Page 4 of No Strings Attached (Omega’s Preference #4)

Elias

We’ve been at this shit for hours, filming this damn commercial for the last several hours, my knuckles raw from gripping the rock face for so long.

There’s some excitement when it’s an actual side of the mountain but stuck in this rundown version where every shift is another take, another picture, another yell from Tristan that I need to do it again.

The usual crew is still buzzing around, cameras rolling just in case they catch something they can use for marketing. All I know is that this takes the fun out of everything. I loved it more when it was in the moment, when the shots were one of a kind—not manufactured.

It's not the first time I’ve been ‘helped’ as I undress but it never gets any easier watching them fold the damp fabric like it’s a treasure.

That shit’s not going to the wash—it’ll end up on eBay by tonight as some fan’s prize.

I wouldn’t have even known about it unless my friend, Rhett, had jokingly shown me a picture.

We all thought it was fake but the LLC selling it is one of Tristan’s many business ventures.

I lean back against the rock wall, intent on taking a short break but Tristan’s already in my face, clapping his hands like I’ve completed a play. “Great work, Elias! Let’s keep it moving.”

My stomach drops as Nander steps into view beside him, his eyes scanning me like I’m a product on display.

Jesus Christ . I knew the collab meeting was next but I vainly hoped I’d at least get a breather inbetween.

I should have known better. “Give me five minutes,” I push out. “I need to grab some clean clothes.”

Nander laughs, a grating sound that makes my skin crawl. “No need,” he says, waving a hand. “Nothing I haven’t seen before.”

His gaze lingers as discomfort twists in my gut.

Yeah, fuck that. “I’m going to grab some clothes, water, and maybe something to fucking eat,” I snap, my patience withering away.

Despite how much I lean into masquerading around as a Beta, my Omega biology still needs to be catered to.

“You can sit and wait until I come back.”

I snatch my bag from the ground and stalk toward the bathroom.

Several of the staff steal glances of the muscles I’ve built up over the years, the freckles splayed across my chest, arms, and back.

I’m not stupid—I know that Tristan has built me into a product but I hate being on display.

I should have never signed that damn contract.

Tristan scurries up behind me, matching my pace as I push through the door into the small, tiled bathroom that smells faintly of lemon cleaner.

I barely get inside to drop my bag on the counter before Tristan starts talking again.

“Watch how you talk to people, Elias. You’re on thin ice with this attitude. Are you in heat or something?”

I resist the urge to growl, my hands freezing on a baggy flannel.

My scent changer’s doing its job, masking the stormy rain of my Omega nature, but his jab hits a little too close to home.

“That’s an odd thing to ask every time I find distaste in your plans,” I throw back at him, trying to keep my voice steady.

I pull the shirt over my head, relishing the cool fabric against my heated skin.

“No, I’m not. And I’d appreciate you giving me more time between events. I can’t even breathe.”

Tristan steps closer, his arms crossing over his chest, his sweet tobacco scent filling the small space. “I don’t pay you to breathe,” he growls. “You’ve got three minutes.”

I stare at my sorry ass reflection in the mirror for a moment before splashing cold water on my face to cool down.

While I haven’t ever had a heat, that doesn’t mean my hormones aren’t constantly in flux, trying to figure out how to settle.

They’ve never manifested as anger, though.

Always irritation, exhaustion, and longing.

Longing for a pack of my own. Someone to come home to. To hold onto. To love.

I shed my pants and boxers, looking for a clean change of underwear when my phone pings on the counter.

I grab it, expecting another message from a concerned fan or a creator checking in.

Instead, it’s from O-Nights, an app I haven’t touched in months, one I all but ditched after too many hookups went south.

Message from Monroe_86

Curious, I open up to their profile, a picture of a gorgeous married couple staring back at me.

They have to be around my age, the woman’s dark skin contrasting the man’s pale flesh.

Her nearly midnight waves hang around her shoulders, accentuating the white blouse she’s donned in.

Beside her, the man’s got long dirty blond hair, a full beard that looks soft as a pillow, and a ruffled shirt that screams theater kid grown up.

They’re both striking, their energy warm even through the screen.

My cock thickens in my pants at the thought they’d be giving me exactly what I ask for. Something tells me that this could be what I need to blow off some steam. I click around until I get to the messages again.

Monroe_86

Hey, we fell in love with your profile and were wondering if you were up for something a little different? We know how the world looks on our designations, but we’re kind of hoping this might be up your alley?

I frown, my thumb hovering over the screen. What do they mean, something different ?

Freckles-n-adventure

What might that be?

A few seconds tick by, my heart in my throat before a new message pops up.

Monroe_86

Your profile says you would prefer a more dominant role in the hookup. Is that right?

My frown deepens. It’s been ages since anyone actually read my profile, let alone checked what I want. Most people see all six-foot-two of me, muscles, beard, and that harsh scent of mine and assume I’m an Alpha. Then, when they sniff out my Omega scent, even through the changer, it’s game over.

