The link in my chest vibrates, and urgency almost has me opening it, but I refuse. I will not submit my Omega to this, not when I can’t soothe her. I need to make sure my Rut has ended before allowing our connection to thrive again.
As the last of the soap swirls down the drain, I lift my weary arm and slap the off button, not wanting to wait for the dry cycle. The cool air blasts across my nakedness as I leave the shower, and when I register my reaction to the temperature, hope flares.
Instead of relief from the overwhelming heat of Rut, goosebumps pebble along my arms. I head straight to the food storage, cracking open a water bottle and guzzling it down. After emptying three more bottles, I place them in the trash compartment and stare at my bed.
Such a mess. Disaster.
Pillows and comforters soaked in my lonely essence show how resilient an omega must be to accept an Alpha’s attention. How they should be treasured for the mind-boggling things they can handle.
I long to watch my mate build our nest. The longing has grown over the last few days, each round of boiling lust so unfulfilling I almost let myself succumb to insanity. In my craze, I ripped blankets and destroyed pillows, angry at the lack of nest and Omega.
Now I must clean the destruction and hope we have more nesting materials stashed away. I want the room to be perfect when she gets here. As I gather the ruined materials and send them down the garbage chute, I wait for signs of another wave of arousal, but none come.
By the time I’ve stripped the bed and thrown the offending materials in the laundry, I’m certain my Rut has finished.
Eager to connect with my lifemate again, but not in the right mindset, I keep the link closed and redress the mattress. After fixing the bed with lethargic movements, the urge to empty my bladder has me stumbling to the relief ports.
I relieve myself, drink more water, then drop down into the clean pit of pillows and blankets.
&nbs
p; Just an hour or two, then I’ll be rested enough to comfort and care for my Omega.
Between one breath and the next, slumber sucks me down into inky blackness.
Chapter Four
Shya
Crust crinkles in my eyes as I try to open them. My head throbs and my throat hurts, and everything has an odd blurry sensation around the edges.
Memories of the last time I was conscious seep into my thoughts, and I cringe in equal parts fear and horror.
Who was that person, that child with no control? Why would that mean woman treat me so callously? What is this place, with its hospital set up and misery oozing from the walls?
I don’t want to wake, but my mind becomes aware of my surroundings in small increments, and I find fighting it to be futile. The odd sensation makes me feel as though the world has been covered in cotton, and as I study the tempo of my breathing, I conclude I must be drugged.
Being an Omega in a Beta society, I’ve never experienced anything stronger than supplements. Without exposure to Alphas, I had no reproductive issues, and as an Omega I wasn’t prone to Beta infections or diseases.
But I’ve read the disclaimers on a few types of heavy sedatives—my mom needed them—and I imagine this is what the warnings would produce. Even a decade after my father died an honorable death and we were granted admittance to Baseon, she still had intense heats. Her cycles were so hard on her she requested sedatives. She'd always act tired and uncoordinated.
I feel that way now.
Peeling my lids open, I rip a few eyelashes out, the crust too thick to widen them without doing so. The muted pain seems like less than a nuisance, but I close them again and let the responding tears loosen the gunk.
A half-gasp, half-laugh leaves me as I startle from my own hand, the floppy fingers smacking my temple.
I expected them to still be tied to the bed railing. Or maybe I forgot I had hands?
The effort of cleaning my face proves to be too much, so I relax my muscles and let my arm fall, uncaring when it lands in an odd position. Cold seeps into my bones, the chill of the room piercing the single sheet laying over me, and a ball forms at the bottom of my throat.
The emptiness in my heart pleads for relief, but I swallow down the sob. Even that feels weird, the fuzziness permeating my organs.
As a clock ticks on undisturbed, the misery of the place works its way into my skeleton, as though the cold has given it permission to invade me.
I don’t like it. I want to leave.
I need my Alpha to come back. He saved me; I know this without a doubt.
More time passes, the steady tick-tock of the clock becoming more pronounced as the cottony feeling dissipates. The increase of my heart's beating signifies the sedative loosening its hold on me, but after an infinite amount of time goes by, it stays constant, never fully leaving my system.
The panic in my soul remains, but it’s muted, so I allow the ball of misery to gather in my throat. I halt its ascent. There’s no stopping its growth, but I can hold back the sob.
It takes effort, but I lift my arm and swipe it across my face. The pain in my head and throat throb in time to my heartbeat but seem less important than my emotional pain.
Thick, ugly scars mar my heart, the accident ripping me from a new yet deep friendship.
I may have led a monotonous, secluded life, but I had my mother and a reliable job. I had love and security.
The cruel treatment I received after the accident worsens the experience.
While my physical eyes stare up at a white ceiling, my internal vision pulls up Britani’s visage. Her uncertainty as she approached me the first time became an undeniable connection so fast the glee had kept me from recognizing my discomfort. The warnings my body gave went unheeded, until the sun was ready to set and dread sat heavy in my belly. I’d reached out to her, desperate for a friendly touch before death, but was unsuccessful.
