2. Chapter 2

At that exact moment, six o’ clock on the dot, the sun climbs over the skyline of oaks, peeking precariously over the roofs decorating the houses of Remus Pointe. The sky colored with shades of red, orange and yellow; a fiery greeting that warms over the community delicately. Birds chirping softly in the background, joined by the sound of neighbors either going for their early morning runs or heading out to work. Even the howl of Bobo Del Rey’s German Shepard can be heard from several houses down.

A common occurrence as Nicole wallows in the confines of her office, the result of another sleepless night. But this time her insomnia isn’t due to another late-night talk with investors, partners, planning schedules with Dolls, bookkeeping with Jeremy or being bored to death by her father’s constant reminders. No, the cause of her sleepless night is thanks in part to her obsessively reading and rereading the contract that now bonded Waverly Earp and herself together.

And the other, falls squarely on her alpha side keeping her up with mindless whimpers and growls.

With a groan, Nicole flips through her version of the contract dutifully, as if she hadn’t already done so the past seven hours.

The fundamental purpose of this contract is to ensure that both parties acknowledge the terms and conditions of this arrangement. The primary purpose is companionship during the duration of Ms. Haught’s rut in exchange for a disclosed amount of money, as discussed between parties.

However, upon signing of the contract, both parties are aware that sexual contact (in any shape or form) is acceptable and must adhere to the acts listed below. As such, the contract also allows the Beneficiary to explore her sensuality and limits safely, with due respect and regard for her needs, her limits and well-being.

Ms. Haught and the Beneficiary agree and acknowledge that all that occurs under the terms of this contract will be consensual, confidential, and subject to the agreed limits and safety procedures set out in this contract. Additional limits and safety procedures may be agreed in writing.

Ms. Haught and the Beneficiary each warrant that they suffer from no sexual, serious, infectious or life-threatening illnesses including but not limited to HIV, Herpes and Hepatitis. If during the duration of the rut (as defined and tracked below) either party should be diagnosed with or become aware of any such illness must inform the other immediately and in any event prior to any form of physical contact between the parties.

Adherence to the above warranties, agreements and undertakings (and any additional limits and safety procedures agreed to in writing) are fundamental to this contract. Any breach shall render it void with immediate effect and each party agrees to be fully responsible to the other for the consequence of any breach.

The only consequence Nicole feared was divorce.

A horrendously ugly word that hung over her head like a dark cloud every time her rut hit, and Shae wouldn’t be around to help see her through it. She dreaded it more than anything.

Compounded by the fact that it would be the result of her own biological failing.

“Your heart’s working normally. Physically, you’re in excellent shape Nicole; no diseases, no anomalies, no signs of any problems to speak of. Perfectly healthy.” The doctor had told her, placing the files in front of her while she restlessly laced her fingers with Shae. Anxious and tired. 

“The MRI results also came in—your brain is normal, and the size of your right and left amygdala haven’t changed. So, on a neurological level, you’re fine.”

“And mentally?”

As a purebred with a blood purity of over seventy-five percent alpha—fifteen percent beta and ten percent omega; undeniably rare in this day and age—Nicole is far more susceptible to certain illnesses than others and with her family history, these tend to lean more towards the psychological than anything physical. The possibility of losing control over her alpha side and going irredeemably feral, a constant worry. “Thankfully, the results of our evaluation indicated that there is no personality decomposition. Your diagnosis as AMS type-one, stands.” The news had filled Nicole with joy, but it didn’t quell her anxiety.

Many times, Dr. Anderson had suggested prescription medication to be used whenever she felt the alpha trying to grab more control. Nicole always refused. Remembering how bad her grandfather had become when he started taking them.

A strong and virile alpha, even in his old age, reduced to nothing more than a husk of a man. A shadow of his former self. His body had gotten used to them and eventually, he couldn’t function without them. Manic and depressed, whenever he missed a dose. On more than one occasion he became irrational and hostile, needing to be restrained like some sort of wild animal. A rabid dog off its leash looking for something to bite and maim. Towards the tail end of his life, things had gotten better. Probably because the old man knew he was on his way out and could finally rest easy.

