Page 6

At 11 pm, I decided it was time to get ready. I headed to the bathroom and took a long, thorough shower. The company advised us to use the strongest antiperspirants to ensure an undisturbed experience for our clients. After that, I put on my outfit—it looked a bit like what ninja warriors wear in the movies, the real ones, not the turtles. I also grabbed my ski mask and tucked it into my pocket; riding through the city wearing it would’ve been asking for trouble.

The student’s studio apartment wasn’t far, maybe a twenty-minute drive, right near the college campus—super convenient. I parked a short distance away and scoped out the area, checking to see if I could get to his window without being noticed.

Luckily, the student seemed aware his neighborhood wasn’t exactly intruder-proof. Some of the apartments faced a backyard full of shrubs, which gave plenty of cover. According to Mr. Ragu’s layout, the student’s place was smack in the middle of the building: the sixth window from the left, seventh from the right—the kitchen. Even from a distance, I noticed he’d left the window slightly open, like he was setting the stage for me.

Everything was lining up. My heart started to race as I got closer to the window, the thrill making my pulse pick up speed. I checked my phone—1:04 am, prime break-in time when everyone’s usually dead asleep.

Not feeling a need to overthink it—that would just make me more jumpy—I hoisted myself onto the windowsill and nudged the window open. It swung without a hitch. I left my shoes on the lawn, hoping nobody would find them, and stepped inside in my black, non-slip socks.

In my pocket, I had condoms, a lube sachet, and a black satin ribbon to tie his hands. I rarely tied clients up tightly; it was mostly for show, no need for metal chains.

The kitchen was tiny, as you’d expect in a studio apartment. I took a deep breath out of habit, even though I’d been taking the super-strong pheromone suppressant Seprudin 750 since I joined the company six months ago. It always felt a little strange not picking up the scent of omegas, and them not smelling me. But it was a rule. The company didn’t want clients sniffing out zero pheromone compatibility and having it ruin the mood.

As I moved deeper inside, though, I caught the faintest hint of something nice—sweet and charming. I couldn’t quite place it, but it gave me a slight shiver. Even with the suppressant, I felt a little warmth in my groin.

The apartment was quiet and dark. I tiptoed into the hallway and spotted two doors—one shut, the other cracked open. The open one led to the bedroom, where that light, elusive scent was coming from, teasing at the edges of my senses. Sometimes it slipped away; sometimes I felt close to catching it. Were my alien genes breaking through the suppressant?

Holding my breath, I snuck into the room. My night vision kicked in—a perk from my extraterrestrial ancestors. Now, I could clearly see the bed in the center of the room. Curled up under a quilt, surrounded by a meticulously crafted omega nest, lay a small figure.

My heart fluttered.

I knew immediately he wasn’t really sleeping. His heart was racing, pounding way too fast. I could hear it as clear as day—he was probably startled awake by my not-so-stealthy entrance, or maybe he’d been just lying there the whole time, wide awake, waiting for my visit. He kept still, though, despite his heart thumping in quick, nervous beats.

Closing my eyes for a moment, I tuned into the sounds of the room—his breathing, the nervous swallows. Being a purple alpha, my hearing was more acute than the hearing of other alphas, so I caught all the subtle, organic sounds. Obviously, he knew I could tell he wasn’t asleep; he was just lying there, pretending, playing along.

A lot of clients did this—nervously waiting for the company employee to show up. Probably hadn’t slept a wink, and this guy seemed no different.

Slowly, I moved around the bed, studying his nest in the darkness. It caught my attention—it was intricately made. The blankets and scarves were woven into tight braids, forming what looked like… a perfect rose! Wow. I’d never seen such an impressive and complicated nest before, not even online. It was a work of art, a masterpiece—the king of all nests!

So, I stood there in utter amazement. My ex had always thrown together a sloppy, half-hearted nest out of old clothes and rags, but this guy had poured his heart and soul into his.

Realizing I’d been hovering there like a creep, staring at his hypnotic, rose-shaped nest, I snapped myself out of it.

C’mon, Storm. Focus.

It was time for action, so I grabbed the edge of the quilt and yanked the cover off with a sharp tug.

Damien finally screamed.

Loudly. I guess it was a relief for him to let out that sound—the tension he’d been holding in, keeping him taut as a bowstring. He started to sit up, but I leapt onto him, landing in the middle of his nest. Oddly enough, I didn’t want to wreck it. Normally, I wouldn't give a damn and would destroy my ex's shabby nests.

But now? Funny, I wanted this to stay intact, to survive the whole thing. I knew nests had that effect on alphas—their violent instincts tended to diminish a bit when they were surrounded by the nest’s scent. While crafting it, omegas excreted small amounts of pheromones via their wrist glands, and the scent could be quite distinctive—reflective of the omega's mood during the crafting or their general mental health. This time I was strangely eager to feel the full effect of it. But no luck. The damn pheromone suppressant.

The young omega was wearing only a t-shirt and nothing else, which was quite convenient. I was now on top of him, pressing his warm, soft body against the bed.

Wow, such a nice feeling… like landing on a silky pillow.

He raised his hands and tried to push me away, but I grabbed his wrists and pinned them to the sheets. I could hear his gasping, the weak, helpless sounds he made as he was trying to throw me off him, and this spiked my discomfort for some reason.

Why the hell was I squashing this little omega?

It just felt wrong. I hoped he’d say the safe word. But… he didn’t.

And since he didn’t, I had to keep going, despite everything in me protesting against any form of brutality toward this soft, warm human being. I hated the idea of jerking him around, tossing him across the bed, or treating him roughly. Damn it! I had this idiotic thought that I would rather have him embrace me… lovingly.

