Page 12 of Omega Chattel
That foreskin would be young and unstretched, and pulled back taut without much work exposing his head, the dampness there, the body’s longing.
He would spread his legs and there would be a hint of a shine behind his balls. He’d lift himself and his legs even more to expose that wanton Omega hole…
I didn’t even know I was consciously thinking all these things until I came fast and hard, without much effort, the shower washing the copious amounts of semen that kept jetting from me down the drain.
Depleted, my body felt better. But my mind still sensed him. Like he was merely a breath away.
No Omega had had that much effect on me outside the Burn, or so quickly.
It had to be his sorry state. It couldn’t be his youth since I preferred them a little broken in. It wasn’t his virginity. I was less than patient during my Burns. So what was it?
I got into my bed naked, and picked up my tablet, looking to distract myself from further worry and thoughts about it.
An hour later, though it was still early, my eyelids drooped. I waved out the lights and pulled up the covers, turning on my side.
Sleep came quickly.
Chapter Five
Alli
When I was little, my Omega caretaker in the Children’s Wing of Zilly’s Chattel Farm would give me ginger ale when I felt sick. I loved it. He’d sit with me and rub my head or shoulders as I sat in bed and drank. I was safe and needed for nothing.
Now that sensation returned as I lay back against the sumptuous pillows of Tarin’s guest room and drank the ginger ale in slow sips. For a time, my sense of displacement went away. My hunger abated—though I had thrown up nearly all I’d eaten—and my stomach quieted.
The soda crackers suddenly looked like heaven. I ate two.
My mind stopped spinning. I relished in the clean sheets, the warmth away from the cold nights I’d spent outside, and the peacefulness of an elaborate home that seemed like a dream. The rich Alpha who’d owned it seemed like a dream, as well.
It had only been three nights in all that I’d been out, but it had felt like three months. I’d been so miserable.
That was why I’d followed the Alpha in the first place. Desperation. At least that’s what I told myself.
But that autumn scent of him mixed me up. I’d followed on instinct, not just desperation. My logic veered off from simple need and my feet were moving in his direction as if of their own volition as he moved away from the more dangerous corners of the Trenches.
Like a magnet, my body was pulled by his. Longings from deep inside started to spark into something new. Something I’d only glimpsed, or felt on a very magical night, or from some beautiful dream I’d awakened from that faded fast as I opened my eyes.
That sort of thing—it couldn’t be real. I didn’t want it to be real because if it was something not from my hunger-fed imagination, then I was vulnerable. I could be hurt even more than I ever thought possible. Because that sensation, it felt like everything I was and ever could be. It made me feel as if I had something to lose, and that was a horrifying thought.
Tarin was a wall away. It felt close but far at the same time, and I wanted to sense him with more than my mind. I wanted touch, scent, sound—to hear him breathe, to see him blink his sky-hued eyes with his sole focus on me.
I hadn’t actually met an Alpha before. Not one on one. I wondered if it was normal for an Omega to feel this way around them.
Tarin had literally rescued me. Of course I’d feel affection toward him for that. I’d probably even feel some sort of awe. That alone explained a lot.
My thoughts kept me restless for a while, but exhaustion finally took over.
Morning light bled through the curtains when I next opened my eyes. I had slept so soundly, I hadn’t moved from the spot I was in when I fell to sleep. I had no sense of time.
Blinking, I saw a digital clock on the nightstand.7:53.
I got up and rummaged through my backpack for a clean shirt and trousers. The only ones I had were the usual farm uniform: black pants, white button up. After showering, I put on my cleaner clothes.
Barefoot, I went to the door and peeked into the hallway. I heard no sound, but I smelled coffee and bacon from downstairs.
Following my nose, I found the kitchen we’d walked through last night. Three boys a little older than I sat around a large wooden table decorated with flowers and candlesticks. Tarin stood at a stove making breakfast. For some reason I’d expected him, rich as he was, to order out, or have a chef.
“Are you hungry?” he asked me casually, as if I’d lived there for days.