The alpha in her paces around expectantly, thrashing against the walls of her chest. Keening desperately. Pathetically. She shakes her head and forces the beast back in its cage, where it belongs. And it does, snapping its teeth as it goes, threatening to return. It always did eventually. Whether in the form of her eyes turning a bright shade of red, teeth sharpening until fangs are poking into the flesh of her bottom lip. Nicole has left dents and claw marks into the wooden frame of her desk, here at home and at work, more often than she cares to remember.

As a purebred alpha, Nicole is built, right down to the marrow of her bones, to fight and to win. To dominate. Endowed with certain advantages over others due to her bloodline and being borne of two alphas herself. For one, her sense of smell is sharper. Eyesight and hearing, stronger. She packs on muscle easily and has twice the oxygen in her bloodstream than a regular person’s. Near inhuman abilities at the cost of giving that animalistic side of herself more say.

It laid dormant most times, sleeping lazily like an overgrown mutt sprawled over a bed several sizes too small. But when it wasn’t, awakened by the slightest thing, it would howl and bark until Nicole appeased it. To the alpha, it is a punishing whim on Nicole’s part. A nasty, selfish twist of the knife into its chest every time she barred it from what it wanted. But even then, Nicole understood. She couldn’t blame that side of herself as much as she wanted.

Most spouses would jump at the sheer opportunity of getting to sleep with a pretty stranger and not deal with the repercussions of cheating; no yelling, no screaming, no fighting. It’d be a dream come true for someone in a sexless marriage. The freedom to fuck, no strings attached and still be able to come home. In a perfectly normal marriage, this would just be an errant sexual fantasy come to life. But Nicole is neither of those things. But the fact that she was currently going through sexual therapy—the entire reason as to why this arrangement even existed—is as much a hit to her own ego, as it is to the alpha’s.

A quick Google search lists sexual therapy as: a strategy for the treatment of sexual dysfunction when there is no medical etiology (physiological reason) or as a complement to medical treatment. As an alpha, this is a sign of weakness and a complete affront to her sensibilities. Admittedly, Nicole wasn’t one to take the usual stereotypical assumptions of alphas as creatures of unadulterated sex drives and voracious appetites, (especially during their ruts) to heart. Good God no, she considered herself to be above that level of thinking. But the reality of the situation left a bitter taste in her mouth.

Nicole didn’t expect much when a copy of Waverly’s preferences had been given to her. Chrissy had been pretty vanilla in her tastes, with a slight desire to try her hand at being bound, gagged and whipped. Of course, Nicole didn’t deny the beta a chance to explore something out of her comfort zone; handled and executed well, it was an exhilarating experience for them both. How Chrissy enjoyed the crack of the whip against her back, painting her olive skin pink and red. Just as Nicole enjoyed the sight of it.

Unlike the majority of people who preferred to glorify and demonize sex to suit their own needs, the alpha embraces it wholly.

Sex, at its purest, is an art form.

Maybe it’s because she worked as a photographer on the side for fun; taking pictures of her subjects, naked and bare in simple positions that ultimately embraced the human form and its sensuality. Bodies wrapped in shadows, faceless and seductive. Or maybe it’s because she had spent the entirety of her youth slipping between any pair of legs that welcomed her in; a horny brat, rutting away without damned sense. Alcohol, pregnancy scares and angry parents—the tagline to Nicole’s teenaged years.

The redhead effectively learned her lesson from always thinking with her knot and letting her alpha side run wild just to satisfy its incessant desire to fuck something. Fond memories, now that she is happily married and the chances of her staring down the barrel of a shotgun is slim to none.

Still, she can’t help the strange feeling that swarms her chest as she runs her eyes over Waverly’s sexual preferences, for the hundredth time.

Acceptable Acts.

The following sexual acts are acceptable, as per the party’s preferences: masturbation, fellatio, cunnilingus, vaginal fingering, vaginal intercourse, rimming, anal fingering and anal intercourse.

Will the party accept semen swallowing? Yes.

Will the party accept the use of toys during sex? Yes.

