2. Charlie
“I can’t believe this is the last time we get to do this. It was the best part of living here,” my business partner, Cameo—who, except for his unusually dainty little pianist hands, fit the bill of a stereotypical alpha to a T—said as we made our way into the Heat Hotel.
He wasn’t wrong, and even though it would be a long time before we’d be back, if ever, it was hard to be too sad. The move was exciting, something we’d spent more than our fair share of sleepless nights on.
But, fuck… I’d miss it.
I wasn’t exactly the most popular guy with girls, and for an alpha I was unusually lanky—like one of those inflatable wobbly dancing men that they put in the front of car dealerships with a knot. So, being able to come round and fuck a needy omega in heat was honestly a real treat. Any alpha would think so.
That’s how we were wired, right? Rutting. Knotting. And stopping omegas from whining.
…Bonds.
Even so, I wasn’t sure what, but something about tonight felt different. Maybe it was because I was excited to make the most out of my last time. Or maybe it was just the anticipation of being on the precipice of my life changing forever.
It wasn’t like I couldn’t find a similar spot when we got to Seattle, but I was fond of this place. The typical heat clinics were a little heavy handed with the practicality side of things. It was part of what gave Cameo and I the idea for ScentCX in the first place, the overly clinical environment was distressing to the omegas and often allowed alphas who would otherwise not be a match through the cracks. It led to a whole lot of entirely avoidable exploitation, even through places live this. Scent matching with cards pulled from slick and sweat that faded and warped over time, or worse, were impacted by the cardstock they were made of in the first place, just weren’t accurate enough to stop a mismatch.
ScentCX worked to eradicate that room for error down to the fourth percentile. Essentially, it was a scent matching database for clinics or ‘hotels’ like this to match clients in a flash, coming up with a list of compatible scent matches based off of DNA instead of effectively a swipe-based dating app run by an Omega’s nose.
Oh, and there was the questionnaire. Part of what made the software so revolutionary wasn’t just that we relied on biological markers in order to create matches—there was a psychological element too. Ensuring that our matches shared similar preferences, values, and even met wishlist criteria like education level and a love of dogs.
It took us eight months of crunching for us to build a prototype and then about twelve of pitching to find a company willing to pay for it. A hard task when the co-founders of the project were the only employees and still needed to make rent.
But all that was over now, the acquisition of the product had netted us a nice, tidy sum, and as long as we could deliver on the promise of the software—something I was absolutely positive we could do—Cameo and I would be set for a long, long time.
And, you know, improving the lives of three percent of the population, about the amount of us who fell into the coveted omega designation.
The very same people we’d come to visit tonight.
It only twinged my ego a tiny bit that even though our prototype software was in beta, and running damn near flawlessly I might add—okay that was a lie, but these things took time. It would only get better with a real team working on it—that this specific Heat Hotel hadn’t been interested in our initial pitch. They preferred to do things the old school way.
“Welcome in,” a small, blue-haired beta at the counter said as we exited the elevator from the garage into the Alpha side of the intake office. “Looking to get matched tonight?”
“We are,” Cameo purred, leaning suavely against the counter, smirking at the beta who was now blushing profusely. “Unless you’re available.”
I rolled my eyes.
Though it was annoying, his attitude was what made him my perfect business partner. Cameo was good with people, and handled the bulk of the negotiating and pitching while I handled the behind the scenes, taking up the lead role of engineer on the project. I was only invited to meetings to explain the technical things that no one else bothered to understand, and was told to keep quiet otherwise, which suited me just fine. I wasn’t Cameo, I didn’t smile and laugh with stuck up businessmen or flirt with a beta at a heat clinic. I found the guys in suits a bit snobby and majorly sexist—and holding eye contact with a cute beta? Please. I’d been trying to learn how to do that since middle school with no luck.
But Cameo? This was his superbowl. And, even though I didn’t understand his methods, it did land us our investors. Plus, if the beta’s finger twirling her blue hair was to be believed, it seemed to work on people he was interested in, too.
Maybe there was a method to the madness.
Or maybe he was a sex-addicted egomaniac with a crippling addiction to video games.
Either way, he was effective.
The beta cleared their throat. “Names please.” It was obvious he was left shaky by Cam’s charm.
“Charlie Martin,” I said easily.
“Cameo Lombardi,” he said, still laying it on too thick.
For what is was worth, the beta behind the counter was staying professional–as much as he could. “Here’s the scent cards for tonight. Let me know who takes your interest and I’ll send you in the right direction.”
She handed over a short stack of plastic envelopes, each with a scent card.
