Page 27 of Heat Clinic

I’m going to knot her and breed her andhnnnng.

The orgasm makes my balls buzz as I shoot a hot load into the specimen cup, the ropes of cum painting its walls like it coated her cunt. When my knot swells, I wrap my other hand around it and squeeze rhythmically. It’s not a true mimic of a clenching omega. Not close at all. But it’s good enough for this.

Panting, I squeeze until there’s nothing left, then shake the last drop from my head and punch the perforated top off the tissues with my thumb so I can clean up. I tuck myself away and screw the lid on the cup. It’s not quite full, but it’s close.

Hmm. I should probably have asked what to do with the cup once it’s filled.

There’s a sink cut into the counter, so I wipe the outside of the cup to make sure it’s clean and wash my hands, then open the door. The nurse looks over from his computer station in the hallway and puts on a pair of blue disposable gloves, taking the cup from me.

“Great, thanks. I’ll get this to the lab.” He seals it in a plastic bag and tosses his gloves into the trash. And then he points to another waiting room at the end of the hall. “You can wait there.”

“Sure.” While he disappears to deliver my specimen, I sit in another too-tiny chair and resign myself to wait.What’s she doing right now? Who’s she with? Fuck. No. It’s fine. I’m fine. Is she okay? I hope Tom’s flight isn’t too bad. Of course he’s okay. Planes fly every day as Tom likes to remind me.My phone chirps, saving me from my thoughts.

My accountant tells me he’s sent the paperwork as requested, and I make a mental note to fatten his Christmas bonus for bothering him at home on the Saturday of a holiday weekend.

My foot bounces up and down as I sit there. After what feels like an eternity, the nurse comes to collect me once more. He leads me down yet another hallway. This place is a maze. Every hallway looks the same, and I wonder if it’s been designed that way on purpose.

“Everything went fine?” I ask.

“You’ll have to ask the doctor, or put in a written request to the medical records department. We’re going to fit you with your mouth guard.”

Mouth guard?That’s offensive. Like I’m some mannerless criminal who doesn’t know how to keep his canines to himself. Like I can’t be trusted. “Is that necessary?”

“It’s protocol,” he says, shrugging. The nurse stops and points into an open room with a green vinyl dental chair in the center. “They’ll be with you soon.”

I sit where I’m told and wait. Again. An older man, an alpha who’s gone all gray and soft around the middle, comes in and takes a paper cover off the tray beside me. He rolls it over, sits on his wheeled stool, and scoots closer.

“Open. Let me take a look,” he says.

I open my mouth, and he grabs me by the chin, turning my face side to side and angling my head back as he leans in and inspects me.

“You’ve got good teeth,” he grunts and releases me. He pours powder and a liquid into a plastic cup and stirs it with a wooden stick until it turns bright purple and expands like foam. The mixture gets spooned into a curved plastic tray that he thrusts at my face. “Open. Bite. Two minutes.”

He gets up and walks out, leaving me with this tray of still-expanding goo in my mouth. It overflows the edges of the tray until I worry that it’s going to creep all the way into the back of my throat.

But then it rubberizes. That’s the only way I can explain it. The goo stops expanding and turns firm. The old alpha takes more than two minutes to return, but I refuse to rip it out of my mouth. That might delay this process even further, and I’ve waited long enough to find my omega and claim them. Forty-two long fucking years.

He comes back and grabs the tray by its handle, and I open. He pulls it from my mouth, and I rub my tongue over my teeth to dislodge any gritty, rubbery remnants. Another plastic cup of powder mixes with an equal measure of water which he pours into the mold we just made and sets an alert on a portable timer.

“Thirty minutes.” He leaves me again.

Fuuuuck. Thirty minutes. In thirty minutes I’ll be closer to her than I have been for over forty years. It’s not that bad if you really think about it.

God, it’s fuckingagony.

I want to hold her. I want to wrap her in my arms and drag her scent up into my sinuses and sink my cock and my teeth into her at the same time and… My canines ache the more I think about them, like once I’ve acknowledged them they won’t stop.

Oh, that’s actually a good call on the mouth guard.

The timer rings, and I realize I’ve lost track of time. The old alpha comes back and rips at the mold, tearing the purple off until there’s only a white plaster cast of my teeth left.

Good God.

Is that really what they look like? My canines are pointed. All alphas are. Our bodies are weapons, designed by nature to protect those we care about. To guard them and keep them safe.

They look so much more menacing than I’ve ever noticed before in the mirror. The old alpha pops the lid off a tin and uses a pair of tweezers to pull out a thin, clear film of plastic. He tacks it onto the canines of my mold with a bit of dental wax and positions the film just so. And then he puts it in some sort of fancy-looking toaster oven and presses a sequence of buttons. It whirrs as a light comes on.

When it dings, he takes it out and the tooth guard is now fitted to the mold. He uses a scalpel to trim it down, then runs it under the cold tap for a bit. Once it’s cool enough for him to handle it, he pops it off the mold and holds it up to the light, then hands it to me.

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