“Of course,” Pace says as he pulls a few things out of the top drawer. “I can’t have my omega going without.” He turns and looks at me with those intense brown eyes.
My skin tingles, and I’m suddenly very aware that I’m still naked, and that his cum is still leaking out of me from our lovemaking this morning. But this time, I don’t mind him seeing me like this.
Pace steps up to the bed, and I stiffen, scared that he’ll destroy the carefully constructed edge of my nest, but also not wanting to tell the alpha not to touch it. Alphas don’t like being told what to do.
But right before he touches the corner of the bed, he stops and gives a little bow of his head. “May I enter your nest, omega?” he asks, in a formal and respectful voice.
His question shocks me, but I still manage to nod, touched that my mate would respect my space so deeply.
Pace sits carefully on the edge of the nest, then he circlesan arm around my waist, pulling me closer. He cups my cheek and kisses me once, a soft, possessive press, before slipping a gray T-shirt over my head. The words “St. Calder Alpha Academy” are printed across the front. Then he helps me put on a pair of oversized shorts, cinching the waist with the drawstrings. He takes his time dressing me, his hands lingering on my skin, even caressing my limp penis gently before tucking it away.
“Why am I getting dressed?” I ask, my voice soft. Most alphas like their omegas to stay naked and easily breedable. At least that’s what they taught us in my alpha-relations class back in high school.
“We’re going down to the MPA to report our mating,” he says simply. “There’s an office a few blocks from here. We can walk.”
A flicker of fear hits me fast, and I blurt out, “Why?”
Pace frowns, clearly confused by the rush of rising emotions in our bond. “Because I have to report that I mated an abandoned omega while both of us were lost in your heat,” he explains calmly. “It would be unethical and even immoral not to register our union. I like to do things by the book.”
But I can feel that maybe that isn’t always true. Pace doesn’t seem like a big rule follower.
“I refuse to hide you, Jude,” he says, his voice edging more firm now. “Alphas have to hide their omegas when they aren’t registered, and I have big plans for my perfect, sexy mate.”
That makes me thrill at the idea of being shown off by my big, impressive alpha.
“Come on, omega.” Pace hooks his hand under my arms and picks me up, placing me gently on the floor. The clothes are way too big, the shirt hanging off one shoulder, and the shorts falling past my knees, swallowing me up. “I want to get there before they close.”
“But I need to shower,” I say as a little cum drips out of me, making my bottom slippery.
“Absolutely not,” Pace says, his tone leaving no room for argument. “You are only allowed to leave this house covered in my scent and my cum.” He stands up, towering over me.
“But,” my cheeks flush red hot, “I’m…leaking.”
That makes Pace’s dark eyes flash with excitement, and he leans all the way down to mine. His eyes sparkle as he says, “Good.” A slow spreading smile fills his face. “I need everyone to know who you belong to.”
The possessiveness in his voice should scare me, but instead, it sends a jolt of pure desire straight through me.
“Let’s go before I bend you over and fuck you raw again.” Pace reaches for my hand and leads me out of the bedroom.
The living room is a beautiful open space, kind of industrial with exposed ductwork in the high ceilings, but it’s somehow still cozy. There’s lots of dark hardwood flooring, big windows that let in the city light, soft lamps in the corners, and comfortable-looking furniture.
Pace leads me toward the front door, but he pauses. He steps into a small room that I hadn’t noticed before. Peering inside, I see that it’s a laundry room. Pace opens the dryer and pulls something out, the warm, humid air spilling into the living room.
My alpha returns a moment later and kneels in front of me. He takes my feet, one by one, and puts on my soft slip-on tennis shoes.
The warmth from the dryer seeps through the thin fabric and into my feet, a cozy, comforting heat. It’s so sweet, this small act of care. To have such a big, hulking alpha tend to me like this, his hands gentle as he secures the shoes on my feet, makes my chest feel tight with an emotion I don’t even know how to name.
Twenty minutes later,we walk up to the Mating & Protection Agency.
The building is nestled between other similarly sized stone-faced structures. It’s not a large space, but it still looks intimidating, with its heavy, bronze doors and stern-faced guards standing on either side.
I cling to Pace as we move toward the door, his arm a solid, protective band around my shoulders. A security guard opens the door for us, his eyes lingering on my face for a moment too long before he gives a curt nod to Pace.
The inside is sterile and quiet, the air smelling faintly of antiseptic and omega distress. There are other omegas waiting inside. Some look happy, like a female omega who is heavily pregnant and smiling as she rubs her belly. But a few look really upset, their faces pale and their eyes downcast.
In the corner, a small male omega sits alone, and my stomach clenches when I see the ugly, purpling bruise around his eye. It doesn’t shock me. Male omegas are known to be the most susceptible to abuse. I don’t understand why. Maybe it’s because we’re smaller and weaker.
Pace steps up to the main desk, speaking to the beta receptionist, “I need to register my mating.”
