Page 42 of 20% Stud 80% Muffin
“I want to add some windows to their nursery as a gift.”
The doctor’s head lifted from his datapad, and he tipped it to the side again—a gesture with a plethora of meanings, this time it likely meant he was confused.
My hands were so deep in my pockets that the seams started stretching as I rocked back and forth and offered an explanation. “An opening with a clear cover that allows sunlight in.”
Doctor Ten scanned his office walls. “How wonderful. I may need some of those myself.” His eyes lingered on a few spots as if mentally placing where the windows might go. “Mrs. Rowtee has two months until her youngling arrives.”
Doctor Ten scrolled through my results on his datapad. “Isn’t that interesting? You say your muscles have increased in size to the point your clothes no longer fit, and that your voice has deepened.” Dr. Ten counted out my symptoms on long, knobby fingers. “You seem to lose control of your emotions when you’re in the presence of Makir, a Lornian. Anything else?”
I cleared my throat. “My dick, I mean penis, has gotten wider and…”
“And?” Dr. Ten’s patient eyes assessed me as he considered all the information I’d laid out.
How the hell do I say this?
His talons clicked across the floor as he walked to a pod-like chair and prompted me again. “And…”
When the words wouldn’t come, my eyes focused on a long line of curious shapes. Medical equipment sat on immaculately clean and organized shelves along the southernmost wall. There would be enough room along the top of the wall to install lamar windows that wouldn’t affect the room’s privacy but would add warmth and comfort to the sterile space.
The doctor cleared his throat, snapping me back to the present.
Jesus Christ, Geo! Just spit it out. “My dick is way thicker than it was on Earth and…” Dr. Ten casually broke eye contact, likely to put me at ease. “Makir calls it a lock. My dick expands and won’t release when I’m in his”—I choked—“womb.”
Heat flooded my cheeks, washed over my neck and warmed the top of my chest. The mirrored surface of the cabinet across from me reflected a face I barely recognized, besides the embarrassed flush. Why couldn’t that have changed with the rest of my body?
“I can assure you everything is perfectly normal.” The doctor smiled warmly. “Please take a seat.” He gestured to the pod. “The analyzer will perform a full body scan—completely painless, of course—and we will go from there.”
Apparently, doctors from across the galaxies had one thing in common. They all agreed that things were perfectly normal when they were about as far from fucking normal as I could imagine.
My fingers tapped the polished armrests. The drumming clashed with the whir of the contraption but masked my deafening heartbeat as the pod sealed around me. With a grip like steel, I steadied myself against the dark and unsettling swoosh, and squeezed my eyes shut. When nothing appeared to happen, I grimaced and chuckled at the same time. What seemed like seconds later, the hatch popped open.
“Nurse Claice will have the analysis prepared in just a moment.” Dr. Ten flipped to a diagram on his datapad. “How much do you know about Lornians?”
My face burned hotter. I had no idea what species Makir was, but presumably, he was the Lornian Dr. Ten was talking about.
I knew fuck all about the guy beyond him being irresistibly cute.
“They’re blue, furry and have tails,” I blurted.
Oh, and he has a dick pocket, a tine and a…womb.
“Yes, that’s true.” He nodded in my direction. “Makir, however, is a special type of Lornian. He’s an omega, an extremely valuable asset to his species.”
At my blank expression, he continued, “I can see from my quick analysis of reproductive relationships on Earth that an omega is likely not something you are familiar with. A brief explanation, if I may?”
I nodded. Whenever I tried to speak with Makir about the changes happening to me, I got distracted. His crisp juniper scent, my bossy mouth or…his furry tail would get in the way.
But really, it was just me. Avoidance was my specialty.
“Outside of Earth, many species have omegas. They are cherished and protected in their families until they find a mate. Omegas are often the calm voice of reason in a family, taking on the role of mediator, and of course, they are excellent parents—extremely nurturing.”
The doctor projected an image from his datapad of a Lornian family against a shiny bronze wall, tails entwined as they leaned into each other. “They must be matched with an alpha who services them throughout their heat every full moon unless pregnant. It is painful to the omega otherwise, and the household may be distressed if the omega suffers. Omegas can be male or female, and as you mentioned, the males have wombs to allow them to carry younglings.”
Perspiration beaded across my forehead. Jesus, is Makir pregnant? Why the hell didn’t he tell me he could have kids? Contraception had always been a matter of preventing sexually transmitted diseases. I’d never considered the possibility of getting a partner pregnant.
“Younglings?” I barked.
“Yes. Quite wonderful isn’t it? We need so many more here in Yurstille.” His beak bobbed cheerily, oblivious to my distress. “That was a rapid-fire ABC on omegas, and every species may have slight variations, but the most importantthing to know about omegas is how vulnerable they are under the influence of an alpha.”
