Unnatural Omega

by V T Bonds

  Trust me as her Alpha and as her lifemate.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Britani

  My tongue sticks to the roof of my mouth and my throat feels scratchy—I am parched. I haven’t had any water for quite some time, and my flood of tears has dehydrated me.

  The water tempts me.

  So does the Alpha.

  The tight curls on his head tempt me to run my fingers through them. His bare chest makes me want to test the planes of muscles with my tongue and teeth. Even his long legs and bare feet look appealing.

  Worst of all is the large outline at the crotch of his pants. My instincts demand I rip the offending material off and do all manner of debauched things to him.

  I quail at the image, even as my stomach tightens and wetness pools between my legs. The closer I move towards him, the more difficult it is to keep my mental barrier up. His scent is delicious, and my omega instincts urge me to give in to his desires.

  Just the water. I’ll only get close enough to have some water.

  He taps his knee.

  He wants me to sit on his lap. That puts me right next to his rigid cock. Under his intense stare and consuming presence, I struggle to keep my wits. Exhaustion and confusion pull at me, but I check my mental cocoon and find it still standing.

  His moan of enjoyment makes a flash of warmth heat my lower abdomen, and my core tightens. The heaviness is uncomfortable enough for me to wonder if something is wrong.

  Concern sneaks into his expression. I almost miss it, since I can’t stop my eyes from zeroing in on the water, but it seems familiar.

  He picks up the bottle again, hovering it near his lips. My tongue darts out and scratches against my dry lips, no moisture on it.

  I inch forward, desperate for hydration. Even as his scent gets stronger, my wild side pushes away her sexual desire, agreeing with me for once—water is more important.

  I pour my misgivings into my heart’s connection, pleading for forgiveness even as I know what I do is unforgivable. With careful, uncertain movements, I twist my body and line the back of my thighs to the outside of his leg. I keep my head turned so I can see as much of his face as possible, but still end up exposing my back to him.

  He accepts my weight with ease, pressing the rim of the bottle to my lips in reward.

  I gulp down a huge swallow with too much exuberance, and he pulls the bottle away as I choke and cough. Reaching to grab the bottle, I remember my arms are still bound.

  My eyes latch on to the clear liquid in the container, unhappy as he sets it on the table. Before I can hop up and scramble away, his sinewy arms wrap around me and resituate me on his lap.

  With my heart in my throat, I expect the worst, but he only scoots me back so I’m firmly in his lap. I can’t reach the floor, but he hasn’t changed me to a sexual position. His turgid cock rubs the outside of my left thigh, but he makes no move to tend it.

  He presses the water back to my lips, and I can’t help the surprised squeak before the cool liquid flows onto my tongue.

  This is confusing. Too difficult to understand. Shouldn’t he make me work for more water?

  Heat permeates my shoulder, and I realize how chilled my skin has gotten. The warmth emanating from him is glorious, and as cool water hits my belly, the uncontrollable side of me perks up. She enjoys his high temperature.

  He pulls the water away before I’m done, but I can’t make him keep the water there—I don’t have use of my hands.

  I swallow the last bit in my mouth and look up at him. His gentle song makes me want to weep and cry, but at the same time, my heart lightens as though many of its burdens have lifted.

  He has a little rumble in his notes, and the new part of me sits up in enjoyment. Woven into the sweet song, it aligns with my cognizant emotions, and I can’t find the will to fight its allure.

  When his fingers press a morsel of food to my lips, I search his eyes. He just ate a piece, so I doubt it’s poisoned, but I can feed myself.

  I scrunch my eyebrows together, debating whether I should take the food or reject it.

  When I take too long, he pops the food into his own mouth.

  My stomach betrays me with a rumble. He doesn’t react, except to hum his delight over the food on his tongue. He picks up another bite, and this time I open my mouth before his hand even gets close.

  His fingers drop the morsel between my lips, giving me the food without touching me.

