Page 11 of Omega Chattel
When I returned with a tray containing the drink and some saltine crackers, he was just coming out of the bathroom, his face still shiny from a cursory wash. He’d taken off his shoes and jacket. The white shirt was unbuttoned down the front.
He looked tousled and exhausted.
I set the tray on the nightstand. “This will settle your stomach.”
He came to the edge of the bed, looking down. “You don’t have to take care of me.”
“Someone does.”
He looked up. “I—I—thank you.”
“My room is next door. If you need me, don’t hesitate to come in and wake me.”
“I would never do that,” he said flatly.
“You will if you need anything. Do you understand?” I tried to sound firm.
“I mean, all this.” He spread his arms, then looked longingly at the bed. “What do you do for a living?”
“Questions. So many questions. We’ll talk in the morning, all right?”
He nodded, weary, looking on the verge of collapse. What more could I do for him?
I had the most annoying thought I wanted him with me, in my bed, sleeping where I could keep an eye on him, put my arms around him, prevent him from getting into any trouble.
Again, this wasn’t like me. I didn’t take advantage of my Omegas.
But I felt the strangest sensation with Alli. The sexual energy was there, but I kept trying to convince myself to dismiss it as mere Alpha to Omega reaction, nothing more.
I had protective instincts for Omegas in general. It was in my Alpha DNA, along with the hormones. But wanting to protect any down and out individual wasn’t unique or rare. At least, not if you weren’t a sociopath or an Omega-hater.
But with Alli it was more. This was me wanting to—what?—mark him, make him smell like he was mine so no one else would ever touch him.
With Kee I never thought about marking him specifically, because I knew he went with other Alphas. The other Omegas I had sponsored had come with numbers of problems that did not attract me in any way more than an instinct to help. I had chosen them to come live with me for their qualities that included intelligence, strength of will, and a seeming willingness to want another life. Most lost and homeless Omegas were embittered and enraged beyond rationality. I used my instinct to choose who I wanted to mentor.
With Alli, he had chosen me. He had followed me. I had wanted to reject him outright. I had wanted to go on with my evening without extra drama, hoping Kee might finally text me.
Then Alli appeared. I kept telling myself the kid was not my type. Not tempting. And yet he was when I finally got a whiff of him. When I turned my full, unwavering attention on him and realized I wasn’t the type to feed him, make him sick on the rich foods, then dump him, I also felt the other pull. It wasn’t like it was with Kee, either, but something else, something more.
Now, as I half-closed the door to his bedroom, I had the urge again to want him near. I wanted to build walls around him—not literally, but mentally. I wanted to know he was close and thriving and not alone.
I turned away, brushing it all off as me feeling sorry for him. His story sucked, like most Omegas’ stories. His hunger and runaway status and needy, friendless state merely filled me with empathy. Plus, I was days away from my Burn. It made me overly sensitive.
Those were the excuses I made to myself.
I went into my bedroom and prepared for bed. It was early for me yet. But something was stirring in me. Something restless, like a storm on the horizon.
The Burn. Yes, that’s what it was. It had to be that and only that dragging me earlier than normal into a pre-fever state where I needed quiet, calm, low light, maybe a good book before expending a lot of my energy over the two to three days that ruled my sexual fevers.
In the shower I discovered myself hard, convincing myself it was because I’d been expecting Kee tonight for some pre-Burn activity—and I quickly took care of it.
Sensitive. I was so sensitive.
As I touched myself, I reeled. More than usual. I could feel the presence in the room just next door, young and unsure, exhausted and alone. I saw his silken tangles of brunet mop, the hairless angles of his thin chest where his shirt was unbuttoned as he’d come out of the bathroom.
I imagined he’d be cool to the touch for his first time, then hot. Real hot. His skin thin over his bones, the ridges of his ribs moving up and down as his breath quickened, his belly concave and small enough that my palm would fit over it perfectly, pressing a little as if to hold him down.
He’d be hard and his cock would be medium sized, not too big, like I liked my Omegas, not too heavy, and it would stand up straight all on its own without needing the support of an encircled thumb and forefinger around the base. The foreskin would still be there, as was the current common trend for Omegas—whereas Alphas were cut half the time for no reason I could see.
