Page 21 of Naga’s Mate (Prime Omegaverse #2)
CHAPTER 20
AWAKENING DESIRE
Heat comes for me like a predator in the night—silent, vicious, and absolutely fucking inevitable.
The first sign is almost gentle: a prickling beneath my skin like thousands of tiny needles pressing from within. Then my core temperature spikes so suddenly I nearly drop the molecular analyzer I've been working with for the past three hours. Perspiration forms along my spine, trickling downward in a slow, maddening path.
Six weeks after my failed extraction, and my body decides now is the perfect time for complete biological rebellion. Because of course it does. The universe has a special kind of cruelty reserved for omega botanists who dare to think they've reclaimed some semblance of control over their lives.
"Shit," I whisper, pressing my forehead against the cool surface of the laboratory counter. The metal feels divine against my feverish skin, like pressing my face to an ice sculpture. But the relief lasts only moments before even that sensation transforms into something unbearable—a stimulation so intense it borders on pain.
Without suppressants or recent pregnancy to delay it, my treacherous body is returning to normal omega patterns with a vengeance. Worse, the months of chemical interference—suppressants, venom addiction, pregnancy, extraction purging—have created a perfect storm in my endocrine system. Like a coiled spring compressed beyond its limits, now releasing with catastrophic force.
I try cataloging my symptoms with scientific detachment: elevated temperature (1.8 degrees above baseline), hypersensitivity (fabric against skin registers as abrasive), emotional instability (frustration threatens to spill into tears over a simple molecular miscalculation). Textbook pre-heat indicators, but amplified to nightmare levels.
The door to the laboratory slides open with that whisper-hiss that's become as familiar as my own heartbeat. I don't need to look up to know it's Nezzar—my body recognizes his molecular signature before my conscious mind registers his presence. My scent glands activate instantly, broadcasting pheromones with humiliating eagerness, dampness forming between my thighs in mortifying anticipation.
"Your scent has changed," he observes, voice deceptively soft for a creature who could crush me without effort.
I keep my back to him, hunched over my research as if fascination with molecular structures might somehow override the biological hurricane building inside me. "I'm fine."
His laugh is low, resonant—a sound that sends fresh moisture gathering at my core. "Lies don't become you, little scientist. Your heat scent could wake the dead. I can detect your readiness from here."
When I finally turn to face him, the sight nearly buckles my knees. His pupils have contracted to vertical slits, golden irises burning with predatory focus. His tongue darts out repeatedly, sampling my escalating pheromones in the air between us. Most telling are his lower coils—the way they shift restlessly against the floor, patterns betraying the instinctive alpha response he's clearly fighting to control.
Yet he maintains the restraint he's demonstrated since my return. Despite the biological imperative I can practically see pulsing beneath his scales, he keeps his distance. Conquest Law would permit him to claim me instantly—heat-driven omegas have no legal right to refuse. Yet he remains motionless, watching me with an intensity that burns hotter than my rising fever.
"Medical intervention is available if you wish to suppress it," he offers, the words emerging rougher than his usual precise diction.
The situation creates a critical decision point I can no longer avoid. Chemical suppression or biological submission. The choice he promised becoming unavoidably, terrifyingly immediate.
"How effective would suppression be?" I manage, clinging to scientific inquiry like a lifeline in churning waters.
"Given your current condition? Marginally at best." His honesty cuts deeper than false reassurance would have. "Your system has undergone significant chemical trauma. Further suppression risks permanent endocrine damage."
Of-fucking-course it does. The universe just loves its little ironies, doesn't it?
For three days, I attempt the impossible—working through preliminary heat symptoms as if sheer stubbornness might override millions of years of evolutionary biology. Nezzar provides medical-grade venom to prevent withdrawal while carefully avoiding any claiming behavior. I adjust environmental controls to combat my rising body temperature. We maintain professional distance while discussing research parameters that neither of us can fully focus on.
It's the most elaborate charade I've ever participated in, and it's doomed to spectacular, humiliating failure.
