Page 14 of Invade Me

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.

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