“Do you like that, Tristan? Does it make you wet?” I whisper.
He nods, big green eyes on me.
“Good,” I purr. “Since you’ll be cleaning up his puddle.”
His face turns to me, his fork of eggs halfway to his mouth. I grin and sip my tea.
Zilas cries out, wordless, and I hear the splatter of his seed upon the floor.
Tristan clears his throat. “Where are the cleaning supplies, alpha?”
I chuckle. “Get over there and use your tongue.”
A tiny sound escapes him, but he stands smoothly.
As he crosses the room, Zilas and Ink sit down at the table. Zilas dashes a tear from the corner of his eye, though I already know him well enough to know it’s from being chastised. “Good boy,” I purr reassuringly to both of them.
I continue to Tristan, “I’d rather that seed was up your hungry little hole, perhaps getting you pregnant, but down your throat is next best for your omega instincts.”
What I can see of Tristan’s skin is a disturbing pink, but I’ve already learned he turns that shade quite easily, so I leave him to his task.
Zilas eats his eggs silently. I lean over and stroke his horn. He moans softly, looking to me.
“Are you trying to get me hard again, alpha?” He asks, a smile playing on his dark lips.
I laugh again. “Yes. Test your endurance.”
“I endure quite well,” he teases.
My cunt is soaked. “So I’ve seen, my dear.”
Tristan slips back into his seat without a word, still pink. We eat in the quiet, ambient sounds of the forest coming in the open kitchen windows.
When I’m done, I cup my tea in both hands and lean back in my chair, watching my pack with pride. Mine. My pack.
Tristan sips his tea and clears his throat. “I had some... questions.” His voice is nervous.
“Of course, omega, ask,” Ink demands in her usual manner.
I smile, turning back to Tristan, who is again bright pink. It’s pretty adorable; I hope he continues to shift color.
“Um, it’s about the... uh... the pregnancy stuff. How,exactly, do I get pregnant?” His eyes dart back and forth. “Moreover, how do I get... un-pregnant?”
Zilas chokes on a laugh, clearly trying to keep it in, lest he embarrass Tristan more.
“Omegas carry the kits, no matter their body,” I start. “Though female betas are able to carry as well. Which is how our population has survived, limping along, since our omegas were taken in the Red Paralysis.”
Tristan makes a sad sound, but sits quietly.
I clear my throat.Though it was generations ago, alphas still reel from the loss.
In the silence, Tristan offers, “It was about 200 revolutions ago?”
Ink nods and Tristan makes a contemplative sound. “Around the time most of your planet moved to cities instead of villages.”
“But, as to the how,” I say, returning to his question, “all omegas have a womb for nurturing life. We’ve learned male omegas from planets without alphas present need a special awakening procedure to get things moving—which you received at the Concord med center. As your hormones begin to react to us, it’ll complete the process.”
“And uh... how...” he trails off, face as red as his adorable hair.