By the third evening, my heat has progressed beyond any hope of control. My skin burns like I've been immersed in acid, every nerve ending screaming for relief. The specialized sleep garments Nezzar provided feel like serrated metal against my hypersensitive flesh. Wetness gathers between my thighs with such abundance I've given up trying to stay dry, the sheets beneath me soaked through despite changing them twice already.
Worst of all is the emptiness. An ache so profound it transcends physical discomfort, becoming something closer to existential agony. My inner walls contract around nothing, muscles spasming with such violence I curl into myself, whimpering against the pain.
Through the wall, I hear Nezzar moving restlessly in his healing pool. The scents I'm producing must be torturing him—an alpha denied his biological imperative, forced to resist claiming an omega in full-blown heat just meters away. The restraint he's showing defies everything I've been taught about naga alphas and their instincts.
And suddenly, with perfect clarity cutting through the hormonal chaos, I understand what I need to do.
Not because of biology alone. Not because of addiction. Not because of circumstances beyond my control.
But because I choose it.
The distinction hits me with seismic force—the difference between forced submission and conscious surrender. Between coercion and consent. Between having something done to me and actively deciding to do it myself.
Rising from my damp sheets feels like moving through dense fluid, every movement requiring concentrated effort. The thin silk robe clings to my moisture-slicked skin as I make my way toward Nezzar's chamber. By the time I reach his door, I can barely stand straight, my legs trembling from the exertion of fighting my body's need to assume the omega presentation posture ingrained in my DNA.
I don't knock. Heat-driven need strips away social niceties like caustic acid dissolving metal.
His chamber maintains higher humidity than human comfort typically allows, the atmosphere heavy with mineral-rich moisture that supports naga physiology. Specialized lighting casts everything in blue-green ambiance reminiscent of deep ocean waters. Scent-enhancing plants that I helped cultivate line the walls, their biochemical emissions designed to amplify pheromones—a choice I now realize was deliberate preparation for this very moment.
At the center of the chamber, a healing pool occupies most of the floor space—not water in the conventional sense but a suspension of nutrients and minerals maintained at precise temperature. Nezzar reclines in its depths, scales gleaming with iridescent patterns that shift as he detects my entrance.
His upper body rises from the pool with liquid grace, nutrient-rich solution streaming from his powerful form in rivulets that trace the defined musculature of his torso before disappearing into the more serpentine lower half. Even in the dim lighting, I see the moment his control fractures—pupils contracting to microscopic slits, scales rippling across his skin in waves of emerald and sapphire, tongue darting out so rapidly it blurs in the humid air. The unmistakable bulge beneath his scales betrays his growing arousal, his cocks already stirring within their protective slit.
"I choose this," I state, the words emerging with surprising steadiness despite the inferno consuming me from within. My hands move to the sash of my robe, untying it with deliberate slowness before letting the garment slide from my shoulders to pool at my feet. "Not because of biology alone, but with full understanding of what it means."
Naked before him, I'm hypersensitive to every change heat has wrought in my body—nipples taut and flushed dark rose, skin gleaming with perspiration, thighs visibly damp with evidence of my readiness, pulse visibly hammering at the claiming mark on my neck. The cool air against my overheated flesh sends violent tremors racing along my spine.
He rises fully from the healing pool, liquid cascading from his massive form. His control appears held by the thinnest thread as my heat scent intensifies in the humid air between us. Scales ripple across his skin in patterns that signal extreme arousal—not just patches now but nearly complete transformation.
"Are you certain?" he asks, his voice barely recognizable, roughened to something primal and hungry. Yet even now, with his twin members visibly emerging from their concealed slit and his entire body trembling with restraint, he offers me this final chance to retreat.
My answer comes not through words but action. I step directly into his space, close enough to feel the radiant heat of his scales against my bare skin. Then, with deliberate intent that transforms biological imperative into conscious choice, I tilt my head to expose my neck—the claiming scar visible against my pale skin.
