MY MALE OMEGA IS IN HEAT

CHAPTER 5

Not long after, a soft knock came at the door.

“Come in,” I said, my voice steady and commanding.

James entered, carrying a stack of clothes. I glanced at him as he approached and nodded once.

“These are for him,” I said, letting my tone leave no room for argument. “Take off those rags and give him something that actually fits. They’re a bit oversized, but it’s better than what he has now. Make him look presentable. He’s mine.”

The omega froze, still trembling slightly, and I could feel the tension in him. His blue eyes flicked nervously to me, then to James, who offered the first piece—a soft, simple shirt.

“Get up,” I said softly, but with absolute authority. “Take off the rags. Now.”

He obeyed reluctantly, peeling off the tattered market clothes, and James immediately handed him the oversized shirt.

I could see hus muscles,his abs he looks very attractive shirtless.then he began to wear it.

It swallowed him a little at the shoulders, sleeves brushing past his wrists, but it was clean, warm, and soft against his skin.

I watched intently as he dressed, when he took off his pants I could see his c**k pressed to his boxer.

hard.

throbbing.

I could still smell his heat.

my gaze following every small, hesitant movement. The heat still radiated from him, despite the pill, and I let my presence press on him subtly, like a reminder that he belonged here now.

When he finished, I let my eyes roam over him. He looked awkward, his posture tense, sleeves too long, pants a little baggy—but still, even in oversized clothes, he was… mine.

“Better,” I murmured, almost approvingly. “Not perfect, but you’re getting there. Remember… Master.”

His jaw tightened at the correction, but he nodded stiffly, silent and alert, as if trying to hold onto some shred of pride.

I smiled faintly. “Good. That will do for now. My tailor will come soon to take your measurements. Then you’ll have clothes that fit properly. Clothes made for you… for me.”

It wasn’t long before there was another knock—this one more formal, professional.

“Enter,” I commanded.

My tailor stepped in, tape measure in hand, eyes professional but respectful. He glanced at the omega, then at me.

“Your measurements, sir,” I said, my voice leaving no room for argument, “so we can make clothes that fit you properly. You will wear nothing less than perfect.”

The omega hesitated, but I leaned slightly forward, letting the weight of my dominance settle over him. “Obey. Stand still. Let him work. It’s for you… and for me.”

He swallowed hard, then slowly nodded, still trembling slightly, but obedient enough to let the tailor begin. Every inch the tape measured, every adjustment made, reminded him—and me—of the control I held, the presence I commanded, and the life he had stepped into.

I watched him closely the entire time, noticing the way his fingers curled nervously, the way he shifted slightly, and how his eyes kept flicking toward me, unsure whether to defy or submit.

Perfect.

By the time the measurements were done, I could already imagine the clothes being made—tailored to fit him exactly, to highlight what was mine, to mark him unmistakably as my man.

And I smiled, because he had no idea yet how much of himself he was about to give over… and how much I would take.