“Okay, Mags. You’ve been such a good girl. I’m gonna take my hand out. There you go. Hang on. I’ll give you this cock now, okay? It’ll all be better soon.”
Betas like Mags don’t have the same drives that omega women do, but I know that a fist can’t completely make up for a good dicking down. My girl needs all my attention, and that includes my throbbing, aching cock.
Slamming into Mags is like coming home for the first time. This is where I belong, where I’ve always belonged.
While I pump my hips, I lean forward, reaching around her front and rubbing her swollen clit at the same time. Her voice rises in pitch, echoing off the shower walls in the most beautiful melody I’ve ever heard.
My balls tighten the closer I get to release. I grip one of her full tits with my other hand, hanging on for dear life.
Almost there … just a little more …
I’m so focused on her pleasure that it catches me off guard when she reaches back and buries her hand in my hair, pulling so tight that the shock of pain sets off a chain reaction in my body. I shout as I bottom out inside her, filling her with cum.
As I come back to myself, I face the sad realization that, as always, it was just a fantasy.
Mags isn’t here with me, and she never will be.
Chapter 10
Mags
Damn this heat. For a rich family, the Donnellys sure don’t maintain their thermostats very well. Since we arrived a few days ago, I’ve been sweltering more and more each day. It’s getting to where I can’t remove any more clothing and still be decent.
At least Mr. and Mrs. Donnelly don’t require uniforms of their staff and other hired help. If I had to wear some stuffy getup right now, I’d probably pass out.
If I didn’t know better, I’d say I was getting close to being in heat, but that’s crazy. I take my suppressant religiously, and even though it’s been wearing off a few hours too soon lately, I usually get a full day of solid suppression. This is almost the opposite; it’s like my heat’s being triggered by something.
I know one thing for certain: It’s not the presence of Dave Donnelly that’s doing it. That creep skeeves me out on a molecular level. If being around a loser like him is triggering my heat, I need to just shoot myself right now.
Since it’s the day before Threnody’s heat is due to start, Kip, Kaden, and I have our work cut out for us. She’s demanding a full spa treatment, from a total body massage to an elaborate facial routine that I have to execute to perfection to a manicureand pedicure from Kip specifically. I don’t know why I can’t do that part, but Her Highness insists.
That’s how the three of us came to surround Threnody in her nest. While Kaden rubs her shoulders, I apply precise amounts of various creams and lotions to her smug face, and Kip crouches at her feet, massaging in a different lotion for her legs.
Every damn product she’s got us using reeks of lavender and rosemary. I swear, I’m going to choke on that scent before this job is done.
The whole process takes hours. We work straight through lunch, though Threnody makes sure her caterer brings her plenty to snack on right in front of us. Brat.
This is why I hate being an omega. Betas aren’t stuck up and snotty to other betas. They get along. They work together. If I was a beta, like my mom and her mom, so and so down the line, I wouldn’t have to worry about dumb appearances or societal norms. I could just …be.
Beta pregnancies, though rare, can and do happen, but they take just the right conditions. Somehow, the beta females in my mom’s family are more fertile than normal. Each generation, they keep spawning more betas—until me.
I’m Momma’s special little anomaly.
“Where do you think you’re going, Margaret?”
I grit my teeth before forcing a smile and turning back to face Threnody, who knows damn good and well that my full name is not Margaret. “Pardon, Miss Donnelly? Did I forget a step in your routine?”
She’s lying face down on the massage table now, with Kip working on her right hand and Kaden massaging her lower back. The bitch doesn’t even give me the dignity of looking at me as she points to her head and snaps, “Hair!”
Oh, shit. I forgot I’m supposed to braid that mess.
“Oh, of course! I was just going to wash the lotions off my hands, so I didn’t get any in your pretty hair.”
A beta would never act like she is.
Biting back a sigh, I retrieve the box of hair ties and combs and start the tedious process of brushing out her mane and weaving it into something presentable.
By the time we’re done primping her, it’s past dinner. Once again, she ate in front of us, and once again, she offered nothing for us to eat.
