It’s the same principle I apply to client relationships, actually. People trust us with their most important events. Weddings, anniversaries, proposals. They share intimate details of their lives and trust us to handle them with care. Sierra is trusting us with something infinitely more intimate, and I refuse to betray that.
Even if my rut is making very compelling arguments about why helping her wouldn’t be a betrayal at all.
“Obviously not,” Cole says, but his voice is strained. “But that doesn’t mean it’s not torture. Do you know how hard it was to sit next to her earlier, smelling her heat coming, and not just... offer?”
“We all felt it,” Malik says quietly. “Every one of us felt it and wanted to help.”
There’s something in his tone that makes me look at him more carefully. Malik is usually the most controlled among us, but right now he looks like he’s barely hanging on. His handshaven’t left the couch cushions, like he’s afraid of what he’ll do if he lets go.
I’ve always been good at reading people, but Malik is particularly easy for me to understand. We’re similar in a lot of ways. Both of us prefer to observe before acting, to think things through, to maintain control. It’s why we work well together in business. He handles the creative vision, I handle the logistics, and we both appreciate the other’s approach.
But right now, I can see that control cracking. And if Malik is struggling this much, the rest of us are in serious trouble.
“What kind of toys do you think she has?” Cole asks suddenly, and everyone turns to stare at him. He shrugs, unapologetic. “What? We’re all thinking it. Might as well say it out loud.”
“We really shouldn’t—” I start.
“Definitely something with a knot,” Dax interrupts, and I can hear the strain in his voice. “Has to be. Regular vibrators don’t work during heat. Omegas need the stretch, the fullness...”
“The lock,” Malik adds, voice gone rough. “They need to feel knotted, or the heat doesn’t ease properly.”
The image that creates in my mind is absolutely devastating to my self-control.
Sierra, legs spread, working a knotted toy inside herself, gasping as it catches and stretches and finally locks.
“Fuuck,” I mutter, pressing the heels of my hands against my eyes. “We need to stop talking about this.”
This is exactly why I usually stay quiet. When I do speak, I try to make it count, to say something meaningful or helpful. Right now, telling everyone to stop fantasizing about Sierra’s sex toys is neither meaningful nor helpful, but it’s all I’ve got.
“Agreed,” Cole says, but he doesn’t sound convinced. “Except... do you think a toy will be enough? For a whole week?”
My throat goes tight. Because I know the answer. I’ve researched this extensively; helped omega friends through theirheats. Toys won’t be enough. Not for a full week. Not when she can probably smell us.
But if I say that out loud, if I give voice to what we’re all thinking, then we’ll have to confront what comes next. And I’m not ready for that. Not ready to offer help when it means exposing everything I’ve been hiding.
“It has to be,” I say, but even I can hear the uncertainty in my voice.
“She’s strong,” Malik says quietly. “She’ll make it through. With the toys, the nest, the supplies she brought... she’ll be okay.”
But he doesn’t sound entirely convinced either.
Because we all know the truth: omega heats are brutal. They’re designed to make omegas seek out alphas to ensure breeding happens. Toys can help, but they’re not the same as a real knot from a real alpha.
I learned this in ROTC, actually. I did a lot of reading when I started helping omega friends through their cycles. I wanted to understand what they were going through, what they needed, and how to actually be helpful instead of just another alpha making things worse.
I learned that heats vary wildly from person to person. Some omegas can manage with toys and a good nest. Others need alpha presence, even if it’s just sitting outside the nest room and letting their scent provide comfort. And some need the full experience. Knotting, claiming, the works.
I have no idea which category Sierra falls into. I’ve never asked, never had reason to. But based on the desperation I could smell through her door, I’m guessing she’s not in the “easily managed with toys” category.
“What if...” Cole starts, then stops.
“What if what?” Dax prompts.
Cole looks at each of us in turn, then shakes his head. “Never mind. Bad idea.”
“Say it,” Malik orders, using that commanding tone that makes everyone listen.
Cole takes a breath. “What if the toys aren’t enough? What if by day three or four, she’s desperate and hurting and the heat isn’t easing? What then?”