The following toys are acceptable, as per the party’s preferences: vibrators and dildos.

Will the party accept bondage (the use of restraints) during sex, once discussed? Yes.

The following forms of bondage is acceptable, as per the party’s preferences: hands in front, hands behind back, hands above head, bondage by the use of handcuffs, and blindfolding.

Is the party interested in use of pain/punishment/disciplinary actions as a precursor to sex, once discussed? Yes.

The following types of pain/punishment/disciplinary actions as a precursor to sex, once discussed, are acceptable as per the party’s preferences: spanking, whipping, the use of a riding crop and ice play.

Waverly is as vanilla as they come. She’s a small-town girl, there isn’t much in the way of her agreeing to anything out of the usual norm. Eager to try and explore a part of her sexuality she can’t readily do so in a town where the usage of bondage of whipping is a hush hush secret behind closed doors. Where both parties have to hide themselves afterwards and practically repent for their “sinful ways”.

Nicole has no problem indulging Waverly, but fuck, does it stir something at the pit of her stomach.

Nicole shivers.

Heat settles within her chest, claiming the space between her lungs and heart. Like fire, hot and burning, it sears the flesh of her muscles until she gives way to it. Her pajamas are suddenly tighter and with that she’s putting the file back in its place.

Leaving the office hurriedly, Nicole heads up the marble steps of the staircase. Taking two at a time, three if she could help it. Heart beating rapidly, brows furrowed with sweat, cock suffocating down one pant leg—her rut has undeniably started. The silk material only has her growing harder by the time she reaches the top floor where the bedrooms are located. Worsening only when she passes by the guest room Waverly now calls hers for the week. Chrissy and Jeremy stayed the night, more so they wouldn’t have to make the trip back home in the dark and to keep the small brunette company; provide some comfort.

She’s practically running down the hall when she can make out the omega’s scent clearly. 

Distinctive like peppermint, and yet, undeniably floral. Reminding the redhead of a fresh breeze on the first day of summer.

When she arrives at her room, Nicole is throws herself on the bed; nuzzling into the comforter for warmth and stability. Shamefully readjusting herself when the pressure on her cock between her leg and the mattress becomes unbearable. Softly rutting into the bed to take the edge off while she hears Shae getting dressed in her closet.

Downstairs there’s the banging of wooden cupboards, rattling containers of tin and glass, the shuffling and sorting of metal pots and iron pans. An orchestra of sounds until the grand finale, a cake pan drum-rolling along the floor, and then hitting the table with a crash.

It’s Perry.

An artiste in the kitchen and on canvas, he’s usually quiet with his work. But the sounds of kitchen utensils being thrown virtually against the wall meant that he and Stephanie broke up. Again. Nicole groans, despairingly. She’s got enough problems to worry about than ripping the man’s throat out because he can’t leave the girl alone, no matter how many times she breaks his heart. And by the scent of berries, powdered sugar and chocolate, he’s making crepes.

Bile and dread inches up her throat. She’s on her feet then, barreling into the bathroom at break neck speed, stripping her pajamas off and jumping into the jacuzzi.

It’s an absolutely maddening affair. Being pulled every which way like a rubber band, waiting for the snap back. Some days it felt easier to just give up. Take Dr. Anderson’s prescription and hope, that with enough luck, she wouldn’t turn into an empty shell. Nicole could see her father twisting his lips at the very idea. You’re an alpha, a purebred, he would say, a damning phrase, more than that you’re a Haught and we don’t accept defeat.

Nicole sighs and sinks beneath the hot jets of the marble tub. The whirlpool doing wonders on her aching body, yet, it does nothing to stave off her erection. Unbelievable. Twenty-five years old, CEO of an entire business conglomerate, crowned heir to a centuries old dynasty and yet, she feels like a teenager again. She runs her hands across her face. For fuck’s sake she’s married!

“Babe?” A warm voice calls, and Nicole pops her head out from under the water.

Above her, Shae sits on the edge of the hot tub. Dressed in a simple cashmere sweater, jeans and suede boots. She looks exquisite.

