Shit.
I lower my eyes demurely, but it’s really just so I don’t have to see him staring at my nipples poking against this fucking shirt. To be completely honest, I know a LOT of guys like plus sized women, in theory—or at least in art. I get that request a lot, and you know, part of me really enjoys that there is an appreciation for a variety of body sizes and shapes. But the most common request, hands down, no contest…is big breasts. Anywhere starting with a C cup and just going up to impossible sizes, and ok yeah, drawings. But most straight or bi-guys who buy art from me like boobs.
I have been blessed, or cursed, depending on the day, with an ample supply. Most omegas are petite and slim, we are said to be the ideal female form, curvy in all the right places, but not too much. But, if we are discussing body types, my figure leans more towards ancient fertility goddess and less Tinkerbell. I made my peace with that a long time ago, but it doesn’t mean I like to have some creep staring at me.
I hunch my shoulders and scurry towards the table…maybe I can put that fucking big bowl of salad right in his sightline between him and my boobs. As soon as I sit, I curl my shoulders in, trying to hide as much of myself as possible with the table. Undeterred, Seth circles the table and pushes me closer to my plate, running his hands across my shoulders and taking a moment to complete the perv trifecta and stare down the gaping collar of my shirt.
Open eye contact with nipples – check.
Pervy comments – check.
Looking down cleavage – check-erooni!
His hands linger longer than they should, fingers dipping towards my collarbones, before slipping away. He walks back to his own chair.
He takes a sip of wine, holding it in his mouth for a moment, and staring at me, before he finally swallows.
“Now, Candy, I can understand your confusion here, but I would rather start over fresh. Let’s put that whole messy business behind us, and get to know each other, shall we?" He smiles, and it makes me feel slimy, like I need to run back to the bathroom and scrub again. I sip my water to hide my grimace.
“I don’t use the name Trey here, my name really is Seth Thompson, my fathers created Thompson glass, but I now own the company. What else would you like to know?" My mind whirls with questions.
Why am I here?
How did you know I’m an omega?
Why were you working for Gabe…no, wait, better not mention any alphas.
How long have you known I was an omega?
What did I do to slip up, and how can I fix it in the future?
Seth smiles at my confusion, “Let’s start at the beginning, shall we? My fathers were alphas, my mother was a beta, and yet they were surprised when I never revealed as an alpha myself."He chuckles like there’s a joke behind that, but I don’t see the humor.
“Of course I was groomed to be one, you know. You don’t build and run a multi-million dollar company without trying for an appropriate heir, they were so certain I would be an alpha that they ignored all the doctors tests and common sense, and insisted that my designation would come in any day, I would start a pack, and get my own omega, the coveted prize that they themselves never managed to acquire.” He swirls his wine around his glass like some fucking cartoon villain.
This asshole loves to talk about himself…but the food smells so fucking good.
I’m so hungry right now…but he isn’t eating. He’s fucking monologuing. I sit here and stare at my chicken and rice and wonder if he will look away so I can pop a piece of it into my mouth.
“They, sadly, passed away just after I graduated high school, still determined that I would grow to be an alpha, and carry on their legacy. I figured I should start with finding an omega, and that would help me build a pack, even if my proper designation never came in. But omega sanctuaries don’t want to talk to betas. You have to be an alpha to court an omega with them. Or at least be part of a pack of alphas." He tips his glass back, finishing the wine in one swallow, and a smartly dressed man steps forward to refill it for him.
“I was not about to lower myself to looking for a pack, once I had the omega, they would come to me. But youknow how hard it is to find one…free range…so to speak?" He laughs at his joke, and I just want to punch through his teeth.
“So I started looking into packs in the area, packs that had children who weren’t registered, packs that might be hiding away a sweet little omega for me. But there weren’t any.” His smile was more of a grimace, as he took another large drink of his wine.
“So I dug deeper, we aren’t a large area, so it’s easier to keep under the radar here. Then I found a pack…a deceased pack, two alphas, one omega, and a beta. They had a daughter, now living with her grandfather." I can feel the blood drain from my face as he stares at me.
“Of course, there was no guarantee she would be an omega, not with one beta father, so I watched. I hired someone to follow you in high school, and you were always so small. Personally, I had hoped by some fluke that your friend Stephanie would be a surprise reveal. She is short too, but svelte. Alas, her parents are both betas, and it seems that there were no surprises by the time she left for college.”
“But you, you didn’t go away to college, did you? You took online classes only, and lived with your grandpa. You didn’t leave the house unless absolutely necessary, and even then, the man I hired could never get confirmation." I don’t want this fucking chicken anymore, my stomach is rolling and if there was anything in it, I am sure it would come back up.
“Then, of course, dear old grandpa died. Cancer, such an awful way to go. And you became even more of a shut in. Ibegan to look for a way to put myself in your path. The few times a year you would interact with other people were at the veterinary clinic, bank, or garage. I enjoy taking things apart, so I had Bernard here help me fabricate all the items I would need.” He gestures vaguely towards the well-dressed man with the bottle of wine.
“There was a bit of a learning curve, and of course the wait for you to come out. But then, one day it happened, you called and set up an oil change for your car, and then I had your contact information. Some of which we already had from research, but every little bit helps. So, we searched more online.”
“Candice Manning…you couldn’t have thought up a better online name? CandyMan? Really? And look, you draw art for money. Well, artists are always looking for customers, so it was easy enough to become one of those. Bernard broke into your house–he’s actually quite good at picking locks you know–and confirmed your designation. He said your whole house smelled like a thin mint cookie…I had to have his tongue cut out for going on about it, as if he had any right.” My eyes flick to Bernard, but if he’s upset by what happened, he doesn’t react.
“Some things you were careful of, but you freely let it be known you lived alone with your pets. My condolences on your cat, by the way." He sneers and I wrap my hand tightly around my fork, ready to fling it at his head.
