Page 43 of His Drama Queen

Seven.

My hand finally cramps too badly to continue. I pull my fingers out. They're wrinkled. Raw. Coated in slick that's still producing even though I've come until I can't see straight.

The water has gone lukewarm. I don't know how long I've been in here.

I turn it off with shaking hands. Sit there in the silence. Naked. Dripping. Utterly defeated.

Between my thighs, I can still feel it. The ache. The emptiness. The biological scream for something I refuse to give.

This is what fighting biology looks like.

This is the price of autonomy.

I dry myself with a towel. Pull on loose clothes that immediately start to smell like aroused omega. Crawl into bed.

The ceiling spins. My body burns.

But I proved something today. Saw their faces. Saw the way I affected them. The way my scent—my biology—worked against them just like theirs works against me.

For the first time since they took me, I had power.

And I'm going to use it.

Every day. Every interaction. Until they understand that I'm not just some genetic destiny to be claimed. I'm a person. With agency. With rights. With the ability to hurt them just as much as they've hurt me.

Biology cuts both ways.

And I'm just getting started.

thirteen

Dorian

Thesecurityfeedshowsher collapsing against the door at 4:47 PM.

I watch her slide down to the floor. Watch her body shake with the fever that's been burning through her for days now. Watch her press a hand between her thighs like she's in physical pain.

She is in pain. I can see it in every trembling line of her. In the way she curls into herself before forcing herself up on shaking legs.

My hand's already in my pants before I can stop myself.

This is wrong. Fuck, I know it's wrong. Knew it was wrong when I had Corvus install the cameras. When I started checking them every hour. When I began cataloging every move she makes, every breath, the way she looks when she thinks no one's watching.

But I can't stop.

Haven't been able to stop since she ran from me.

On screen, her bedroom door stays closed. The shower turns on. Fifteen minutes. Twenty. Longer than her usual routine.

My cock is painfully hard, has been since the pool scene. Since watching her parade around in those obscene shorts, her scent flooding the air thick enough to choke on, that perfect body on display while she pretended not to know what she was doing to us.

To me.

I replay the footage for the third time today. Watch water stream down her body as she climbs out of the pool. The sports bra gone transparent, nipples hard and visible. Those tiny shorts clinging to curves that make my teeth ache.

Watch myself sitting at the pool's edge like a desperate fool. Hands shaking. Can barely fucking breathe.

Pathetic.