Normally I’d just pick the first that held any interest to me, but because it was going to be my last for a long time, I knew I needed to make it count.
I opened each of the sleeves carefully. There were some floral scents that had always nauseated me and a few candy-sweet ones. There was one that smelled like vanilla cupcakes that I almost went with, but I told myself I would explore all my options. And I was glad I did, because the last was… unlike anything I’d smelled before.
Tangy and tart and citrusy while being deeply fruity. Like a tall glass of cherry limeade.
My cock hardened instantly, and my knot throbbed just at the scent. There was something so… delectable about it that I couldn’t put my finger on, but I knew it needed to be them.
“This one,” I said, sliding the cards back.
The beta picked up the envelope, typing the associated number into the system while I handed the rest of the cards to Cameo to choose between.
“Female partner, a first timer. Goes by CherryDie. You’ll find her in studio thirteen.” She chuckled, turning her monitor to give me a view of her basic profile. Anonymity was key at a place like this, so while it didn’t have an image of her, there was a lot of other info. She’s twenty-three, and it was her first time here.
Interesting.
I’d need to make it good for her. Wouldn’t want her to have a bad time and not come back.
My eyes scanned further down the page, glossing over her physical markers—tattooed, long brunette hair, brown eyes—to find her limits. The list of green lights was… extensive. I looked lower, reading her yellow and reds instead, they’d be easier to remember.
The only cautionary limit made me blink. Penetration .
Not that there was anything wrong with it, but it was what most omegas came here for, to get their alpha fix. But maybe because it was her first time she was more apprehensive. Whatever the reason, I’d respect her boundaries and go at her pace.
Besides, there were plenty of ways I could help her based on the approved activities list—getting my cock wet didn’t have to be priority number one.
I tucked her hard limits and safeword into the back of my mind, waiting while Cameo sniffed his way through the stack.
Eventually, he picked a card of his own—the vanilla-scented omega I’d considered myself and we were sent down the hall to the dressing room. After showering, I changed into one of the silky black robes they provided. Some people just went around here fully nude, or played with exhibitionists who wanted to show off, but I preferred a bit of coverage.
At least, you know, in the common areas. Crazy to be out and about with your balls just swinging.
Cameo didn’t share my demure attitude, ass naked as he tossed his towel into the hamper and made for the door.
“Dude, really?”
He shrugged. “I’m just going in to fuck anyway, why bother?”
Sometimes, it was like I was talking to a totally different species.
Cameo paused in front of a mirror, checking his teeth and adjusting his hair like the ludicrous peacock he was, his tattoo-covered skin giving the illusion of… some… coverage at least.
I gave him a little show, antsy to get out onto the floor. Ever since smelling that omega, something inside of me yearned to go to her, to find out more. It wasn’t like I could smell her from this distance, or if I even knew if her heat had started yet, but either way… I just wanted to be close to her.
In her bubble.
“This is going to be fun,” Cameo commented as I watched him comb his fingers through his hair for a millionth time. “Love a tight little omega who just needs to be pounded into.”
“You’re taking a lot of time for someone who can’t wait,” I said impatiently, with another nudge.
He rolled his eyes. “It’s about the anticipation.”
I lifted a dark brow. “What?”
Cameo sighed. “You know, the drumroll? Listen, I know you’re…” his eyes flicked to mine in the mirror for a moment, looking me over before returning to the mirror dismissively. “ You . But omega’s like it when an alpha takes charge.”
“Okay…” That seemed to be true in theory. Every time I’d been here, whoever I was with begged me to fuck them harder, and I usually guided them even if they were on top.
But taking control? That didn’t come naturally to me. I didn’t think I’d ever even barked at someone before.
“Part of this whole deal is giving them an experience,” Cameo went on, at least partially oblivious to my apprehension. Or, maybe he just didn’t care. Either way, he didn’t bother to mince his words. “And you do not deliver.”
“I’m pretty sure I do, isn’t the experience just getting fucked?” I asked, giving up on trying to nudge him out the door in favor of leaning against the wall.
If I was lucky, maybe I’d still be in my twenties by the time he was done looking at himself.
Or lecturing me.
“No, and this is what I mean,” he gestures to me with a sigh. “Omegas want to let go of control fully. No decisions, no thoughts, only pleasure. And to do that, you need to give them things they might not ask for, but they want. For example, edging them. They’re starting to feel their heat now for sure, probably fucking themselves with their fingers or the largest toy they can find, just trying to relieve some of the tension, but they can’t. They need an alpha, so by the time you get in there they’re a begging, needy mess for you. Then, you give them what they need.”
I blinked at him.