What? Seriously, Storm?

I blinked in shock. I never had such a strange feeling with any other client.

Wrong, just wrong, bad, bad, bad… kept popping up in my head like an 'Update your Windows' notification.

Why the heck did I hire myself into this filthy company? Never before in my life had I had to force an omega into anything, and it just made me physically sick. But what should I do now? Resign? Escape? Fuck, it felt like a trap.

For a moment, I just lay there, keeping him pinned down, taking deep breaths, and listening to his quiet whimpers. Well. Since I was already in this mess—whatever the hell it was—I decided not to rush things. Calm down, Storm. Just breathe. Despite all the wrongness alerts going nuts in my head, it was unexpectedly pleasant to lie on his plush body. That strange scent I could only half-sense, lingering at the edge of my subconscious, was becoming easier to catch.

A garden full of fragrant pink sweet roses? When I was a kid, I loved eating marshmallows dipped in rose jam. My dad made that jam after collecting pink rugosa rose petals, and I was its biggest fan.

The whole time I was sniffing, my face stayed buried in his neck because, for some reason, I avoided looking into his eyes. I’d seen them briefly before I lowered myself—wide, dark, and, of course, monochromatic. My night vision had its limits. Slowly, I shifted closer to his neck glands, lifting my ski mask just a bit, and instinctively inhaled his scent one more time. Maybe now? Nope.

Damn suppressants. I was so close to catching it—figuring out what kind of mateship we had. But it kept slipping away, and the frustration was maddening.

Out of habit, I let my nose linger over his glands for a long moment, noticing they’d never been marked before. Just smooth skin under my nose, untouched by the teeth of other alphas.

All in all, he was just a twenty-year-old guy. Maybe he’d already had one heat, or maybe it was still ahead of him. Lots of omegas had their first heat between eighteen and twenty-two.

I swiped my tongue over his glands and Damien made a strange vibrating sound. His body tensed, trying to push me off, but the resistance quickly faded. I used the moment to pull a ribbon from my pocket and tie his hands. This time, he didn’t put up much of a fight, which was a huge relief. I kept feeling this weird revulsion at wrestling with him. The difference in strength between us was immense, and for that very reason, it felt simply unfair.

God, how much I wished he’d just participate willingly.

Wait… in a way, he did! I realized he sensed my hesitation because his struggling slowed down. Tying someone’s hands when they’re actively resisting is no easy feat—you need both hands on the ribbon—but he suddenly went still, lying motionless as I tied him up. Proof of his consent?

If I’d really followed his instructions from the script, I should have been handling him more roughly—he wanted it to be that way, at least at the beginning of his scenario. But that wasn’t something I could bring myself to do. And I think he realized that, and let me bind his wrists, lying there and waiting submissively.

As I finished, I hesitated. On a strange impulse, I slowly slid my hand into his small, soft palm. And I kinda… awkwardly held it for a while, the room filled only with our breathing. Eventually, his fingers moved and very lightly closed over mine. Was this another way of showing me he consented? It felt pleasant, this gentle, delicate touch of his.

Out of nowhere, I felt an odd urge to say something to him. I remembered he wanted compliments—about his looks, his body, his sex appeal, and how much I desired him. Allegedly. Or, in this case, for real. Now seemed like the perfect time to dive into the scenario.

Smiling to myself, I leaned in close and whispered into his ear, "I’ve been thinking about you all day. I couldn’t focus on anything else but the thought of having you tonight. I fantasized for hours and got hard, wanting to be inside you so badly."

My words sank in, and he let out a short, rapturous sigh—I knew he wanted to hear my confessions of pure ‘desire and obsession’. The funny thing was, I didn't even have to lie. I had been thinking about him all day, even before I accepted his assignment. Four days already!

"I wish I didn’t have these damn suppressants," I murmured. "I’d love to scent you right now, to just drown in your fragrance. I know it would be beautiful and sweet, just like you."

He made another sound—a light, disbelieving snort mixed with a sigh, something he couldn’t quite hold back. For some reason, I knew exactly what it meant: he didn’t believe he could be beautiful to me—or to anyone else, not truly.

Leaning forward, I kissed him just under the jaw and along his neck, covering his skin with wet smooches and leaving light love bites since he hadn’t forbidden them in his scenario. Being close to his ear, I murmured, "You don’t have to believe me, but it’s all true. You’re very cute. Your eyes are so sad and beautiful, and your lips—God, they’re so soft. I feel like tasting them… and maybe I will?"

Impulsively, I shifted a little, just to be able to kiss him, but then I froze. That tiny, nagging thought hit me: had he requested that in the scenario? My stomach sank as I cursed under my breath. No, I was almost certain he hadn’t.

So, my lips hovered just an inch above his, before I sighed and pulled back. Instead, I went back to kissing his neck and collarbones, sticking to safe territory.

Then I felt something unexpected—something hard, pressing lightly against my side.

Jackpot! My actions had an effect after all. Damien liked it—and it was all about making him happy.

Though I obviously didn't have an ounce of a real rapist in me, I still wanted to make the most of his scenario. Therefore, I grabbed the hem of his t-shirt and pulled it over his head, and it stayed up there, wrapped around his wrists because of his bound hands. Now my mouth could slide lower over his bare torso, and it was then that I discovered what Damien meant when he said he was a bit chubby.

His body had a soft, streamlined shape; his shoulders were rounded, and his chest was as filled out as that of a pregnant omega. The cones of his breasts rose stiffly, the areolas were puffy, but the tips were hard and taut, waiting for my mouth. I wasn’t going to let them down.