Page 7 of Game On

As I waited, I ran Cherry’s little list through my head again. They were a pretty exact match to mine, which was a relief. Especially if I was going to have to spend the next couple days cosplaying as some big meathead alphahole.

There was one that stuck out to me though: breeding.

Though breeding wasn’t the most uncommon choice, I’d rarely found someone who greenlit it here, and I was excited to see how much she truly wanted it—especially with her pause on penetration.

Maybe toys would be okay?

The minutes passed at a painfully slow pace, giving me ample time to run scenarios about whatexactlymy omega would want. Would she want someone strong and dominant? What would that even look like from me?

Would I be able to choke out the words needed to order someone around?

“Let’s go,” Cameo finally said, pulling me from my thoughts like he wasn’t the one who sent me into this spiraling pit of anxiety and self-doubt in the first place.

I fidgeted with the tie of my robe as we headed down the corridor, Cameo stopping when he reached room eight. I averted my eyes from the large picture window allowing passing alphas, and most importantly staff, a view inside to check in on the omegas.

“Have fun, and remember what I said,” Cameo said, clapping my shoulder and opening the door with a wave of toffee-sweet perfume that made my blood heat.

I continued on, the hotel-like atmosphere starting and ending with the long hallway of many doors.

The walls were a deep red with a velvet-like textured filigree pattern in a matching shade. Tasteful, if not overtly sexual in the nature of the kinks they highlighted via nude artwork hung between each room, like some kind of perverted gallery dedicated to giving alphas ideas on how to fuck an omega stupid.

My favorite was a line work piece—a person in a collar being tugged on a leash held by a hand that led off frame. It was devoid of color save for that bright pink leash, affixed to a matching collar, that I couldn’t tear my eyes from.

Was this what Cameo meant omegas wanted? I’d assumed every one is different and wouldn’t necessarily want this exact thing, but something to this regard? Total and complete submission?

Soon I reached room thirteen, peering through the window and into the room beyond. A woman, covered in a myriad of beautiful black and white tattoos lay on her back, her thick thighs glossy with her needy slick as she fucked herself with a large, bright pink knotted dildo.

My cock became painfully hard near instantly, forcing the air from my lungs as I licked my dry lips.

She was…Exquisite.

Long, dark hair that pooled around her like liquid as she panted and rocked, trying to force the toy deeper inside her hairless, pretty pink pussy.

Her chest tattoo, a moth with enormous wings that covered her from sternum to throat, seemed to flutter with every gasping breath, her moans just barely meeting my ears through the glass of the two-way mirror as I leaned my forehead against it.

I wanted to be closer as much as I never wanted to enter the room. Cherry wasn’t just my type, she wasthetype. The kind of delicately feminine creature that stoked the part of me that dreamed of caring for an omega.

To make them feel safe and special.

But that wasn’t what this was about. There were no mate bonds at Omega’s Lust. You were looking for some easy tail, and an omega needed a fuckdoll that could actually keep up with them.

I shook myself, reaching for the intercom—my hand stilling as the omega crawled to the headboard to affix the dildo’s suction cup to it, meeting my eyes—though I was sure she was actually watching herself, the idea only making the entire thing hotter—as she rode back against the toy.

My cock pulsed with desire as she fucked herself, hand moving to try the door before I could think to try and speak to her through the intercom—and finding it locked.

Fuck.

I pressedmyself back against the toy I’d suctioned to the headboard, my slick making it easy to fall back against it, until the knot nudged at my entrance, driving me wild. I arched my back, rocking on my knees to fuck myself—moans coming loud and frequent as the ridged surface of the toy stretched and rubbed against me just shy of where I needed it most.

This was the problem, the more intense my heats got, the harder it was to keep myself satisfied. And though a fuck machine had done me well for the last couple, the aftermath was so unpleasant I didn’t want to experience it again.

The ache. The longing. The loneliness.

It was… nearly unbearable.

I needed a nesting partner, someone to tend to the emotional side of the heat as much as the sexual.

And, fuck. Now that I was thinking about it?

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