Page 7 of Knotty New Year

“That’s good.” My teeth had almost stopped chattering. The alpha set me down, and I wrapped my arms around the silk shell that was now completely transparent, and soaked through. The movement made my breasts pop up, right under my chin, practically. His eyes fixed on them, and I knew that Mr. Nicholas Paxson might not want me here.

But he wantedme.

And for the first time in my entire life, I felt the sort of desire that everyone always went on about, when they whispered about omegas. The melting, all-encompassing lust that thundered like a runaway train through my entire body, changing the landscape of what I had previously thought would be sufficient.

No touch would ever be enough if it didn’t come from the hands of Nicholas Paxson. But I wasn’t going to turn into the sort of caricatured alpha-chasing omega the movies and books all showed. The kind he probably thought I was, showing up here, claiming to be a betasitter. I knew he didn’t return my feelings; he was already muttering about how short-sighted and immature I was.

So I straightened, pulling away from him a step. “I’m sorry, Mr. Paxson. I didn’t mean to inconvenience you.” I waited for his eyes to move from my pink nipples that were trying to stab their way through the wet silk to get to him. I had a feeling I was going to be waiting a long while; he was staring at my breasts, his brow furrowed and eyes slightly narrowed, like he was very disappointed in them and wanted to teach them a lesson. I jutted my chest out even more as I inhaled. “Is there somewhere I can dry off?”

“My room,” he said absently, eyes boring invisible holes in my top.

He was taking me to his room? Had he changed his mind already about wanting me here? I’d never imagined my nipples had magical powers, but they’d mesmerized this alpha. Mammary mind-control was apparently a thing. Good to know.

“Your room?” I breathed. His eyes were burning, jet-black coals, and when his tongue traced his lower lip slowly, I gasped slightly, causing one of the pearly buttons of my top to pop out of the buttonhole. I reached up to re-fasten it.

It was like a spell had been broken. He ran a hand over his beard, muttering something about going to jail or Hell, and then pivoted, his snow-covered dress shoes squeaking on the marble. He was a few yards away when he barked out, without turning his head, “Well? Are you coming or not?”

“Yes, sir,” I squeaked, following him as fast as I could up the winding stairs. We turned down a hallway I hadn’t seen before. It smelled more like Mr. Paxson here, though I could pick out a few other scents. Housekeepers, maybe? But mostly, it was him. The double doors at the end of the hall had to lead into a big bedroom. His bed.

My pussy gave the best imitation of a fist pump she could, more of a flutter, and the air around me began to smell like baking tarts. My vaj was completely on board with this unexpected turn of events.

“I’m drying off in your room?” That seemed unlikely. I was getting wetter by the second.

“Fuck no,” he said, stopping abruptly. He changed directions, heading back down the hall.

Wait. Hehadbeen taking me to his bedroom. He absolutely had.

He led me to a different doorway, then looked down at my enormous purse. “That’s not a suitcase.” I frowned in confusion, but he went on before I could answer. “You need to change. You’ll probably fit into Lin’s clothes.”

Lin? I sucked in a breath and realized the door he’d stopped in front of, the one to the left, smelled of another woman. Another omega. And when he opened the door, the scent of lemons flooded out to greet me.

My employer’s dark eyes raked my form. “Take a hot shower. She’s not as curvy as you, but you’ll find something. She leaves clothes here for her visits.”

“Lin’svisits?” I was still in the hallway, but my feet would not move. A strange sound started up in my chest. I pressed a hand to my sternum, wondering what was happening.

But I knew. I was embarrassed and ashamed—this alpha did not want me; he’d already said that very clearly—but the sound I was making for the first time in my life was an omega growl.

I’d only heard it once before, in a documentary my class at the Omega League had watched together. It had explained some of the less commonly known facets of being an omega, although we’d all learned the basics in our general sex education classes in high school. Most omegas started perfuming around eighteen. I hadn’t until I was twenty, starting my junior year at college. I’d been the oldest in my Omega League beginning classes, but we’d all watched the movie with a mixture of fascination and horror.

Omegas were generally believed to be more passive, emotionally fragile, insert-whatever-patriarchal-bullshit-here, as long as it resulted in omegas not being given fully equal opportunities. Society at large saw alphas as titans of industry and pillars of strength, both physically and societally. Omegas were cast as the opposite: unable to control ourselves, just as we couldn’t control our perfuming around compatible alphas. And the omega growl would happen when an omega felt an alpha belonged to her. It was a way of marking one’s territory.

Though I’d never growled before. My omega response was usually just spontaneous crying, as if being an omega meant your tears ducts were the part that had to be wide enough to take a knot. I had mostly cried rage tears in my four years of living the curse.

I fought to control the feral sound that was rumbling in my chest right now, hyper-aware of the amused regard of the alpha I was metaphorically pissing on. “Lin?” I repeated, trying to cover up the sound with a cough.“Your girlfriend?”

The edge of his lips twitched, like he was suppressing a smile. “Lindyann, Benjamin’s mother. She’s my sister, little girl. One of many.”

“I’m not a little girl,” I muttered as he pushed the door open. He waved me inside, and I saw that the room had obviously been decorated by a teenager at least a decade ago, complete with old soccer trophies, K-Pop boy band posters, and a hideous, homemade pink and purple quilt topping the queen-sized bed.

“You’re the same age as my sister.” He leaned closer to me, and I could taste his pine and storm scent on the back of my throat. His voice scraped against my neck, and I shivered at his flashing, nearly bitter-chocolate eyes. “I raised her, and our younger siblings as well.”

“You… raised them?” My heart thudded painfully at the realization that this alpha wasn’t just dominant and drop-dead gorgeous. He also had a tragic backstory. Fuck, how was I supposed to stop perfuming around this omega-trap?

“I did. Hell, I changed my youngest sister’s diapers, little omega. Now run along and get dried off and dressed.” His lips curled up. “Or do you need me to change you?”

I blinked. He blinked too, the tops of his bronze cheeks going the tiniest bit flushed. Like he couldn’t believe what he’d just said.

I could believe it, and it did a great job of pissing me off. It was just more of the same shit, if you asked me. Omegas were always treated this way, no matter their age.

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