Not that I’d debase myself by inflating his already categorically shocking ego any further—he had a point. I’d never really filled the role of dominant alpha, at least not in that way. Choosing to come from a place of care… But maybe, I needed to change it up. Make sure I was giving my partner what she needed from me.
I just… didn’t know if I could. Dominance didn’t come naturally to me.
“And you do that every time?” I asked nervously.
“Yup,” he said breezily. “At least when they’re in heat. The last guy I was with...” He whistled at the memory. “He all but crawled up me, shoving my cock in him before I was fully on the bed. What a ride…” he reminisced happily. “It’s just biology man, they need a firm hand.”
I chewed my lip.
Fuck. Stupid Cameo and his dipshit ideas… Maybe I had been going about this all wrong. Before the Heat Hotel, my experience with omegas were few and far between. I’d never been one for commitment or relationships, and going through all the boundaries of anything more than a quick fuck required a lot more time than I had while I built our product.
Here, everything was so easy. Clear. The social minefield of a perfunctory pre-fuck meal that we both pretended absolutely wasn’t for the purpose of trying to have a couple of cocktails so we had something to blame a one night stand on was freeing.
All of the discussions about preferences and boundaries and consent pre-prepared, removing the guesswork and awkward conversations.
Obviously, we still communicated in the moment—but it was nice to know that there was a real baseline to work with. Concrete rules to return back to.
As I waited, I ran Cherry’s little list through my head again. They were a pretty exact match to mine, which was a relief. Especially if I was going to have to spend the next couple days cosplaying as some big meathead alphahole.
There was one that stuck out to me though: breeding.
Though breeding wasn’t the most uncommon choice, I’d rarely found someone who greenlit it here, and I was excited to see how much she truly wanted it—especially with her pause on penetration.
Maybe toys would be okay?
The minutes passed at a painfully slow pace, giving me ample time to run scenarios about what exactly my omega would want. Would she want someone strong and dominant? What would that even look like from me?
Would I be able to choke out the words needed to order someone around?
“Let’s go,” Cameo finally said, pulling me from my thoughts like he wasn’t the one who sent me into this spiraling pit of anxiety and self-doubt in the first place.
I fidgeted with the tie of my robe as we headed down the corridor, Cameo stopping when he reached room eight. I averted my eyes from the large picture window allowing passing alphas, and most importantly staff, a view inside to check in on the omegas.
“Have fun, and remember what I said,” Cameo said, clapping my shoulder and opening the door with a wave of toffee-sweet perfume that made my blood heat.
I continued on, the hotel-like atmosphere starting and ending with the long hallway of many doors.
The walls were a deep red with a velvet-like textured filigree pattern in a matching shade. Tasteful, if not overtly sexual in the nature of the kinks they highlighted via nude artwork hung between each room, like some kind of perverted gallery dedicated to giving alphas ideas on how to fuck an omega stupid.
My favorite was a line work piece—a person in a collar being tugged on a leash held by a hand that led off frame. It was devoid of color save for that bright pink leash, affixed to a matching collar, that I couldn’t tear my eyes from.
Was this what Cameo meant omegas wanted? I’d assumed every one is different and wouldn’t necessarily want this exact thing, but something to this regard? Total and complete submission?
Soon I reached room thirteen, peering through the window and into the room beyond. A woman, covered in a myriad of beautiful black and white tattoos lay on her back, her thick thighs glossy with her needy slick as she fucked herself with a large, bright pink knotted dildo.
My cock became painfully hard near instantly, forcing the air from my lungs as I licked my dry lips.
She was… Exquisite .
Long, dark hair that pooled around her like liquid as she panted and rocked, trying to force the toy deeper inside her hairless, pretty pink pussy.
Her chest tattoo, a moth with enormous wings that covered her from sternum to throat, seemed to flutter with every gasping breath, her moans just barely meeting my ears through the glass of the two-way mirror as I leaned my forehead against it.
I wanted to be closer as much as I never wanted to enter the room. Cherry wasn’t just my type, she was the type. The kind of delicately feminine creature that stoked the part of me that dreamed of caring for an omega.
To make them feel safe and special.
But that wasn’t what this was about. There were no mate bonds at Omega’s Lust. You were looking for some easy tail, and an omega needed a fuckdoll that could actually keep up with them.
I shook myself, reaching for the intercom—my hand stilling as the omega crawled to the headboard to affix the dildo’s suction cup to it, meeting my eyes—though I was sure she was actually watching herself, the idea only making the entire thing hotter—as she rode back against the toy.
My cock pulsed with desire as she fucked herself, hand moving to try the door before I could think to try and speak to her through the intercom—and finding it locked.
Fuck.