  A weird sensation vibrates in my chest, and I find I can’t move after my teeth chew it open. A sweet yet slightly sour flavor bursts on my tongue, so strong it overpowers my other senses, and a brief lockdown is the only way I can handle it.

  When I get over the shock of the potent deliciousness, I start chewing again, slowly at first as my senses work to assimilate the information. As I send the morsel toward my stomach, my eyes fly open. I didn’t intend to close my eyes, but the flavor was too robust for input from my other senses.

  Obvious concern fills his face, and his song has stopped. I don’t know how to respond to his calculating eyes.

  After a moment, he clears his throat and begins singing again, offering me another bite of food.

  I lose track of how many times he puts more food in my mouth, but he allows me to see every bite before he places it between my lips. Each new taste is overwhelming, but somehow the process fades away, and I find the experience pleasant.

  At some point, I realize I’ve relaxed into him, and can’t find the energy to sit up. His warmth is comfortable, and the vibrations caused by his singing lure me closer.

  An odd sensation mingles in my heart, and when I explore it, I know it isn’t from me. As my eyelids become too heavy to keep open, I accept the emotions rolling through the connection in my soul.

  Contentment and desire leak into my heart, not from me, but from the male on the other side.

  He has hope.

  ∆∆∆

  My slow ascent into awareness accompanies a steady, slow thumping. The hard pillow under my head seeps heat into my cheek and a beautiful fragrance into my nose. I cuddle into it, filling my nostrils with the enticing scent. Cold fills the right side of my body, but the lumpy surface on my left side sends soothing vibrations into my chest. Lulled by beautiful music, I feel no worry as I wake.

  Remembering how I fell asleep in his lap, a flush warms my cheeks.

  Wondrous emotions dance in my heart, and with a full belly and comfortable position, I feel no need to move.

  Panic tries to settle in as I worry about my mental cocoon, but when I check it, I find it still whole. Doubt creeps in. Did the Alpha sneak in when I was sleeping?

  No, even in slumber I kept my defenses.

  My mind supplies his name—Kwame. I heard the other Alpha call him that in the medical room.

  I startle when his finger brushes my hair away from my face. I wouldn’t have felt the contact if I were sleeping, his stroke so gentle and light. Sweeping my eyes up in search of his, my attention stumbles on the dark marks over his heart. He has a tattoo. Its design is one I’ve never seen before, but I recognize the elements—Alpha, Omega, and Beta symbols.

  Pulling my attention away, I look into his rich brown eyes.

  My mind stutters. The emotions glowing from his expression match the feelings flowing from the linked heart.

  His lips pull up on one side, but he’s singing now, not humming, so he masks his smirk with his words.

  I’ve never heard this song before, but it fills my heart and weaves into every fiber of my body.

  Untold happiness and inexpressible joy surge through the notes, the words a beautiful poem of love and eternity.

  The cocoon around my soul quakes as my ears bask in his glorious timbre. The story told in his song makes me yearn for things I’ve never experienced.

  It takes everything I’ve ever thought I knew about Alpha and Omega interactions and turns it inside out. Instead of a brutish, manipulative Alpha, this story reveals the nonnegotiable prote
ctiveness an Alpha holds for their mate. They do not control their partner—they keep the world in check, so their lovely and delicate Omega can thrive and flourish.

  Omegas, instead of accepting their Alpha’s wrath, incur their own—they pull the strings in the relationship. Without their fierce devotion and encompassing love, the Alpha would be lost.

  He depends on her love. She accepts his devotion.

  They are a unit, held together by forces they cannot control.

  Tears come unbidden, and I let a few fall. I’ve felt how helpless an Omega is against an Alpha’s demands, but this man paints a picture of equality.

  He expresses a dream I thought was unreachable, unrealistic, and downright impossible.