The gesture carries unmistakable meaning in omega biology—submission, acceptance, invitation. But it means something entirely different when offered rather than coerced, when chosen rather than compelled.
His response is immediate and overwhelming. Powerful hands grasp my waist, lifting me as if I weigh nothing. I'm suddenly airborne, suspended by coils that wrap around my thighs and waist with predatory precision. His tongue sweeps across my claiming mark, sampling the concentrated pheromones my scent gland produces.
"I've missed this," he murmurs against my throat, fangs grazing the sensitive skin without breaking it. "Missed being inside you. Missed the taste of your surrender."
A sound escapes me, high and desperate, as one thick coil slides between my thighs, the smooth scales a shocking contrast against my fevered flesh. It doesn't penetrate, just glides through the abundant moisture, gathering my wetness as it passes teasingly over my sensitive bundle of nerves.
"Look at you," he hisses, golden eyes burning into mine. "Already prepared for me. Your body remembers its rightful alpha, even if your mind tried to forget."
The words send fresh heat coursing through me, another wave of wetness gathering at my core. My hips move involuntarily, seeking firmer contact.
"Please," I gasp, the first of many entreaties that will fall from my lips tonight.
"Please what, little scientist?" His tail tip circles my entrance without pushing inside, the teasing contact almost worse than no touch at all. "Use your words. Tell me exactly what you need."
"I need—" My voice breaks as another coil wraps around my throat, applying just enough pressure to make breathing a conscious effort. The edge of danger only heightens my arousal, omega instinct recognizing the dominance display on a cellular level. "Need you inside me. Need to be filled completely."
His answering sound vibrates through his entire serpentine form and into mine. "Not yet. I'm going to savor you first. Make you beg properly for what you need."
Multiple coils move with terrifying coordination, repositioning me with brutal efficiency. I find myself suspended in midair, arms secured above my head by one powerful coil, legs spread wide by two others. I'm completely exposed and vulnerable, displayed like a biological specimen for his examination.
"Beautiful," he murmurs, one scaled finger tracing the evidence of my arousal. The touch is both too much and nowhere near enough. "So ready for me. So prepared to be claimed and filled."
Another coil moves up my body, its tip circling one sensitive peak before flicking across it with deliberate precision. The dual sensations—the coil between my legs teasing my entrance while another torments my breast—draw a broken sound from my throat.
"That's it," Nezzar encourages, his control giving way to rut-driven hunger. "Let me hear how desperate my little omega is."
Two coils now focus on my breasts, encircling them to squeeze and lift while their tips tease my nipples with merciless accuracy. Another explores my mouth, sliding between my lips in unmistakable simulation of what his members will soon do elsewhere. The invasion would horrify me under any other circumstances, but heat-driven need transforms it into yet another erotic torment.
"Look how beautifully you submit," he growls, watching me accept his coil with evident satisfaction. "Your body knows exactly what it was made for, doesn't it?"
I try to answer, but the coil in my mouth makes speech impossible. All I can manage is a muffled sound as another moves between my spread thighs, this one finally pushing into my entrance—but only the tip, nowhere near enough to satisfy the aching emptiness inside.
"Do you want more?" he asks, the coil between my legs pushing in another inch before retreating. "Tell me how badly you need to be filled."
The coil slides from my mouth, leaving me gasping. "Please," I plead, dignity abandoned in the face of overwhelming need. "Please fill me. I need you inside me. Need to be claimed and taken and—just take me already!"
"Not yet," he counters, the sadistic denial drawing another desperate sound from my throat. "You tried to leave me. Tried to reject our bond. Now you'll learn what it means to truly submit."
His coils reposition me again, turning me to face away from him before pulling me back against his scaled chest. The hard length of his twin members press against the small of my back, hot and slick with whatever fluid precedes their venom load. The feeling of them—so close yet not where I desperately need them—nearly breaks me.
"You haven't earned my full attention yet," he whispers against my ear, forked tongue flicking the sensitive shell. "Show me how sorry you are for trying to leave."