Alphas want to dominate me, Omegas want an Alpha I’m not. I never put my designation in the profile, too risky with Tristan holding my secret over my head. But these two… they’re asking, not assuming.

Freckles-n-adventure

Yeah? Why are you asking about designations?

Monroe_86

Because we’re Alphas.

I blink a few times before rereading their last message.

Alphas submitting to me? The idea feels impossible, like a door I never knew existed.

I’ve spent so long hiding, pretending, and pushing away anyone who gets too close to the truth.

But this—two Alphas wanting me to take the lead—stirs something I haven’t felt in years. Hope, maybe, or just raw need.

Monroe_86

There’s a cute little motel across from Cuppa Joe. Does that work?

I hesitate. I haven’t hooked up in months, not since the last one ended with an Alpha trying to pin me down. This could be a mistake, a long shot, but I’m desperate to feel something other than exhaustion.

Freckles-n-adventure

How’s 1 pm?

The response takes a few seconds, each one stretching my nerves thin.

Monroe_86

That’s perfect. We’ll let you know the room number when we get there.

A weird feeling settles in my chest, a mix of excitement and dread. I probably should have scheduled something for this evening, but I need something before I get to the fucking gala and this seems perfect. Unless it’s a disaster.

I try not to think about that as I finish getting dressed and head back out to the main room.

Most of the staff has cleared out, just Nander and Tristan sitting at one of the tables alongside the rock climbing exhibit.

Only Nander is paying attention to me, that predatory gaze of his racking up and down my form.

My blood boils beneath the surface but I tamper down my reaction, knowing that acting out will only get me yelled at.

Nander leans forward as he places his elbows on the table. “Damn, you smell like a dream. What’s got you all hot and bothered?”

A low growl vibrates through my chest. I hate how expressive my pheromones are, even with the scent blocker.

Just the idea of being able to control one thing in my life has me excited for one pm in a way that Nander would never and will never understand.

I slip into a seat across from them, Tristan looking up from his phone to pin me with that look of his.

I blow him off, again. “Look, we’re here to collab, not talk about my personal life,” I snap. “Yes, I’m an Omega. My scent fluctuates. Get used to it. Now, what was your big ass idea that just had to be done with me and none of the other creators Tristan works with?”

Nander’s grin doesn’t falter, his eyes glinting with something I don’t trust. “You’re easier on the eyes than they are,” he says, leaning back in his chair. “And a little more daring .”

A frown takes over my lips as my brows furrow with confusion. “What are you talking about?”

He launches into his pitch, his voice full of fake enthusiasm. “Got an adventurous video planned for a new energy drink. Motorbikes, a small ramp, some high-energy stunts. I told the owners a little action would sell it better, and you’re the guy to pull it off.”

My stomach twists. Motorbikes? A ramp? I’ve never touched a bike in my life, and the thought of jumping as I ride one sounds like a death wish.

He’s still droning on about the product but the conversation shifts into the healthy properties, the ingredients, and even the different flavors.

It takes me a moment before everything clicks.

“Wait, is this that product you’ve been trying to bring to fruition over the last two years? This is your company, isn’t it?”

Nander’s smile widens, but he doesn’t answer. Tristan jumps in as he sets down his phone, suddenly in tune with what’s going on in front of him. “This is a great opportunity to be the face of something. We can start pivoting you into more modeling contracts with brands and—”

“No,” I growl out. “I’m not fucking doing that.

I’ve never been on a motorbike in my life, and that sounds dangerous as fuck.

Find something else to promote your drink or someone else.

” Climbing and hiking are things up my alley but motor vehicles and things on wheels are death traps. Absolutely the fuck not.

I should have known something like this was coming when Tristan started signing me up for commercial auditions. Whatever makes him a quick buck usually serves his purpose. I push to my feet just as his glare forces me to sit back down.

“I thought I told you to behave,” he says, a dangerous edge to his tone. “If that means you learn how to ride a bike, you learn. When I tell you to jump, you ask how high, and when Nander gives you the plans for how his little commercial is going to go, you say yes sir.”

I look between the both of them, not understanding how we got to this point.

Nander has been asking for a collab for a while and I keep turning him down, for good reason.

But then he got Tristan involved. However, there’s no immediate money in this.

The two aren’t related and as far as I know Nander doesn’t have anything on Tristan.

“Who’s the PR company running this?” I ask. Tristan runs his agency and Nander has a product, which means someone else is in charge of the marketing, or at the very least, footing the bill.

Nander clasps his hands together. “Hart Entertainment. Can you believe it? Someone that big picking up someone like me? He’s put in an advance and everything so behave. He’s paying your salary.”

Which truly means that he’s paying Tristan’s salary. I’ll only see a fraction of whatever those monies are but it makes sense now. Why Tristan agreed to this. Money gets him to act and apparently it’s enough to get him to sell me off. Lovely.