Buying a pheromone suppressor was never easy for a beta. It was frowned upon—something whispered about in alleys—because why would someone who can't smell pheromones need one? Why would an alpha or omega get involved with someone who can't perceive them?
The creation of suppressors came with two "strong reasons." One was for "pure" alphas and omegas in emergencies, and the other was to control the pheromones of the "recessive." But in this world, there was always a third option—because helping the invisible wasn't the goal; it was about turning them into profit.
"Good evening, one pheromone suppressor, please," Valentina said, visibly uncomfortable.
She noticed the pharmacist's eyes drop to the floor before responding, yet she could still sense stares piercing her back like claws aiming for her neck.
"Sure—wait here, I'll wrap it in a black bag," the pharmacist said with a forced smile.
"No need—I'll put it in my purse, thank you," Valentina replied, also masking her tension.
As she left the pharmacy, she felt like everyone watched her steps, making her feel like a stain that should not be seen.
Yet, none of that mattered anymore. Even though her weekend had been ruined, she was finally going to fix things with Lucas. Too much had happened—everything needed to be talked through.
Arriving at Lucas's place, she noticed the exterior lights were off. Strange—when he worked late, he usually kept them on in case of emergencies.
Knock, knock—the door opened.
"Give me the suppressor," Lucas said, irritated.
"Hi, ¿how are you? How's everything? ¡I missed you too—PLEASE FORGIVE ME!" she blurted out.
It wasn't that Lucas didn't miss her or wanted to apologize—it was that he felt fed up, disgusted, and overwhelmed. He needed to cleanse himself of that sensation and those pheromones—something invisible, yet marking him.
"I'll explain later, but spray me with it—everywhere."
Lucas stripped down to his underwear. Valentina didn't flinch—they were too used to seeing each other naked; acts like this had become tacit between them.
Once Valentina finished spraying every inch of Lucas's body, he began to speak:
"Raffael told me Andrea gave me a pheromone shower."
"A pheromone shower? ¿No, hold on… RAFFAEL?"
He started recounting everything from the beginning, detailing his encounters with Raffael.
Before he continued, Valentina needed to know that Andrea knew they were together. It wasn't fear—it was avoiding another sharp betrayal.
"He leaves Sunday—I told him I had too much work," Lucas said, drained.
"Lucas, I want to know everything—but not like this. Not waiting for him to show up out of nowhere. Go home—even if you don't want to—but hold on a little more."
Lucas knew she was right. He couldn't confront Andrea yet. Talking with someone outside their bubble gave perspectives he didn't want to see.
He'd begun to suspect Andrea might be manipulating him—and Valentina shared that hypothesis. That was why confrontation was premature: he needed to analyze the before, during, and after, and—most importantly—what he didn't yet know.
"Are you in heat, right?" Lucas stared at her.
"I took a neutralizer six hours ago," Valentina replied, startled.
"I can faintly smell jasmine. Are you sure it's been six hours? Where's Bastian?"
If Lucas could smell her scent, it meant the pills weren't working properly. The medication was supposed to last another two hours.
"You haven't slept with him yet, right?"
Valentina confirmed his suspicion. They hadn't been intimate yet—whether because the moment hadn't come, or someone had interrupted. But that wasn't the real problem. For a beta who hadn't released tension in over a year, the medication's effects would weaken. Worse: the body would start showing signs of strain.
"Don't overuse anti-inflammatories. You know how this works," Lucas said, clearly annoyed.
They said goodbye, each taking their own path, agreeing to meet again on Sunday. It was necessary. They both had so much to talk about. And not only that—Valentina still hadn't told Lucas about Lorenzo's party.
___________________________________________________________________________________
When she got home, she set two goals: relax, and stop thinking about anything—or anyone—else.
She didn't unpack, took a shower, lit a caramel-coffee-scented candle, got into bed, placed her phone to the side, and turned off the lights.
She had to do it. She had to calm herself down—or her body would slowly consume her.
She started gently, removing her pajamas. Then she poured edible oil into her hands and began rubbing it over her breasts. She slid it delicately around each nipple and pressed them softly.
She didn't want to think about it. But her body did.
She wanted Bastian to do it for her. She wanted his hands—not her own.
She cupped her breasts and imagined him whispering in her ear:
"I know what you like. I know what you want. I know you want me to lick you."
She continued massaging herself, slower this time, sliding her hands up to her neck, covering it entirely.
She wanted the oil to hide everything. She wanted to feel possessed. She didn't want to be the one in control.
Not only that, but she slowly brought her hands up to her lips. When her fingers touched them, she licked them. She loved the chocolate flavor—it turned her on.
The oil was taking effect, and the heat between her legs was growing.
She bit her lip, made soft sounds, and lowered her hands from her mouth to her waist.
She imagined him holding her, looking at her, desiring her, dominating her.
She wanted friction. She wanted to feel his shaft at her lips—wanted to lick it, squeeze it.
And with those thoughts, she slid two fingers inside her vulva.
She felt the warmth on her fingers, the wetness, the lewd sounds as they sank deeper.
She started stroking her G-spot, moaning softly. Once, twice—by the third time, she rubbed her clit with her palm. She wanted to hear him say—with absolute confidence—that yes, he could feel himself inside her.
She kept playing with her fingers and palm, her hand slick with her own juices, her lips swollen, pressing harder on her clit.
She wanted more. Something inside her needed to push her to the edge.
The chocolate flavor on her lips now tasted bitter. Her hand moved frantically while something stirred inside—nervous, delightful.
Then she stopped suddenly, rubbing her G-spot harder. She moaned again—then rubbed her clit once more.
With her right hand, she grabbed both breasts, pinching a nipple. In her mind, all she wanted was to ride him, move wildly, tie him down, lick him, bite him—and show him she was the one in control.
The tension built. Something was coming. It felt good. Every time she stroked her clit, her mind unraveled—her legs trembled, her nipples hardened, and the wet sounds from between her thighs grew louder.
A wave of pleasure, of heat, of release made her moan so loud—all she wanted was more. She needed it. And she didn't plan to stop that night.
By the next morning, she was exhausted.
She had four orgasms—all by herself.
Even though her body still craved a few more, her heat was finally nearing its end.
But at least now she felt lighter.
Her body required affection.
She needed to be kind to herself. Otherwise, the consequences would be brutal.
That Saturday night, she finally unpacked everything.
No messages from Bastian.
But after all those orgasms, she was so drained that she didn't feel like texting him either.
She took a bath and considered writing to Lucas, but she knew it was better to wait until the next day when they were supposed to meet.
His situation was already tense enough—there was no point adding more discomfort.
_________________________________________________________________________
A few hours later, in a crowded train station filled with laughter and tears, stood a beta and an omega—a couple who didn't just want to reunite to satisfy their urges—but because there were things left unresolved.
And if the heart truly wanted to take root, those things had to be faced.
"Have a good trip," Lucas said softly.
"You're going to miss me, right?" Andrea asked, tears in his eyes.
They had agreed: Lucas would visit Andrea in a week to be with him during his rut.
It was a promise made—and one that had to be kept.
Even though Lucas's mind was filled with a thousand tangled thoughts,
he was a man of his word.