The coil between my legs pushes deeper this time, though still nothing compared to what his actual anatomy will feel like. It twists inside me, the specialized musculature allowing it to move in ways no human could match. Another coil encircles my throat again, this one tighter than before, restricting blood flow just enough to make my vision blur slightly at the edges.
Just when I think I might actually perish from frustrated need, the tip of his tail finds my most sensitive point, circling the swollen bundle with devastating precision. The stimulation is almost too intense, my oversensitized body hovering between pleasure and pain.
"That's it," he hisses as my hips move helplessly against his manipulations. "Chase your release. Show me how desperately you need it."
I'm so close, the climax building with unstoppable force, when suddenly all stimulation stops. The coil inside me withdraws completely. The one around my throat loosens. The tail tip leaves my sensitive bud. I cry out in frustration, body trembling with denied release.
"Not until I'm inside you," Nezzar growls, his restraint finally shattering completely. "Not until you're stretched and filled so completely that you forget you ever existed without me."
His coils flip me around to face him, my legs spread wide on either side of his serpentine lower body. I catch a glimpse of his twin cocks—thick, ridged, and glistening with venom secretions that catch the blue-green light. Already the bases are beginning to swell, the early signs of the knots that will lock us together. My body responds with shameless eagerness at the sight, omega biology overriding even the last vestiges of human dignity.
"Please," I plead, beyond pride or pretense. "Please, alpha. I need you inside me."
The final word—alpha—triggers something primal in him. His pupils contract to invisible slits, a snarl revealing fangs designed for claiming. His twin cocks fully emerge from their protective sheath, engorged to their maximum size and already glistening with pre-venom fluid. With one powerful motion, he drives both erections into me simultaneously.
The invasion is exquisite agony—twin cocks stretching me beyond what should be physically possible, their ridged surfaces creating friction that sends electric current racing up my spine. Pain and pleasure blur into something transcendent as my body frantically accommodates what should be impossible. Every ridge and texture drags against nerve endings evolved specifically for this claiming, sending contradictory signals of violation and satisfaction to my overwhelmed brain. I can feel the bases of his erections already beginning to swell, the early promise of knots that will lock us together during climax.
"Gods," I cry out, the word torn from my throat as he fills me completely, the bases of his members pressed against me. I'm impaled, stuffed, stretched to breaking point—his twin lengths so deep I swear I can feel them in my chest.
"Still fighting?" Nezzar growls, beginning to move with deliberate, punishing strokes, his engorged cocks pulsing inside me. "Your body has already surrendered. Say it, omega. Tell me who you belong to."
"You," I gasp as he drives deeper, the word both surrender and relief. "I belong to you, alpha."
Venom floods my system with each thrust, that initial coolness quickly giving way to liquid fire racing along neural pathways established during previous claimings. My enhanced senses return with overwhelming intensity—colors sharpening to painful clarity, scents crystallizing into complex information, sounds acquiring layers of meaning previously hidden from human perception.
"Yessss," he snarls against my claiming mark, his pace increasing to something primal and relentless, his cocks driving deeper with each thrust. "I will claim you until you submit completely. You will learn who you belong to, omega. You'll feel my knots locking inside you, keeping my seed where it belongs."
His coils reposition me yet again, bending me forward while keeping my hips elevated, the ideal breeding position my body recognizes before my mind can process it. From this angle, his members drive impossibly deeper, the specialized ridges stimulating places inside me that send sparks across my vision.
"Feel how perfectly your body accepts my cocks," he growls, one hand reaching beneath us to press against my lower abdomen, forcing me to feel the unnatural bulge where his twin erections distend my body from within. "Made to be filled with my seed, to be stretched around my knots until you're bred full."
The coil around my throat tightens again, restricting air just enough to make my inner walls contract with omega submission response. Another wraps around my chest, scales rasping against my sensitive peaks with every thrust, adding yet another layer of stimulation to my already overloaded system.
"Please let me finish," I beg, trembling on the edge of release but somehow unable to fall without his permission. Another humiliating omega response I never knew existed until this moment.