Oh, her sweet wife: Dr. Shae Juliette Pressman, a beautiful and intelligent woman that swept the alpha off her feet. College sweethearts, they met in the Dean’s office in preparation for a benefit and it was love at first sight. Within a year they were married in an extravagant affair that had both their parents jumping for joy, celebrating for days with glasses of champagne and an all-expenses paid ten-day trip to the Bahamas. How incredibly beautiful she looked walking down the aisle in her wedding dress and here she was, four years later, checking in one last time with the redhead before leaving for her trip.

“Hey baby, all set?” Nicole smiles, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. She doesn’t want Shae to go, but she knows she has to. She’s already kept the woman from going twice because of her damned ruts, can’t be selfish anymore.

“Yeah, just came in to say goodbye.” The beta doesn’t want to go either. But she needs to. “Dolls is popping by in a few to take me to the airport and once Perry’s done in the kitchen he and Jeremy are taking Chrissy home before heading into the city.”

“That’s good ba—wait, I’m being left alone with the omega? So soon?” The redhead can’t keep the alarm out of her voice.

“Her name’s Waverly, although get used to calling her Baby while I’m gone. She’s going to have to get used to the idea of calling you Daddy.”

“Jesus fuck, who’s idea was it to let the Beneficiary come up with the names?”

“Yours. As well as the safeword. You said it would help with the disconnect and separate the sex from everything else. Make it easier.”

Easier? Nothing about this is easy, Nicole thinks bitterly. She’s essentially cheating on her wife. She’s an adulterer. Only difference is it’s under the guise of sexual therapy, the result of a medical condition she can’t control. Rationalized by the fact that the woman she beds at the end of each night for the duration of her rut will have her tuition and loans paid.

Waverly will be playing the role of a whore for the week and Nicole as the sleazy bastard paying for it. Quid pro-fucking-quo!  

“It’s okay.” She says softly. “If there was another option, trust me I’d take it in a heartbeat, but this—I’m not going to run the risk of coming home and seeing you in that state again; I can’t see you go through another repeat of that night. I can’t.”

“Still, it can’t be easy for you.”

“It isn’t but I can at least take comfort in the fact that you’ll be fine with some sort of outlet and we’ll be helping a good woman get through college. Waverly has a good head on her shoulders, 4.0 GPA.”

“How nice.” Nicole deadpans. She receives a playful slap to the shoulder.

“Don’t think too much on it, okay? Just feel.”

The kiss to her cheek is soft, like velvet and the alpha purrs at the scent of jasmine she catches for a brief moment. An I love you hidden beneath the press of Shae’s lips against her skin. Nicole smiles, even with the guilt burrowing its way into her bones the further her wife gets to the door.

I love you too.

When Shae leaves, closing the bathroom door and then their bedroom door, Nicole slips back into a more comfortable position in the hot tub. For a moment, there’s peace. The sounds of the jets beneath the water, constant and lulling her into a false sense of tranquility that Nicole would have gladly fallen for. Alas, her alpha and more damning, her own body, reminds her of the hardened cock between her legs.

Her cock ached and burned, twitching against her taut stomach expectantly. She can’t ignore it, the inescapable pulse she felt in her shaft wouldn’t let her.

Nicole tilts her chin to the ceiling, eyes closed as she wraps her fingers around her cock. Moaning at the thrum of her pulse quickening, the rush of blood surging through her body at every stroke.

Breathing labored, the alpha pumps the shaft faster—the speed of her hand, the twist of her wrist—she won’t last long. Nicole can feel her thighs tense, toes tightening against the edge of the tub. Thumb swiveling over the head, pearls of precome wetting the pad. Her hips buck and her spine arches, hot tacks of want lancing through her back as she pumps the head vigorously.

“Oh, fuck,” Nicole pants, grabbing the edge of jacuzzi with her free hand. Hips jerking of their own accord chasing after her release.

It isn’t long until she finds it. Within moments, a hot band of come shoots across her chest, coating her breasts and the corner of her chin. The second and third spurts glazing over her stomach and down her shaft, melting into the water, now cold.

Nicole’s gut twists. Fuck, this was going to be a long week.