  His treatment confuses me, though. He’s restrained me, flung me over his shoulder, and thrown me around with no care. A part of me still hates him for that. He’s also sung me lullabies, fed me, and comforted me on his lap. Searching my memories, I realize he’s never hurt me, not intentionally.

  The other Alpha did. He may not have touched me with his hands, but his commands damaged my psyche. And his henchmen tortured me without pain.

  Swallowing the lump in my throat, my eyes plead with him. I don’t know what I hope to convey, I just know his song is too much.

  Too surreal. Too unfair.

  The hope in his expression never faulters. Neither does the optimism in the link.

  He changes to humming the tune, but the words bounce around in my head.

  Shifting me off his lap, his broad hands span my waist. I wasn’t expecting the move, so it takes me a moment to find my balance.

  When he stands, I can’t help the bunching of my muscles. He may not be heads taller than I, but his presence is imposing. His naked chest is distracting too.

  Our motions cause my gown to move, and the smells that assault my sinuses make me want to gag. The acrid scent of disinfectant and other’s pheromones seems much worse than earlier.

  As if reading my mind, he steps toward the hygiene alcove. When I don’t move, the rope pulls tight and my heart sinks. I expect him to force me forward, but instead he stands still and looks over his shoulder.

  I weigh my options. Either I fight and stay in this nasty gown, or I…

  I get naked with an Alpha.

  No.

  My feet refuse to move.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Kwame

  We'll stand here until she steps forward of her own decision.

  Doesn’t mean I won’t use a few sneaky tactics, though.

  I change to a soothing lullaby, standing firm. My neck feels strained from looking over my shoulder, but I won’t back down.

  I gradually add more purr into my song, not much, but enough to help her relax. With how straight her spine is, I fear she’ll get muscle cramps soon.

  We’ve been standing here for a little more than an hour and twenty minutes, each second passing in slow motion.

  The stench of fear makes me want to break down and weep. My lifemate is terrified, and at first all I saw was my failure.

  I should have been able to save her. If I had done more introspection instead of pushing away my concerns, I’d have been looking for her before the accident—I could have found her before the implosion. We could be lifemated without trauma, eager and devoted in our love.

  But I didn’t, so here we are.

  Her fear still lingers, but as the minutes have ticked by and I have not moved, her confusion has pushed it further away. Her intelligence stuns me, and even though I can’t read her mind, the thoughts racing across her features makes pride glow within my heart.

  With my purr thickening further with each melody, I rotate between five well-known nursery rhymes, the last note of each tune merging into the next without pause.

  Her feet must be cold, since the coolness of the floor permeates my bare soles, but she hasn’t moved them.

  As an Alpha Elite, my body temperature runs higher than the typical Alpha, and omegas tend to be more susceptible to the elements than other dynamics. I fear her toes are stinging in the chill. I did not intend to make the room so cool, but when we put the Sky-Flyer in stealth mode before our mission began, all except the most basic of functions turned off, including the temperature controls. If we are at our planned retreat altitude, the external air temperature is freezing.

  Once we’ve traveled far enough away from the facility, whoever is flying will turn off stealth mode and temperature control will resume.

  With how unexpected the mission went, it may be another hour before we’re safe enough to turn off stealth mode.

  Cycling through the calming lullabies, I wait another twenty minutes. Its now been over an hour and forty minutes, and she’s showing signs of struggle.

  Her eyes flick over to the relief ports, and I sense her predicament through our incomplete lifemating bond. The pressure in her bladder grows painful.

  It isn’t the victory I want, but any step towards compliance is good.

  I see her slender throat move as she swallows. She tries to hide her little hiss of pain as she shifts her weight to shuffle forward, but I hear it.

  My gut tightens in worry even as I push encouragement through our link.

  One step at a time, my beauty. Any amount of progress is wonderful.

  When she takes two steps forward, the rope between us slacks for the first time in almost two hours. The change in tension registers in my fist, and I’m happy she’s closer, but I miss how heavy the rope felt in my hand. Now it feels too light, almost as though it slipped through my fingers and fell to the floor.