"Not yet," he commands, his voice carrying alpha authority that bypasses my conscious mind entirely. "Not until I'm ready to fill you completely."
He continues claiming me with relentless precision, lengths moving independently inside me to create sensation no human could possibly replicate. Just when I think I might lose consciousness from the overwhelming pleasure-pain, his hand slides between my legs, fingers finding my most sensitive point with unerring accuracy.
"Now," he growls, "Let go for me. Show me how much you've missed being claimed."
The release detonates through my system with cataclysmic force, inner walls convulsing around his invasion with such violence that tears spring to my eyes. Wave after wave of pleasure crashes through me, each more intense than the last, muscles contracting with omega biology's desperate attempt to draw his release.
His fangs sink into my claiming mark the precise moment his own climax begins—his twin cocks pulsing as they flood me with venom-laced seed. The bases swell dramatically, knots expanding to lock us together completely, ensuring not a drop of his potent release escapes. The dual claiming creates a feedback loop of pleasure beyond anything I've ever experienced, neural pathways lighting up like a power grid during surge. The pressure of his knots against my most sensitive inner walls triggers another wave of pleasure so intense it borders on pain.
For endless, perfect moments, we exist as one being with two bodies—biochemically synchronized through specialized venom pathways unique to our particular pairing. I feel his pleasure alongside my own, sense the satisfaction as my body surrenders completely to his claiming, taste the triumph as our bond reforms with greater strength than before.
When awareness returns, we're submerged in the healing pool, his coils supporting my boneless form. We must have remained locked together by his knots for some time before they finally subsided enough for him to withdraw his cocks from my oversensitized body. Venom saturates my system, heightening my perception until even the water molecules seem visible as microscopic auras dancing around us. The heat symptoms have temporarily receded, leaving blissful clarity in their wake.
"The cycle has only begun," Nezzar murmurs against my temple, one scaled hand stroking my dampened hair. "Your heat will intensify before breaking."
"I know." The venom enhancement has already restored my analytical capacity alongside the pleasure. "It'll peak tomorrow, last another day, then gradually subside over thirty-six hours."
His tongue darts out, sampling the chemical changes in my scent that signal temporary satisfaction. "You chose this," he says, statement rather than question but seeking confirmation nonetheless.
"I chose this," I agree, finding strange peace in the admission. "Not because heat left me no option, but because..." I search for words to explain something I barely understand myself. "Because what exists between us deserves honest acknowledgment."
His scales shift in patterns I've learned indicate emotional complexity beyond simple alpha satisfaction. "The venom bond will strengthen with each claiming during this cycle," he explains, scientific precision returning alongside alpha possession. "Your enhanced senses should stabilize permanently once the heat breaks. The neural pathways already exist—they merely need reinforcement."
The prospect creates unexpected anticipation. I've missed those enhanced perceptions—the world has seemed dull and muted without them, colors less vibrant, scents less informative, existence itself somehow flattened.
"And after this heat?" I ask, needing to understand exactly what I've chosen. "What will be different?"
His golden eyes study me with intensity that seems to see beyond physical presence to something deeper. "Everything," he says simply. "You have chosen rather than submitted. The difference transforms our connection at the molecular level."
As heat begins rebuilding within me, preparing for the next wave that will demand satisfaction, I realize he's right. What began as forced claiming, evolved through captivity and research partnership, shattered through extraction and loss, now has opportunity to become something else entirely—something built on choice and awareness rather than coercion and circumstance.
I don't have words for what that something might be. Perhaps no vocabulary exists in either human or naga language to properly name it. But as Nezzar's coils shift around me, preparing for the claiming cycle that will continue throughout my heat, I recognize the truth in his assessment.
Everything has changed, because this time, I stepped willingly into his embrace, knowing exactly what it meant. Not freedom as humans define it, but agency within constraint. Not equality in the traditional sense, but partnership within hierarchy.
Not perfect, but chosen.
And somehow, that makes all the difference.