Page 53 of Knot Their Arrangement

The interviews with Omegas from various backgrounds, the careful study of cultural dynamics, the countless revisions to ensure every detail rang true. I've always believed that fiction, when crafted carefully, can be more honest than reality.

Looking at her now, seeing how my words have helped her understand herself better, makes all that effort worth it.

Though I can't help but wonder how she'd react if she knew Xavier Knight was sitting right across from her, watching her blush over his sex scenes.

"You've never been around a pack that thrives off their Omega being pleased?"

Damon's question hangs in the air between us, weighted with implications that go far beyond its surface simplicity.

I expect Kamari to retreat into shyness, to display that endearing blush that's colored her cheeks so frequently tonight.

Instead, she considers the question with surprising gravity.

Her expression turns thoughtful, analytical even, as if she's been presented with a complex philosophical query that demands careful consideration. The shift in her demeanor is fascinating – gone is the flustered young woman from moments ago, replaced by someone more contemplative.

"No," she finally answers, her voice carrying a clarity that catches my attention. "I've never been around a pack of men, Alpha or Beta, who've acknowledged the idea of me feeling comfortable in the same shared space, let alone care about how I please myself in or outside of their company."

She reaches for her wine glass with deliberate grace, finishing its contents in one impressive swallow.

The gesture carries undertones of rebellion, a subtle defiance against years of cultural conditioning about proper feminine behavior. I find myself cataloging these little acts of rebellion, these moments where she chooses to break free from the constraints of her upbringing.

"It kind of made me rebellious in my youth," she continues, setting the empty glass down with careful precision. "It's why I'm not a virgin."

The casual way she drops this revelation makes both Damon and me go still. In traditional Indian culture, an Omega's virginity isn't just valued – it's practically deified.

The fact that she can discuss its loss so openly speaks volumes about her journey toward self-determination.

"Obviously in my culture, innocence and purity is another level of worship they take seriously," she explains, echoing my thoughts about cultural significance. "But the idea of having to preserve that for a group of men who probably wouldn't care if I ate, drank water, or even breathed the same oxygen as them freely? It gave me the ick."

The modern slang contrasts sharply with the weight of her words, creating an interesting dichotomy. She bridges two worlds – the traditional values she was raised with and the modern sensibilities she's chosen to embrace.

It's a delicate balance, one she seems to navigate with surprising awareness.

"It made me feel no value for myself," she continues, her voice taking on a harder edge. "That I was but an object meant to be used and abused and nothing more. Why would I offer my purity away just to get the approval of greedy men who will gather in the room to ensure the sheets are stained with blood?" She shakes her head, disgust evident in her expression. "It's culture, sure, but it's preposterous in my opinion."

I watch the play of emotions across her features as she speaks – anger, defiance, and underneath it all, a vulnerability that makes my protective instincts stir.

This isn't just youthful rebellion; it's a conscious rejection of systemic oppression disguised as tradition.

"Getting to lose that was more liberating than I expected it to be," she admits after a thoughtful pause. "It wasn't anything special...well, not to say it didn't mean something special to me, because it did in a sense. The guy was young like me. Not sixteen obviously, but three years older, which was fine with me."

Her expression softens as she recalls the memory, and I find myself leaning forward slightly, drawn in by the shift in her energy.

"Despite my lack of experience, he was actually gentle. Kind. Warm. He didn't rush things or only care about his needs and reaching his high. He made it just right, which was what I needed."

There's something almost poetic about how she describes it – not just the physical act, but what it represented. A reclamation of power, a conscious choice to take control of her own pleasure and destiny.

"It was like my Goddess wished to prove to me that despite the cruelty harbored in this world where hierarchy is emphasized on every ladder of existence, there are a few good apples in the world." A small smile plays at her lips as she continues. "I never really got his name because I left before he woke up, but he proved to me that not every Alpha was a jackass hoping to use an Omega like a washcloth."

The raw honesty in her voice is compelling.

She speaks without shame about choices that would scandalize her community, yet there's nothing crude or boastful in her manner. Just simple truth, offered without apology or justification.

"That's why I knew when my father offered my ex-soon to be husband and his pack as potential marriage material, I was immediately turned off by the idea cause I knew there was better out there. That I could do better." Her nose wrinkles slightly in distaste. "Besides, all of them were in their late 30s and early 40s, and though I enjoy my age gap romances, my cut off is a 15 year gap."

I can't help but grin at that last statement, doing the quick mental math. At nineteen, her fifteen-year cutoff puts her maximum acceptable age at thirty-four. A limit that our pack, interestingly enough, all falls comfortably within.

Damon at thirty-three, myself at thirty-two, Ezekiel at twenty-nine...we're all just under that arbitrary line she's drawn. Even Rhett, our youngest at twenty-two, fits comfortably within her acceptable range.

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