Page 8 of Knot Their Omega
Yet I’ve always wished Velvet would find someone.
She deserves love, too. We all do…
“Every quarter,” she mocks with a dramatic eye roll. “You’d think now that I’m almost forty, they would have given up. Before, they enjoyed sending brochures with ticking clocks on them to emphasize that your uterus is going to shit, so bang the closest pack you can find and have a baby pronto for everyone’s peace of mind.”
“Peace of mind?” I cringe at the mere idea of such a happening. Just fucking a random pack to have a baby and raise on your own.
Goodness, I could never.
“For the Omega tracking system,” Velvet announces with a laugh. “Apparently, they lose money in the yearly bonus if they have too many ‘rejected Omegas’ on their quota list. We’re the ones in grey because red is reserved for Omegas closest to their peak biological clock age.”
“So… we’re looked at as baby-making machines with monthly sexual appeasing needs. Fun.”
“A marvelous privilege to have,” she says with far too much sarcasm. “Said no woman ever in the history of our existence.”
We laugh at that.
“Does that mean…” I’m not sure it’s right to ask, but peering into her eyes and seeing her slight nod in encouragement helps me carry on. “You never found a pack right for you?”
“It’s not like I never found a pack, my dear,” Velvet looks so content. “There are plenty who’ve begged for my commitment, but alas. I never found one who matches my spark.”
Her scent match…
“Do you still have hope you will?”
“He could be right under my nose,” she hums with a wink. “So until then, I’ll continue to enjoy the single Omega life with my daily glass of wine and limited-edition clit sucker.”
The way I cringe at her terminology has her laughing far too hard.
“What? Is that not the youngling’s way of saying it?”
“It’s called a rose, Velvet,” I groan and lean down to grab my gloves. “No one is going out there saying, ‘Let me recharge my clit sucker’!”
“Is that what they call those competitive toy fuckers these days?”
We turn our heads to the door to surprisingly see Knox.
The 6’4” muscled giant can barely lean against the door frame, but there he is, with his long grey hair tied back, sporting a white tank top and black shorts. For fifty, this man honestly could pull off his middle thirties if he got rid of his beard. He grows it out every year after summer in preparation for Christmas. He’s the best Santa in the Alpha-Omega community because he’s willing to take pictures with anyone and isn’t affected by the pheromones in Omegas.
At least, that is what he portrays to the world.
After ten years, he’s never had a single incident.
The same fact that he hasn’t found an Omega. Neither he nor his pack, who he considers brothers.
“No,” I finally answer his question as it settles into my mind. “Don’t you guys keep up with the times?”
I look between them, even as Knox moves from his place and walks further into the gym.
His eyes are on the unclaimed prize next to me.
These two aren’t going to answer me for at least a minute. I know because it happens every single time they see each other at the start of the day.
That intense moment of sexual tension that screams to everyone else but the two individuals causing it.Absolutely baffling to me.It’s like watching magnets that are destined to be pulled by each other’s magnetic strength, doing everything to not give in.
Someone just needs to force them into a room for one night.
No way they would be able to keep their hands off one another.