Her terror-filled eyes and outstretched hand have seared themselves into my memory.
I want to build a nest of happiness with my mother, Britani, and my Alpha protector, but the uncertainty of my life smacks every theoretical attempt away.
The swish of a door opening attracts my attention. With a quiver of unease in my belly, I look toward the sound, fearful another uncaring nurse has come to hurt me again.
Upon seeing the grey dress, my quiver grows to shaking, but the foreign fuzziness prevents full-blown panic. Swallowing the lump back down into place, I watch as another woman enters the room. It takes me a moment, but I realize the difference between these women and the others from before.
They don’t wear surgical caps or masks, their dresses have no buttons, and they are Omegas, not Betas. My heart thumps in yearning and apprehension.
The first female, a black haired, blue eyed woman with a smile on her face, sets a tray on the table across the room. Her stunning beauty and perfect teeth don’t belong in this terrible place.
The other, a stern-looking brunette with orange eyes, moves to stand against the wall by a ginormous mirror. She holds her own beauty, but instead of youth and vibrancy like the first Omega, she exudes a muted elegance and wisdom only available to those who’ve lived through a difficult experience.
My skin prickles as I notice my surroundings for the first time. I am not in the same room as before. The medical machines are bolted to the wall beside and behind my little bed. A real mattress supports my body, but its about as comfortable as the hospital bed—the hard frame underneath can be felt through the worn springs.
A stool sits under the tiny table across the way, completing the room's furniture.
Behind that large mirror, I feel others moving around, but the pillowy buffer along my senses stops further inspection.
The blue-eyed woman blocks my view of the other Omega and half of the mirror as she approaches.
“We're glad you’re awake, Shya. My name is Georgia, and I’m here to help you. You must be starving! Come eat some food.”
I am starving. My hollow stomach has been empty for so long it no longer registers, but at her words it announces its needs.
The woman’s smile seems genuine, but I don’t think I like her very much. She smells weird, and I don’t like how cheery she is.
Nothing is okay right now. She shouldn’t be happy. I don’t want her near me.
After a labored swallow, I decide to not use my voice. If I do, I’ll most likely revert to crying again, and they tied me down last time.
I shake my head and pull my arms tight to my chest when she extends her palm to me.
Her smile falters and her eyes harden, but she pastes the smile back on.
“I won’t hurt you, Shya. Time to get up and eat.”
I don’t trust her, and standing up seems too big of a change, too scary. The last time I was on my own two feet, my transporter malfunctioned and I almost died.
“Now, Shya. You must move your body and eat the food.”
I hug myself tighter and shake my head harder. My heart pounds, even through the fuzziness, the fear whisking away complicated thoughts. I squeeze my eyes shut, rolling to face away from her, and pull my knees up so I can hug them too.
Her cold fingers wrap around my bicep and a sob breaks free. Sucking in my next breath, I use it to push down the next sob, filling my lungs too full and making them ache.
“Let go, Georgia. Step back, let her calm down.” A soft, serene voice floats through the air.
Warm tendrils of encouragement and strength drift into my heart, and for a moment joy overcomes my woes.
When I realize it isn’t my Alpha returning to me, a black pit of disappointment wells up. He must have forgotten about me.
The new support holds too much femininity to be my lifemate. She’s tired, both in her body and her soul, but she offers her encouragement without hesitation.
Her mix of sorrow and love make me think of my mother. I snatch up the comfort without further hesitation, but don’t take more than she offers.
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Even though I crave more, I refuse to invade her, sensing the severity of her suffering.
My new ally, the second Omega to enter the room, sends more relief into my heart. Her stern, composed face flashes through my thoughts, and I see it for what it is.
Her mask.
The only thing in her life she has control over.
Cold digits leave my arm, and my shaking lessens. It takes time, but eventually the quaking settles to a slight tremor. The sounds of their breathing help me to find my own rhythm, pushing down the urge to sob my misery.
When I inspect the connection between myself and the brunette Omega, the sense of familiarity warms my heart. We have no history, but I’ve felt this type of kinship once before.
Britani.
My time with her was brief but intense. The same earnestness wafts from this woman’s soul.
Rolling over takes more effort than I expect, but I make it to my other side and peel my eyes open.
Georgia still blocks my view of the woman. When she steps closer, my muscles tense again.
The gentle voice carries power similar to the comfort the older Omega offers me.
“It will hurt, Shya, but you can do it. We'll start with sitting up. You can do it on your own.”
She doesn’t purr, but the stern words hold no room for negotiation. I don’t move, staring up at Georgia.
“She is there for your safety. Would you like to fall on the floor?”
For a moment my eyebrows scrunch in defiance. Is she helping or tricking me?
A nagging suspicion flickers in my mind, but the walls ooze their remembered misery and I recall my earlier treatment. I’d rather do it myself than see what they do if I refuse.