  No, it’s still there.

  She angles to skirt around me, but I walk forward so she can go straight to the hygiene alcove. Each footfall is slow, a dance between two people who’ve never learned the steps, but we work together to find our way.

  When we reach the relief ports, a worried scowl scrunches her silvery eyebrows. She looks down at her hands, as though she forgot they were bound.

  Her scent tempts me as I step closer to her, and I can’t resist savoring it via a long inhale through my nose. Her nearness vibrates along my skin, and it takes massive restraint to keep my hands off her.

  Crowding her into the corner, I use the steady cadence of my lullabies as my guide, squatting in front of her and bracketing her tied hands with my palms. Her eyes flick around the room before roaming over me, and she does nothing to hide her confusion.

  The block around her soul wavers as I pour my yearning for her into it, my physical position one I would give only to her. Keeping her elbows and wrists tied together, I unravel her left hand. As I reveal her skin, I skim my fingertips over it, one sliver at a time. When the portion of rope hangs from the secured knot on her right hand and her left is freed, I slide my palm over hers and marvel at our differences. My skin looks like chocolate against her paleness, and where hers is smooth, mine is calloused.

  She fights the husky moan even as it escapes her, and my cock weeps as the scent of her slick becomes more potent. I long to reach out, trail my fingers up the inside of her thigh, and delve into her sweet core, but we aren’t there yet.

  I need her love before I can take her lust.

  With a strength of will only available through years of training, I pull my eyes away from the riveting sight and focus on the relief ports behind her.

  A similar model to the ones in Baseon, she shouldn’t have issues navigating them, but with only one hand available, she’ll need my help.

  Two devices are held in molded frames by snaps, each with a large tube running into the wall. The tubes lead the waste to a specialized cleansing unit, sanitizing and allocating it to appropriate ways of reuse. One is for liquid waste, the other for solid.

  I reach past her and unsnap the liquid waste port from the wall. She leans away from me, avoiding my shoulder, but I glory in her amazing scent. After one more soft stroke of her palm, I place the port in her unbound hand and stand.

  Her wide electric green eyes h
old many emotions as she looks up at me. I motion with my chin, indicating for her to put the port in place, and hover my thumb over the green button on the wall.

  It takes her a moment, and she almost drops the port, but she turns it in her hand so it’s facing the right way. Then she stoops down and slides it under her gown, a slight flush on her cheeks as she twists her wrist to get the cup in place. I want to growl at the thought of something else touching her there, but keep my song steady.

  She looks back up at me. I raise my eyebrow, and when she nods affirmation, I press the button. The soft whirring indicates the machine works, and her cheeks redden further as the slight suction begins in the port, carrying away her urine.

  Her eyes dilate the tiniest bit, and the pheromones wafting off her make me salivate. If this gentlest of pressure stimulates her, then my fingers would make her fly. My cock would send her off world, and my knot would catapult her into another realm.

  My heart tries to beat out of my chest as I hold in my purr, and for a moment I lose the melody I’m humming. Big expressive eyes meet mine, and I clear my throat before I resume my song.

  I move my finger to the blue button below the green and quirk my eyebrow again. Her swallow is audible even over my rough song, but she nods her approval.

  Her breath stutters as I hold the button down and the water feature begins. Even with her slick being washed away, her smell intensifies as the cool cleanser flows across her intimates. Her chest begins to heave as I keep the button depressed, and I fight my desire to see her orgasm. With her cheeks approaching crimson and her arms trembling, I let go of the button and fight the wave of disappointment.

  I know without a doubt watching her orgasm would be the most fulfilling thing I’ve ever experienced.

  Pushing the red button ends the suction, and her quiet sigh of relief makes me grit my teeth.

  I hold out my hand for the port, and after hanging it back in place, motion to the other waste port. She shakes her head no, then tenses when I slide my palm against hers.